The Sounds of Tension

My new Unsung Heroes column was posted up at The Film Experience this week focusing on a true original, Punch-Drunk Love. I'm surprised it took me this long in the series to get to Paul Thomas Anderson given my obsessive love of every last one of his films, but I finally got there with this piece on Punch's brilliantly expressive sound design. If it were possible to hear stress, stress would sound like this movie.

Harry Potter and the Missed Opportunity

In an event that carried all the surprise and spontaneity of a military funeral Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released this past weekend and made over a million bajillion dollars. It is seriously amazing the piles of money it made. You could convert the grosses to million dollar bills and still not fit them all in your house. It had people lined up around the block, some dressed up as greasy Alan Rickman or as vaguely hippie-ish Michael Gambon, and it managed to break the box office record for a November release of a first part to a sixth sequel featuring an all British cast with a lead under 5'10''. And there was much rejoicing.

The biggest difference for me between the arrival of the seventh movie and the seventh novel is that this time I just don't care. Sorry.

I am unapologetic fan of the books. I jumped aboard between the fourth and fifth and despite having a deep aversion to fads I quickly became an admirer of Ms. Rowling. Her books, to my mind, are an unadulterated good. Of course her epic series is open to any number of valid criticisms from the way the last book drags in the middle to the way the logic of Goblet doesn't hold up to scrutiny. My personal grievance is the use of time travel in book three, a device which unavoidably opens up the whole series to gigantic holes the instant it is introduced.

But greatness and perfection rarely, if ever, go hand in hand. The White Album veers into self-indulgence more than once. Death of a Salesman has it's didactic passages featuring the ghost of the American dream personified. Even Shakespeare had his extraneous scenes there to placate the crowds of his day. What matters is not flawlessness but the heights reached, and Rowling reached greatness with the scope and detail of the world she created. Her books are one of those rare experiences where the reader gives themselves over entirely to the author, trusting them to the end.

The movies reached no such pinnacles. Deathly Hallows looks likely to follow in the footsteps of it's six predecessors, giving a reasonable facsimile of the novel before disappearing into the ether without making a lasting impression. It will be judged by fans and press alike as a 250 million dollar moving book illustration, but not as a movie - not as an object onto itself.

In retrospect, I think the series was doomed the moment they decided to start producing movies before the series had reached its conclusion. By starting in the middle the producers guaranteed Potter would never know where it was headed, and couldn't be envisioned as a whole piece. Rather it would have to settle for being a series of Greatest Hits album for each book, jumping awkwardly from scene to scene while accumulating no forward momentum as a series.

It's hard to blame the author. She made the respectable decision that she didn't know squat about movies and handed her baby over to the pros to do their thing without her meddling. What a series this sprawling needed was a mastermind to take control of the whole thing and figure out a way for it to hang together as a single story told in seven parts. Someone to do what Peter Jackson did with the Lord of the Rings series, take it and mercilessly wrestle it into cinematic shape. Has there ever been a great book to movie transition that didn't involve substantial changes? Godfather, Jaws, The Wizard of Oz, One Flew and Over the Cuckoo's Nest were all chopped up and twisted on the journey to the screen.

Harry Potter was never adapted. Producers attempted to transfer it whole, jamming eight hours of story in each two and half hour movie. They turned up with each release to say, "Well, we had to give the fans what they want, ha ha." Sometimes you have to tell the fans to pipe down because you know better. Fans may say they want this or that, but when it comes down to it what they need is a quality movie. But a behemoth operation like this doesn't welcome experimentation. "Just give 'em what they want," was clearly the order of the day.

Half-Blood Prince, for example, is an aggressively uncinematic book. Save for a thrilling late-in-the-book action sequence its a slow burn mystery that foregrounds lodes of backstory and character beats. If they had a strong hand at the helm from the start they could have seasoned that information throughout the series, and beefed up the movie-friendly parts of the Prince without sacrificing the overarching story. As it stands Prince goes off in all directions. It hits some targets better than others and moves the story forward the required steps, but as a film it's a non-entity.

The Harry Potter series isn't a complete waste. It gave nice paychecks to its illustrious cast who all had a few good stand alone moments. Azkaban provided Cuaron's gift for mood and atmosphere a nice showcase, and Yates and Newell proved themselves to be total pros but the die had been cast long before they showed up. The films have rarely brushed against the magic J K brought to the books, and I've given up hoping the remaining films will break the pattern. When I watch these movies all I can see is the squandered potential for what might have been.

Pixar at the Podium

The news has gotten around that Disney is not content to collect the inevitable Best Animated Film Oscar and plans an aggressive campaign for Toy Story 3 in the Best Picture category. The most amusing thing about this news is the implicit acknowledgement that previous campaigns for the likes of Up and WALL-E were half-hearted attempts willing to settle for low-hanging gimme nominations like Animated Film and Score along with a long shot nod for Screenplay. But why rehash previous campaigns when what I want to do is stand up and cheer. Disney studio chairman Rich Ross was quoted in Deadline saying, "We decided this year we had the biggest and best reviewed film of the year. If not this year, and not this movie, when?" Damn straight.

Of course it's going to be an uphill battle. Even those supportive of the idea of an animated winner will likely be instinctively averse to picking a cartoon, especially when they can let the animation category serve as acknowledgement.

Then there will be those who flat out refuse to support an animated movie for Best Picture, seeing it as something that needs to stay seated at the kid's table while the grown-ups debate 127 Hours vs. The Way Back. If I can be less than scholarly for a minute let me just say this: Screw 'em.

Seriously. Screw 'em. If folks want to claim that beloved masterworks like Beauty and the Beast, Pinocchio, or Spirited Away would somehow spoil the rarified air occupied by movies like Crash and Driving Miss Daisy then who needs them. There is no logical argument to be made for excluding animation that doesn't boil down to plugging their ears, shaking their fist and shouting down reason.

Best Picture is about the movie that has the biggest impact on the audience. It's about which movie best succeeds in staking out a place in the public imagination.  It's about which movie is going to best stand the test of time as a testament to the power of the moving image. Whether or not those images are animated or not is beyond irrelevant.

Any argument that excludes Toy Story for being too childish would also leave out King Kong, Star Wars, or The Wizard of Oz as well. Any explanation as to why Up would be too fake would necessitate ruling out Avatar, Lord of the Rings, and Pan's Labyrinth with it. Movies are the product of so many levels of falseness and illusion that ruling out animation because it goes one step further is nonsense.

I feel like I'm wasting my time pointing out the illogic of excluding animation because it is so clearly a knee-jerk emotional reaction, not a sensible one. Saying animation shouldn't win is no different than saying comedy or horror or sci-fi shouldn't win. People keep ruling out fantastic films they consider "less than" and then they complain when the Oscars end up honoring middle-of-the-road snoozers like A Beautiful Mind year in, year out. At the end of the day a movie is the accumulated power of one shot placed next to the other and that's all.

Now I'm not convinced Toy Story 3 is the most deserving film of the year. My vote would lean towards Social Network at the moment. But if someone considers Pixar's film the highest cinematic achievement of 2010 then they should bloody well vote for it.

Unworthy?

And get this - It could win.  Anyone declaring it an impossibility is spouting hot air. You can say it's a long shot. You can say it's never happened before. You could say it's would be a shocker. But one thing you cannot say is that it can't happen. They said the same thing about fantasy, horror, and sequels. Everything is a rule until it's not. If people vote for it, it wins. That simple. And if enough Academy members decide they don't like being told what they will and won't do,  if they decide that, dammit, no film moved them as much, got to them as deeply, or simply gave them as much joy, then yes it will win. And if that happened 2010 would be one of the rare cases when movie lovers could look back and say, "Damn, the Academy sure knew what they were doing that year."

The Genius of Disney's Golden Age

The new Unsung Heroes column is up at The Film Experience. This week I'm paying tribute to Vladimir Tytla, the man who has legitimate claim to the title of "Best Animator in Movie History" If you ever smiled at the seven dwarves, cried at Dumbo, or been in awe of Fantasia's Night on Bald Mountain then you've experienced the work of this master. His name should be known by everyone who loves animation.

The End of Oscar Bait?

My week guest blogging at The Film Experience is over. It was a blast. Thanks to Nat for the opportunity. My last post just went up pondering if Uber-Oscar Bait like The King Speech has the power to steamroll the competition like it did ten or twenty years ago. It's a debatable point, I'd love to hear some feedback in the comments. Go check it out.

Notes From Film School: Pandora's Box

Exciting news, people. In what will be a recurring feature here on Serious Film, I have made contact with a student deep inside film school who has agreed to act as spy for our reading pleasure.

This promises to be an interesting experiment. Either we will be heartened to see the next generation proudly carrying the torch of film history or we will weep in dismay as we get a close up look at a new class of filmmakers dismissive of any movie released prior to Fight Club.

Either way, should be fun.

I received the first note from my source a few days ago, as our intrepid student dives into one of the undeniable greats of the silent era...

We recently watched Pandora’s Box by G.W. Pabst in my Narrative Cinema class. Most of the comments given post screening were negative, labeling Lulu (played by the captivating Louise Brooks) as a calculating and selfish character ready to use anyone and everyone around her. Comments on the film’s ending categorize her as “a drug... her death brought the liberation” of the men closest to her. Some went on to state that the demise of our flawed [anti] heroin, at the hand of none other than Jack the Ripper himself, did not come soon enough.

Yikes. So it seems we're going to start this series on a troubling note. I suppose I should be grateful that the complaints are at least based on the content on the film and not about the lack of synchronized dialogue and sound effects.

I suppose it was too much to hope that the class would throw their hats in the air in unanimous celebration of a masterpiece, but I would hope that a modern film class would at least be familiar with the idea of an anti-hero.

Not that there's not some truth to the charges leveled against Lulu. She is manipulative and selfish, no question. But it's baffling to me how one could classify her as unsympathetic as many in the class did. Considering this is a generation that grew up celebrating films like Goodfellas, There Will Be Blood, and Pulp Fiction - not to mention television like The Sopranos and The Wire - I wouldn't think that finding the humanity in a seemingly unlikable protagonist would be that big a hurdle.

Perhaps it's because even in 2010 the sympathetic female antihero is still a rare species. We've had Bonnie from Bonnie and Clyde and Thelma and Louise spring to mind and then...I'm already struggling. It does seem an unavoidable double standard the way female characters rarely get the privilege to be the lead and do wrong with abandon the way the guys do.

Our student continues:

While I can’t disagree about the selfishness of the character of Lulu I can’t help but feel a great deal of sympathy for her. Yes, she used anyone available to her but what seemed to get glossed over by most was the fact that she was being used equally. Most of the men drawn to her saw her as a commodity; something that can be used for pleasure, monetary gain or simply as a possession.    

I'm with the writer. I find it difficult to judge her though she is certainly guilty on any number of charges. At times during Pandora's Box I feel downright protective of Lulu who lacks the self-awareness to behave more honorably and the judgement to be more sensible. Maybe it's because she always seem to be behaving as well as she knows how, and that involves having fun and being merry as often as possible, consequences be damned. I've never been able to feel anything but sorry for Lulu when, as a viewer, I could foresee those dire consequences coming around the corner at her while she remained blissfully vulnerable.

Concerning the actress, Louise Brooks: Her portrayal of this character was not only beautifully done, her screen presence is unparalleled. One of my classmates compared her to Anne Hathaway, which I found to be incredibly reaching. The closest modern day comparison I can think to make is to Audrey Tautou. Even this comparison falls completely short. There is a power to her gaze that can bring men to their knees, on and off the screen.

It's encouraging that the class here recognizes the link between modern film acting and the great icons of the silent era, albeit with a misguided Anne Hathaway comparison. I recently wrote about the amazing star charisma of Brooks here. Few in film history are in her league.

But our intrepid film student raises an interesting question. If tomorrow Hollywood reverted back to silent filmmaking, which of today's stars would have the screen presence to survive without the aide of dialogue?

Setting the bar at Louise Brooks is setting it perilously high. Audrey Tautou is a great call, but I would put her more in the Lillian Gish school of ethereal beauty. Out of modern actresses I'd say The Dreamers' Eva Green has something of the dangerous erotic charge Brooks brought to the screen. And I imagine Amy Adams would have little trouble picking up all the sweetness and innocence roles that used to go to Mary Pickford.

As for the men, it's nearly impossible to think of a modern equivalent to the likes of Keaton and Chaplin. When it comes to their physical gifts of course Jim Carrey leaps to mind, but I think Steve Carell could might make go of it, sharing some of their innate sad clown likability. I have no doubt Hugh Jackman could step into the Douglas Fairbanks swashbuckler mold without missing a beat. In fact, I'm now going to start hoping such a project actually becomes a reality since it seems to me to be such a perfect fit.

When it comes to Valentino-esque heartthrobs I think Johnny Depp wouldn't be wanting for too much work in the second coming of the silent era as he's proved himself a gifted and graceful physical actor in films like Benny and Joon and Pirates. As far as Barrymore level dramatic powerhouses, Daniel Day Lewis already proved he could enthrall an audience without the aide of dialogue during the opening scenes of There Will Be Blood. Does anyone doubt he could do it for the length of feature?

Also of interest would be which behind the camera talent would thrive in the silent era. I've often thought James Cameron missed his calling as one of the greats of the silent era since he does spectacle and movement as well as anyone in the history of the business but he tends get tripped up by his clunky dialogue. Besides Cameron, what is Guillermo Del Toro but the modern equivalent of Lang and Murnau, spilling out his fevered imagination over the screen. Losing sync sound wouldn't slow him down for a minute.

That's all for this inaugural edition. Check back for further posts as our source passes us more insider information on the next generation of filmmakers and cinemaphiles.

Master of Anarchy

The new Unsung Heroes column is up at The Film Experience. This week we look at Leo McCarey the man behind the crazed comedic genius that is Duck Soup. It's understandably hard to get your due attention when you are working with the Marx Brothers. 

Busy Bee

I'm helping guest blog at The Film Experience all week, and I intend to have fun so everybody be sure to head over and check it out.

First up, in celebration of the 10th anniversary of Christopher Guest's Best in Show I pick my ten favorite lines. I have a somewhat skewed sense of humor so see if I chose any of your favorites, though you can rest assured Parker Posey made the cut.

On Hereafter and Cold Readers

My feelings about Eastwood's Hereafter are pretty mild. I don't think it's close to being the ham-fisted mess its biggest detractors see and I'm equally at a loss as to what in this persistently drab and lifeless movie has its cheerleaders doing backflips over the moon.

The only element of the film to get my blood up in any way is the decision to have Damon's tortured psychic speak in the patter of John Edwards-style cold readers. It may seem like a minor point, but it was a struggle to keep this from ruining the whole movie for me. Simply put, charlatans like Edwards and Sylvia Browne are the lowest of the low. Crooks who prey on the weak and grieving, they deserve to be put in the stockade in the town square and pelted with rotten fruit.

Hereafter goes to lengths to show Damon's character is genuine in his abilities and continually refuses money for his services, so why have him talk in the same bullshit question and answer form as these frauds? ("I'm getting June is important...Does June mean anything to you?") The fact that the film throws in some obviously fake psychics to show that they're out there doesn't get it off the hook either. All that does is send the message, "Hey, there are some phony psychics out there. Be sure to get yourself a good one." It was all a big distraction and a self-inflicted wound that the film could have easily avoided.

And while we're on the subject, I'm not buying this theory that is gaining popularity in certain circles that Hereafter never definitively claims there is an afterlife. Damon's character, this theory goes, is only reflecting the thoughts of his clients back to them. The French reporter only had an unexplainable dream when she was dead for a minute, but may not have necessarily crossed over.

I'm calling bullshit on this. While I'm sure one could probably come up with a practical explanation for every seemingly supernatural event in the movie, the film itself offers no contrary viewpoints. Peter Morgan's script even drops in a scientist to casually claim that there are mountains of scientific evidence proving the existence of the afterlife that are being suppressed by dark forces unknown.

The vast majority of audiences are never going to question the validity of the supernatural material for a second. These alternate theories ring strongly of intellectual film writers trying to justify their enjoyment of film that portrays beliefs and practices they know to be a lot of hogwash. It's like coming up with a theory claiming all the ghosts in The Sixth Sense are in Haley Joel's head. Nice theory, but it doesn't really reflect the movie, does it?

Fairy Tale Town

The new Unsung Heroes column is up over at The Film Experience. This week is a tribute to the cinematography of a film I may have watched more than any other in the past three years: Martin McDonagh's In Bruges. Not that In Bruges is the best film of recent years. It's just my current favorite fall back movie. You know, the one you end up rewatching when you should be getting around to that Netflix of the Jean Renoir film that's been gathering dust for three weeks.

What's your favorite go-to movie repeat viewings? Before In Bruges, other favorites of mine were Miller's Crossing or Master and Commander.

Troubling Signs of the Coming Robopocalypse

When it was announced that Spielberg's next project would be Robopocalypse, a sci-fi epic about a robot uprising, I think I had the same reaction most everyone else did: Seriously? Robopocalypse? I suppose next to Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and his upcoming The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn the title doesn't sound that ridiculous, and maybe we should all be grateful it's not eleven words long. But still, Robopocalypse sounds like a title a third grader came up with while smacking his action figures together and making explosion noises with his mouth.

I'm not as upset as some that this seems to be the final nail for his long-planned Lincoln biopic. I'd love to see Liam Neeson play the role as much as anybody, but I didn't think Spielberg was the man for that project. I feared he would try to pack the film full of over-the-top emotional crescendos when sobriety is called for, the way he did Amistad. Here's hoping that the project can pass to a director who is a better fit for the material. Tom Hooper or Peter Weir maybe.

What worries me is that this seems like a step towards joining his directorial peers in forsaking humanity to lock himself away and play with his tech toys for the rest of his career. Have you taken a long hard look at the sorry creative state of his contemporaries lately? Lucas is long gone, and it's looking less and less likely that we will ever get Zemeckis to stop unleashing his army of dead-eyed, animated pod people on the great works of literature. I'd hesitate to include Cameron on this list of lost boys, but the announcement of Avatars 2 & 3 suggests that he's following in Lucas's footsteps to wallow pointlessly in his own success for the next decade.

Spielberg may be hit (Minority Report) or miss (The Terminal) or both at the same time (War of the Worlds) but could any of the guys I mentioned put on the breezy charm of Catch Me If You Can or even attempt the complexity of Munich? Neither of those are perfect to be sure but they give off the sparks of a vital filmmaker at work.

So, while I admit it's silly to make judgements at this early stage, I take Robopocalypse as a cause for concern. Spielberg is too valuable a storyteller and too important a symbol of filmmaking for him to let his gift for emotional storytelling gather dust while he pursues the flashy lure of technology.

If there is any reason for optimism it's that he's poached hot TV talent Drew Goddard, writer on such shows as Lost and Buffy the Vampire, to do the screenplay. If any shows have shown an ability to infuse genre fare with humanity it's those. Maybe Spielberg is not tottering off into artistic irrelevance, but is enlisting one of the brightest young writers to help him take a run at young hotshots like JJ Abrams and Joss Whedon to remind them who's still the alpha dog. Here's hoping.

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