Jim Jarmusch films typically weave skeins of dark and quiet with musical threads in the weft. He allows time. The Only Lovers Left Alive redefines dark, quiet, time (and potentially music) by depicting a very long term conversation, an undying love.
Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston are two stylish, sophisticated vampires, married to one another and deeply conversational for centuries. They don't always reside in the same location. After all, they have had, and will have (with care), millennia to explore being together and apart. Their longevity is much due to passionate interests in literature, music and one another. They are inspired to continue because life is worth living.
I could not take my eyes from this film for a second. The exquisitely low lighting, rich fabrics, visual texture, shiny eyes, and elastic slow moments are enchanting. The dance of time and love as extended over long experience is languorously and intelligently observed. There is wry insight and sharp humor.
The original soundtrack, plus Detroit classics, paces the film perfectly. Literary and musical references amuse and abound. Tilda dancing in her moth eaten robes to "Trapped by a Thing Called Love" has an immortality all its own.
The beautiful script (by Jarmusch, of course), the cast, vision and sound make this a delicious neo-Gothic swoon. How can I join this rather exclusive vampire club? Like the stylish vampires depicted, I have had it with the zombies.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Saturday, January 11, 2014
American Hustle
There is a joyous thrilling complexity to American Hustle that is nearly unknown in current cinema. David O. Russell directs. He co-wrote the smart and sure script with Eric Singer. During the entire compelling, tight wire dance, character credibility remains consistent, albeit marvelously layered. The ensemble cast carries this off with astonishing skill.
Christian Bale engages and endears even through tinted aviators and a randomly elaborate comb over. And now, I must digress into the hair. There is said comb over, with glued hair piece; a pompadour; the coke-head's obsessive tiny rollers; hair piled and streaked; tresses curled and crimped. Hair deserves a credit in this film, as it is practically a character.
Amy Adams plays a sharp bright beam of coppery intention. Bradley Cooper gets to go bright eyed as the intensely manic wild card. Jennifer Lawrence plays the wily shimmering goddess of chaos to perfection. You may never hear "Live and Let Die" the same way again, or be able to dust the house without it.
The use of music is both flawless and memorable, a rare combination. Camera work manages to be intimate without being intrusive. There is humor, but not at anyone's expense. There is tenderness, but suggested not indulged. There is a confidence in connections between humans and all the complexity that connection involves and reveals.
See it for the hair, the humor, the hustle. Just see it.
Christian Bale engages and endears even through tinted aviators and a randomly elaborate comb over. And now, I must digress into the hair. There is said comb over, with glued hair piece; a pompadour; the coke-head's obsessive tiny rollers; hair piled and streaked; tresses curled and crimped. Hair deserves a credit in this film, as it is practically a character.
Amy Adams plays a sharp bright beam of coppery intention. Bradley Cooper gets to go bright eyed as the intensely manic wild card. Jennifer Lawrence plays the wily shimmering goddess of chaos to perfection. You may never hear "Live and Let Die" the same way again, or be able to dust the house without it.
The use of music is both flawless and memorable, a rare combination. Camera work manages to be intimate without being intrusive. There is humor, but not at anyone's expense. There is tenderness, but suggested not indulged. There is a confidence in connections between humans and all the complexity that connection involves and reveals.
See it for the hair, the humor, the hustle. Just see it.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Inside Llewyn Davis
The typically inscrutable Coen brothers give us this shaggy dog tale in which the cat wags the tail, little is revealed, and Homer via the Old Testament reigns supreme. Cue the Coen views of heavy deities and wry dry humor.
The content and composition of this story are at curiously wry odds. Although the title suggests we will comprehend the inner workings of said Llewyn Davis, provided insights are peripheral and momentary. It's like Groundhog Day with Homer in charge, many deities behind desks, and portents of gloom.
Sepia tones and winter light inform the journeys depicted over several days in pre-feminist, pre-AIDS, pre Vietnam conflict protests in 1961 NYC. Our hero is quite short of heroic, and nears Job in his troubles, mostly self inflicted. Poor choices by our protaganist abound.
Production design and cinematography are as usual superb. T.Bone Burnett oversees the music with reliable skill.
There are quietly humorous moments: John Goodman as an obese jazz musician with extra chins and a deplorable hair piece gives a deliciously distracting rant. Llewyn's manager and his manager's short elderly secretary have an amusing interchange worthy of Woody Allen. F.Murray Abraham plays folk music impressario Bud Grossman with grave still seriousness. We wait for Dylan to appear on the scene, and he does, briefly, in background visuals and sound. The future obviously does not include Llewyn Davis.
Whatever the pointlessness points to eludes me. Although I left the film dissatisfied, various details and scenes continued to unfurl in my brain.
The cat was very well played.
The content and composition of this story are at curiously wry odds. Although the title suggests we will comprehend the inner workings of said Llewyn Davis, provided insights are peripheral and momentary. It's like Groundhog Day with Homer in charge, many deities behind desks, and portents of gloom.
Sepia tones and winter light inform the journeys depicted over several days in pre-feminist, pre-AIDS, pre Vietnam conflict protests in 1961 NYC. Our hero is quite short of heroic, and nears Job in his troubles, mostly self inflicted. Poor choices by our protaganist abound.
Production design and cinematography are as usual superb. T.Bone Burnett oversees the music with reliable skill.
There are quietly humorous moments: John Goodman as an obese jazz musician with extra chins and a deplorable hair piece gives a deliciously distracting rant. Llewyn's manager and his manager's short elderly secretary have an amusing interchange worthy of Woody Allen. F.Murray Abraham plays folk music impressario Bud Grossman with grave still seriousness. We wait for Dylan to appear on the scene, and he does, briefly, in background visuals and sound. The future obviously does not include Llewyn Davis.
Whatever the pointlessness points to eludes me. Although I left the film dissatisfied, various details and scenes continued to unfurl in my brain.
The cat was very well played.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Blue Jasmine
Blue Jasmine, Woody Allen's homage to and update of Tennesse Williams' " A Streetcar Named Desire", is his finest, most well written and constructed film in many years. Cate Blanchett as Jasmine deserves not only an Oscar but every possible prize for a complex and deeply credible depiction of a woman de-laminating into personal chaos. She manages, with a terrific script, to evoke sympathy, horror, dismay, disgust and sadness, often all in a single scene. Her mad soliloquies set a new standard for depiction of complete meltdowns in a world gone wrong.
The script deftly examines the complexity of human relationships without flinching from areas of class conflicts, self concepts gone awry, and the current economic divides. Woody Allen has taken a classic piece of American theater into present day with moments of wry humor and an intelligent sense of tragedy.
Sally Hawkins as Ginger, Jasmine's sister in tragedy from another viewpoint, plays her character with nuance and subtle expression. Ginger has strength as a struggling single mother that Jasmine, a fallen Park Avenue matron, both mocks and seeks. The scenes between the two of them resonate deeply.
All supporting cast members are wonderful: Peter Saarsgard, Alec Baldwin, Andrew Dice Clay and Bobby Cannavale.
Not a wrong note is sounded. Set design, costume choices, music, camera movement are all in tune for a story that hits all the beats with near perfection.
Woody Allen produces a film annually to maintain his own tenuous sanity. I would happily endure his less than fine efforts of recent years for a film of this depth and skill every decade.
The script deftly examines the complexity of human relationships without flinching from areas of class conflicts, self concepts gone awry, and the current economic divides. Woody Allen has taken a classic piece of American theater into present day with moments of wry humor and an intelligent sense of tragedy.
Sally Hawkins as Ginger, Jasmine's sister in tragedy from another viewpoint, plays her character with nuance and subtle expression. Ginger has strength as a struggling single mother that Jasmine, a fallen Park Avenue matron, both mocks and seeks. The scenes between the two of them resonate deeply.
All supporting cast members are wonderful: Peter Saarsgard, Alec Baldwin, Andrew Dice Clay and Bobby Cannavale.
Not a wrong note is sounded. Set design, costume choices, music, camera movement are all in tune for a story that hits all the beats with near perfection.
Woody Allen produces a film annually to maintain his own tenuous sanity. I would happily endure his less than fine efforts of recent years for a film of this depth and skill every decade.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
The Grandmaster
I have been eager to see The Grandmaster. I enjoy director Wong Kar Wai's stylized moodiness, Tony Leung's handsome and inscrutable half smile, and film version kung fu fighting. Kung fu looks like ballet with impact to me, and with lots of potential chaos to boot.
Despite all the feet featured, including a fighter with bound feet, the film falls short of finding reliable footing. Nonetheless, the visuals are gorgeous, with all the noir detail and painterly composition. Other than a single beautiful scene on a snowy spring day, the conditions are always dark and rainy. The puddles provide plenty of reflective surfaces, lamp light makes faces glow, and the slow motion splashes become music video cinematic.
The fight scenes are exquisitely choreographed by the kung fu film master Woo Ping Yuen. One fight adjacent to a still train that begins moving with increasing speed behind the action seems to bring the very concept of time under question. Alterations in film speed for the fight scenes demand focus and suspension of disbelief. When "real time" resumes, our perceptions are changed.
The music is, suitably, often operatic. The percussion of fists and feet become their own tonal soundtrack. Language alternates between 2 dialects: Mandarin for the northern kung fu groups, Cantonese for the southern. The dialect variation adds texture to character depiction; listen for the shifts.
Tony Leung and ZiYi Zhang are lovely to watch as they linger in stillness then erupt into action. Of course, this is Wong Kar Wai writing and directing, so love is bittersweet, defeats multiply like raindrops, and even the dead are beautiful.
The thematic footing of The Grandmaster seem a bit operatically bound even when the visuals soar. Time is disjointed, seasons jump sequence, actions begin with a glance, and then we have the rise and fall of historical events. It's a leap to keep up and make sense of much of this. Perhaps that is his intention, to keep us moving while we wonder.
Despite all the feet featured, including a fighter with bound feet, the film falls short of finding reliable footing. Nonetheless, the visuals are gorgeous, with all the noir detail and painterly composition. Other than a single beautiful scene on a snowy spring day, the conditions are always dark and rainy. The puddles provide plenty of reflective surfaces, lamp light makes faces glow, and the slow motion splashes become music video cinematic.
The fight scenes are exquisitely choreographed by the kung fu film master Woo Ping Yuen. One fight adjacent to a still train that begins moving with increasing speed behind the action seems to bring the very concept of time under question. Alterations in film speed for the fight scenes demand focus and suspension of disbelief. When "real time" resumes, our perceptions are changed.
The music is, suitably, often operatic. The percussion of fists and feet become their own tonal soundtrack. Language alternates between 2 dialects: Mandarin for the northern kung fu groups, Cantonese for the southern. The dialect variation adds texture to character depiction; listen for the shifts.
Tony Leung and ZiYi Zhang are lovely to watch as they linger in stillness then erupt into action. Of course, this is Wong Kar Wai writing and directing, so love is bittersweet, defeats multiply like raindrops, and even the dead are beautiful.
The thematic footing of The Grandmaster seem a bit operatically bound even when the visuals soar. Time is disjointed, seasons jump sequence, actions begin with a glance, and then we have the rise and fall of historical events. It's a leap to keep up and make sense of much of this. Perhaps that is his intention, to keep us moving while we wonder.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Lincoln
Lincoln, directed by Steven Spielberg, with screenplay by Tony Kushner, depicts "honest Abe" (brilliantly portrayed by Daniel Day Lewis) during the push to ratify the 13th Amendment in 1865. Delivered in a gorgeously somber and subdued palette with sepia emphasis, Lincoln toggles between elated hagiography and serious historical detail. And although Spielberg interferes in his usual manner by telling us how to feel (with John Williams as his annoying musical sidekick), the combination of an intelligent, witty and heartfelt script, superb casting, and Daniel Day Lewis' deep, warm and wise portrayal makes for a very compelling and intriguing film.
Daniel Day Lewis is lit in nearly the same manner in every scene, so that both his halo and his humanity are easily and consistently perceived. ( Janusz Kaminski is, once again, Spielberg's highly skilled DP) Domestic interactions with Mary Todd Lincoln (a very touching Sally Field) are lit more brightly or kept in near darkness. Daniel Day Lewis towers and shrinks, murmurs and pounds, cajoles, convinces, jokes and soothes. Could a President really have been this kind and wise? I think we all hope so, and if not, it is a myth worth imitating.
A subplot of Lincoln's relationship with his son Robert is an unfortunate distraction that adds nothing to our comprehension of either Lincoln or his times. And, as is typical with Spielberg, the film is about 20 minutes longer than it needs to be, with an ending that appears tacked on and merely gilds the lily. Still, this is an impressive portrait of a President who, embattled from within and without, managed to hew to a course that changed the future of our nation, and offers perspective for our continuing conversations of race, rights, balance of power and humanity.
Daniel Day Lewis is lit in nearly the same manner in every scene, so that both his halo and his humanity are easily and consistently perceived. ( Janusz Kaminski is, once again, Spielberg's highly skilled DP) Domestic interactions with Mary Todd Lincoln (a very touching Sally Field) are lit more brightly or kept in near darkness. Daniel Day Lewis towers and shrinks, murmurs and pounds, cajoles, convinces, jokes and soothes. Could a President really have been this kind and wise? I think we all hope so, and if not, it is a myth worth imitating.
A subplot of Lincoln's relationship with his son Robert is an unfortunate distraction that adds nothing to our comprehension of either Lincoln or his times. And, as is typical with Spielberg, the film is about 20 minutes longer than it needs to be, with an ending that appears tacked on and merely gilds the lily. Still, this is an impressive portrait of a President who, embattled from within and without, managed to hew to a course that changed the future of our nation, and offers perspective for our continuing conversations of race, rights, balance of power and humanity.
The Hobbit
If there is a Dwarf Anti-Defamation League, they are likely girding their legal loins sons of Gloins for The Hobbit, in which dwarves are depicted as greedy grudge-holding guys with bulbous noses and extravagantly bad hair. Their leader, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage, the film's obvious choice of heart throb), breaks the aesthetic mold by sporting a normally sized schnozz, and hair that responds to grime as though dirt is a styling product. The bulbous bad hair bunch, meanwhile, resist individual identification, and would benefit from names like Grumpy, Stumpy and Dumpy. Middle Earth could do with some shampoo and a few name tags.
So here we have a wee, small book (The Hobbit) swollen and bloated with back story, future story, swirling aerial time filling camera work, and stirring music that does not substance make. In other words, the studios have plumped for a blockbuster. Be gone nuance and comprehensible narrative! Get ready for thrills and spills and Indiana Jones in Middle Earth. For goodness sake, I read the entire book at age 12 in a day. The film requires 3/4 of an hour before Bilbo even leaves Bag End!
Yes, there are some memorable sequences. The three trolls/stooges with culinary aspirations and cannibal preferences offer humorous relief, although the scene is muddied beyond the source material's relative simplicity. The Gollum and Bilbo meeting has more nuance than any scene in the film, and more pathos. It is a shame that the 48 frames per second film technique distracts with unnecessary detail from this crucial conversation. I would far rather attend to Bilbo and Gollum than admire the textures of every damn pebble in the cave. And, it is fun to be back in Rivendale for some time, given that Elves are less melodrama driven than the dwarves. What Galadriel is doing in this scene is a question I will leave to the story bloating experts. My guess is all the faves from LOTR will show up in the Hobbit trilogy by hook or by crook.
Wargs chasing Radagast in a cart pulled by wily wabbits just begs for Looney Tunes music. Well, Warner Brothers is one of the studios for The Hobbit, and I guess that if caves of goblins begin to pale, a cartoon reference might entice.
Mostly, Peter Jackson has drifted into the Spielberg method of melodrama: heart stopping escapes that, after many repetitions, dull the pleasure of production quality. The Lord of the Rings had a basic moral underpinning, without the complication of much character development. The Hobbit mixes greed for gold with righteousness and glory. Not a combination of motivations I personally want to endorse, and seemingly reflective of the studio's interest in, well, piles of gold.
At least there is a glimpse of that greedy great gold lover Smaug, surely a teaser for two more plot-padded films to come.
So here we have a wee, small book (The Hobbit) swollen and bloated with back story, future story, swirling aerial time filling camera work, and stirring music that does not substance make. In other words, the studios have plumped for a blockbuster. Be gone nuance and comprehensible narrative! Get ready for thrills and spills and Indiana Jones in Middle Earth. For goodness sake, I read the entire book at age 12 in a day. The film requires 3/4 of an hour before Bilbo even leaves Bag End!
Yes, there are some memorable sequences. The three trolls/stooges with culinary aspirations and cannibal preferences offer humorous relief, although the scene is muddied beyond the source material's relative simplicity. The Gollum and Bilbo meeting has more nuance than any scene in the film, and more pathos. It is a shame that the 48 frames per second film technique distracts with unnecessary detail from this crucial conversation. I would far rather attend to Bilbo and Gollum than admire the textures of every damn pebble in the cave. And, it is fun to be back in Rivendale for some time, given that Elves are less melodrama driven than the dwarves. What Galadriel is doing in this scene is a question I will leave to the story bloating experts. My guess is all the faves from LOTR will show up in the Hobbit trilogy by hook or by crook.
Wargs chasing Radagast in a cart pulled by wily wabbits just begs for Looney Tunes music. Well, Warner Brothers is one of the studios for The Hobbit, and I guess that if caves of goblins begin to pale, a cartoon reference might entice.
Mostly, Peter Jackson has drifted into the Spielberg method of melodrama: heart stopping escapes that, after many repetitions, dull the pleasure of production quality. The Lord of the Rings had a basic moral underpinning, without the complication of much character development. The Hobbit mixes greed for gold with righteousness and glory. Not a combination of motivations I personally want to endorse, and seemingly reflective of the studio's interest in, well, piles of gold.
At least there is a glimpse of that greedy great gold lover Smaug, surely a teaser for two more plot-padded films to come.
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