O' Brother Where Art Thou?

Joel and Ethan Coen’s O’ Brother Where Art Thou? (2000) further reinforces their established stylistic leanings. It mirrors the juxtaposition between reality and tall-tale which is so flawlessly mastered in the Coen’s works.
Their setting is rooted deeply in preconceived notions of the Depression-era South.

The film is a Homeric journey through Mississippi during the Depression--or rather, through all of the images of that time and place that have been trickling down through pop culture ever since.

This becomes a backdrop for the journeys of Everett, Pete and Delmar. The setting always maintains its position in the forefront of the viewers’ conscience. This characteristic is otherwise seen in Raising Arizona, Fargo and No Country for Old Men. It is a unifying idea in a film which often leaves viewers numb with confusion.
It is especially important to note the role of bluegrass music in the film. It becomes more than a soundtrack. Music becomes part of the plot as it became part of living in that region of America. It is so heavily intertwined with the plot that it influences the characters and actions of the film.
The film’s colors are intentionally and purposefully altered form their reality. The alteration of coloration removes the film from a blatant reality; it becomes more of a tale, a piece of folklore.
Roger Ebert’s contention that the film left the viewer confused is odious.

All of these scenes are wonderful in their different ways, and yet I left the movie uncertain and unsatisfied. I saw it a second time, admired the same parts, left with the same feeling.

The film tells the story not from a myopic view, but as a segment of one group’s experience. Although this experience is stylized, the discombobulating method in which the story is told grounds the film in some semblance of reality. As the clip shows, the individual scenes add to little unless seen as part of a “segment”. It also reiterates the heavily stylized manner in which the film is produced.
While setting and music are controlled constants in O’ Brother Where Art Thou, the addition of hued color tones and seemingly unrelated events creates a film rich in details and intricacies.

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20001229/REVIEWS/12290301/1023

Regionalism

The Coen Borthers, like no other director that I have seen, make use of the regional and cultural setting of their films. The plot of Fargo could have taken place in any number of locations, however the Minnesota setting accentuates this plot. As Minneapolis natives, they are quite aware of the cultural tendencies of their home state. This is most obviously apparent with the Scandinavian linguistics, but culture also propels many of the characters on a much more personal level. This is seen in characters such as Marge as well as the much more minor Mike Yanagita. No Country for Old Men would be unimaginable in any location outside of the Southwest. Texas drawls, desert motels and border drug runners make the film what it is. All of these markers of regionalism are highlighted by the cinematic style of the Coen Borthers.

Nashville

I am, for this post, going to take a risky position. I am going to defend (to the highest of my abilities) Nashville. The lack of a coherent plot is often point for disdain, so is the ubiquity of country music (this latter point I must concede). The beauty of the film, however, lies in the fact that it imparted its themes and ideas in the absence of complex story lines. Like Altman's later film Short Cuts, it is a sum of its parts. In fact, these ideas reflect Altman's improvisitional style. Once it is established that there are more characters than a bakers' dozen, try taking in the film without trying to make sense of it all. Resign yourself to confusion. Only with that clear state of mind can a member of the audience begin to see Nashville for its wisdom.

Kurodrama

Akira Kurosawa seems fond of epic films. At least he is fond of films with profound themes and messages. It is a shame, then, that Kurosawa is so overly dramatic in his films. Many analyze the use of weather and how it highlights scenes and heightens effect. Many directors have done so to great effect. However, Nebraska sized gusts blowing down the feudal streets of Japan is nothing but a distraction. Stray Dog does not need to remind us of the heat at constant intervals throughout the film, it is partonizing. The issue hardly ends with Kurosawa's depitction of weather. It grows to influence effects such as blood. This is especially evident in Ran. Kurosawa spent a million and a half dollars to build the set of a Japanese castle, only to burn it down. That shows a great level in care in the creation of cinema. It baffles me, then, why blood would be depicted by fire truck colored spray paint. The old idiom "the Devil is in the detail" comes to mind.

The Purple Rose of Cairo

For the last of the director posts, I lack a specific theme or thread to write about. Thus, you will probably be as bored with this post as I was with the final film in the project. The Purple Rose of Cairo was released in 1985. After the other Allen films that I have seen, this film was not to par. It was a movie where the idea was cute (at best), and the execution didn't save it. The main character literally walks off the movie screen of an old Depression-era theater in New Jersey. A blase romance blossoms with a woman who leaves her abusive, Depression-era husband. It seemed a departure from the quality of Allen's other films (although this film won a plethora of awards and acclaim). The major characters did not have the wit that I so appreciated in Annie Hall or Bananas. There was nothing unique about the plot besides the "cute" idea on which the film is based. I suppose that I all I have to say. The Purple Rose of Cairo doesn't leave me with alot of material.

Hitchcock

The Hitchcock post is going to be a superficial one. His work from the 1950s and 60s seems horribly dated. Not because of the setting or characters (I actually found that to be captivating); but because of the cinematic techniques which he used in his films of this era. You see it in the dream scenes from Vertigo, and the flashbulb scene from Rear Window. Did Mr. Hitchcock think that technicolor cellophane light filters would look cool? The floating heads? The mannequin silohuiettes? The floral bouquet in the following clip is reminiscent of what (I imagine, of course) an acid trip would look like. After the clip from The Birds was played, the cheap theatrics was a common critique of that film. Why would you take what would otherwise be flawless films and do that to them? Editing fifty years ago was invariably harder, but I have seen it done very successfully by many other directors. Damnit Alfred.

For this post, I'm going somewhat nostalgic (albeit for a time which I do not recollect). I wanted to speak to the intelligence level of film. Woody Allen is a master of dialogue. Unlike more contemporary films, Allen does not feel it necessary to create physical action to create the action of his films. Love or hate, films such as Annie Hall rely upon a myriad allusions, witty quips and absurd dialogues. The end result is a movie which necessitates a certain level of aptitude to enjoy. Instead of falling to the median level of its viewers, it challenges them to rise to Allen's much higher level. Ebert, in his 2002 review of the film, comments on this sadly unique form and how it is created.

Because "Annie Hall" moves so quickly, is so fresh and alive, we may not notice how long
some of Allen's takes are. He famously likes to shoot most scenes in master
shots with all of the actors onscreen all of the time, instead of cutting on
every line of dialogue. The critic David Bordwell has an illuminating
article in
the Spring 2002 issue of Film Quarterly that points out that
Allen's average
shot length (ASL) ranges high: 22 seconds for "Manhattan"
and 35.5 seconds for "Mighty
Aphrodite." Bordwell tells me "Annie
Hall" has an ASL of 14.5 seconds (he says other 1977 films he clocked had an
ASL of from 4 to 7 seconds). By comparison, the recent film "Armageddon"
has an ASL of 2.3 seconds, a velocity that arguably makes intelligent
dialogue
impossible.
Alvy and Annie take a sly delight in their
conversational skill;
they're attracted to each other not by pheromones but
by pacing. In the first
conversation they have, after meeting as tennis
partners, they fall naturally
into verbal tennis:

Alvy: You want a
lift
Annie: Oh, why? Uh, you got a car?
Alvy: No, I was going to take a
cab.
Annie: Oh, no. I have a car.
Alvy: You have a car? I don't
understand. If you have a car, so then why did you say, 'Do you have a car?'
like you wanted a lift?
Annie: I don't, I don't, geez, I don't know. I
wasn't. ...I got this VW out there. (To herself) 'What a jerk, yeah. Would you
like a lift?'
Alvy: Sure. Which way you goin'?
Annie: Me? Oh, downtown.
Alvy: Down ... I'm going uptown.
Annie: Oh well, you know I'm going
uptown too.
Alvy: You just said you were going downtown.
Annie: Yeah,
well, but I could ..

To begin his essay, Ebert commented on how Annie Hall hearlded the end of an era for him. How after this film, Hollywood saw the dawn of the blockbuster. I think that the idea of this divides film into two distinct arenas: films that enlighten and films that blindly entertain. While the latter still exists, it comes less and less from Hollywood. Perhaps there is a breaking point, when Hollywood will see the error in its ways. Perhaps not. It depends on the cultural tendencies of the audience. What they seek in their two hour allotment. Contemporary trends are against me.

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20020512/REVIEWS08/205120301/1023

http://youtube.com/watch?v=rrxlfvI17oY&feature=related