Do the Natural Thing

The violence seen in Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing was instigated just as much by the decreasing power that Blacks had over Bed-Stuy as by racism itself. Brooklyn was changing; and Stuyvesant Avcnue was coming with it. Various forces were changing the area to the disapproval of its existing residents; yuppies, coppers, Koreans, Italians. This disturbed the residents of the area not because of racism, but because they were losing the stronghold that they had held on the neighborhood -- Bed-Stuy had become part of the Black identity (not unlike Harlem or Bronzeville). This is the only way that Spike Lee and myself will agree. I can't be too sympathetic to a disgruntled customer; but it would be indeed silly to disregard a group seeking preservation of their culture. Roger Ebert knows very well why we all "just can't get along."

The Battle of Algiers simply reiterates the idea of the faceless enemy. Many of America's wars have been against uniformed men in column. Those conflicts are easily won. A minority of our battles, however. have been against guerillas; Vietnam, Somalia, et. cetera. We lost for a reason, there was no clear enemy. France lost Indochina and Algeria on the same basis. Who was Amer...er...France to shoot at? As the review claimed; in conflicts such as these, both sides lose something. It becomes a question of how long the opposing sides are willing to forgo that something. For the most part, Islamic nations are on a much longer chronology. They will inevitably maintain their fervor where industrialized states will not. That is where the clearest comparison to Iraq is made; we may remain in that nation for one year, or five, or twenty. Iraqis will stay there for ages. The day we leave their civil war will reignite. Then, it is only a matter of how long we are willing to maintain presence (and committ men and money) to something we will inevitably lose. We can win every battle and lose the war. Gen. Mathieu summarized it rather simply; this is a matter for the police, not the army.

Memento

Memento is a very noir film. It retains its femme fatale, urbanity and subject matter. These axioms are undebateable. On another level, however, the film is quasi-horror. It does not need monsters or chainsaw killers to achieve this. It is a psychological horror; and it causes its viewers to question what they perceive reality to be. What if man were a goldfish, lacking coherent memories? The film does not dwell on this; instead leaving it for outside thought. That proposition, however, is truly firghtening. It is something that can weigh on one's conscience; but it is near impossible to pretend to live in that manner. If we are to believe Teddy (I believe the film compells you to); the film in its entirity is a lie. Leonard should not be albe to trust himself any more than he trusts Teddy. The parameters of Lenny's existance are meaningless. When that is generalized, it becomes a horror in the truest sense.

Kiss Me Redly

It may be hard to find subcontext in many of the films noirs. The B films noirs are generally low-budget and superficial. Their plot is cheap, the acting subpar. Kiss Me Deadly is all of these things, but it does follow a path awry from the remainder of films in its genre and era. It hints at something deeper (in a rather awkward way). At first the film seems a common detective story. The plot endures in this manner for some time. Once the meaning is established, however, it can be quickly read as a political allegory for post-war America. The box ultimately contains a quasi-nuclear matter, and it consumes the curious. The plot, in hindsight, is convoluted and intangible. A viewer inevitably feels a certain unknown, something grander that is not revealed. This sentiment mirrors the unknown horrors of the nuclear age. The ending, then, proposes the final outcomes of those who choose to toy with this power.

The Los Angeles Factor

Double Indemnity becomes inseperable from its Los Angeles setting. It admittledly may have come at convenience, but it is the Los Angeles of yore which partly makes this film so compelling. Perhaps it is the L.A which was lost, ceded to growth. Perhaps it was the palms. The Los Angeles of Double Indemnity, however, departs from the modern city. There was a great dynamic in the various settings within L.A.. One could go from the urban office, to the bustling street corner and end at the Spanish abode up the canyon. This, when taken in its

entirity, becomes a grand foil for Double Indemnity. Mrs. Dietrichson's personality and circumstance mirrors her large, secluded home. Walter's role as a menial insurance man is matched by his apartment. The importance of Pacific All-Risk is reiterated by their towering offices. Most cities at the time of filming did not have this same dynamic. It would not have been the same in Chicago or New York.

The Groundhog Complex

Groundhog Day is widely considered a comedy. It is true that comedy is part of the film, probably even the largest part of that film. However, it is also deeply psychological. We see the progression of Phil's reactions and emotions. It grinds him to his core, (spoiler) only to ultimately leave him where he began (end spoiler) His rote memorization and timing of events. His growing nihilistic tendency as shown in the montage of his suicides. It changes his very persona. That said, these psychological meanderings juxtapose will with the comedy of Groundhog. This juxtaposition forces a viewer to consider the ramifications while allowing them a sort of escape from the realities of, and impetuses behind, those ramifications. While Phil still has daily social interactions, the repetitiveness of them leaves him in a position which is psychologically awry. This position is not foreign to creative works. It was famously envoked in The Twilight Zone. So take the laugh, enjoy the film, but process its secondary meaning.

Dredging Up Baby

Bringing Up Baby simply isn't a funny movie. it is intolerable, obsessant, and mocking. I honest to God wanted to walk out of the class. I cringed every time Hepburn opened her mouth. I do, however, think that my grandmother would find it funny. That brings me to my point. Humor changes generationally. My grandmother can watch physical comedy and air-headed blondes the the sun don't shine, but finds the magic of George Carlin crude and dry. Sure, these is always a classic form of comedy, but this surely isn't it. I think it is why the movie feels so old, distant and antiquified. It isn't the black and white, or the foreign actors, or even the depression-era Ford. It feels old because we don't laugh when it tries to be funny. We, I believe, mistake foreign for old. I causes an otherwise classic movie to seem distant. Baby is a museum to its form of comedy. The amateur Nostradamus would claim that the prototype of the juvenile/teen comedy will feel foreign as it too ages. It would be argued that the specialized form, over the classic, will not stand the test of the decades. When I am 80, I will know. So, I welcome you to join me for my follow-up article in 2070.

StyLeone

I wanted to comment on Sergio Leone's unique style of directorship. Like Once Upon a Time in the West, many of his movies run rather long in time. This use of time is quite unique. Actions are shown in realtime, the cut is used sparingly. Interestingly, a long running time does not imply an excess of dialogue. This is quite the juxtaposition. Leone is a master of expression, sound and other secondary means of storytelling. We see this in the opening scene at the train station with music, and the final shootout with an extreme close-up with expression. Overall, Leone seems fond of the epic feeling seen in his movies. Long play times, aggrandizing titles, timeless actors, et. cetera. They all create a substantial tone for his works.

The Potemkin

The Battleship Potemkin is certainly one of cinema's most loved films. The Odessa Step sequence has been analyzed by film students for decades. Eisenstein is a noted director mainly for his role in this film; and especially for the creation of one of the first instances of the montage. However, a far less cited aspect of the film is its censorship and reception. It should be noted that the film is, at the very least partially, based on historical fact. In light of this, we can understand the motives behind its censorship in so many nations.

The fact is, ``Potemkin'' doesn't really stand alone, but depends for its
power
upon the social situation in which it is shown. In prosperous
peacetime, it
is a curiosity. If it had been shown in China at the time of
Tiananmen Square, I
imagine it would have been inflammatory. (Ebert)

Eisenstein's film has been banned, at least during some point-in-time, in multiple European nations. Governments have considered the film revolutionary, subversive and propagandizing. To a great extent, it is. One would not be surprised then that initially, Potemkin was only seen by a select few. It was not released to the public at large.

Battleship Potemkin, one of the most renowned films in the history of cinema and
containing perhaps the best known sequence in the medium's entire history, was
initially seen only by small audiences of film society aficionados and trade
unionists. (Grace)

Frankly speaking, the power of this film has little bearing in the modern eye. Surely, one can be taken by the power of revolutionary sentiments or the sight of soldiers mowing civilians. However, it is near impossible to see the gall that went in to the film. America can say and see the underlying purpose of The Battleship Potemkin, but we cannot feel it. That may sound pretentious, but the fact that it is out of cultural and political context is undeniable.

But it suffers when it is seen apart from its context (just as ``The Graduate,''
by striking the perfect note for 1967, strikes a dated note now). It needs the
right audience. (Ebert)

These set of facts do not detract from the power of Eisenstein’s work. On the converse, they make it more powerful. It is something perpetually elusive, a study not only of early film, but of early politics and censorship. It is ironic that so famous a film almost never made it off the floor.

It begs two questions, in my estimate. What else has been lost to the black pen and red tape? Furthermore: Why is this film treasured? Certainly, it is timeless in its progressive cinematics; but is it also remembered for controversy? It certainly would not be the first time.

The Battleship Potemkin (1925)

Battleship Potemkin

The End of the Frontier

In My Darling Clementine, the church bell scene summarizes an important aspect of the film. We see the end of the wild west, and the crude, frontier civilization. The latter is also represented by Mr. Thorndike and the theater productions. The fact, however, remains that the church is unfinished and the production is canceled when Mr. Thorndike doesn't show up. Mr. Thorndike relies on Doc to continue his recitation of McBethThis represents a backlash against civilization, and the fight between frontiersmen and homesteaders. The actual shots of the church contrast with the Arizona mountains and the desert scenes. It represents the introduction of settelers and shows how they have only begun to tame the landscape. Other symbols of the East include Clementine, the barber's cologne, the church bells, Doc's diploma, et. cetera. In my opinion, it is an important theme of the film that is never addressed outright. In that way, it begs interpretation and analyzation.

Paradoxical Pan's Labyrinth

Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth is a film which beautifully combines surrealistic qualities and historical fact. This combination is almost paradoxical, but the two factors work in unison (not against themselves, as something a director less apt at his profession may have filmed). The general story revolves around the trials of a young girl (Ivana Baquero) after the Spanish Civil War. Her mother (Ariadna Gil) ill, and her Captain stepfather (Sergi Lopez) distrustful of her, the young Ofelia partakes in various acts and tests for a mythical faun (Doug Jones). Ofelia completes three of these trials while her external world disintegrates under powers that she cannot understand. The surrealistic aspects serve to both portray the meanderings of a child and to foil the very real events of wartime Spain. The story continues in the two distinct and aforementioned patterns (the real and the surrealistic) and del Toro cuts seamlessly between the two. His film then, is able to provide large doses of fantasy without seeming illusional. Even the literary qualities and cinematics of del Toro’s work mirrors this idea. The dialogue of Pan’s Labyrinth is foundational and realistic, while the color is a peculiar concoction of sepia and technicolor. Pan’s Labyrinth juxtaposes something as jovial as a child’s bath with something as gratuitously violent as the smashing of a peasant’s face. In this way, del Toro toys with the emotional state of his viewers. We are repulsed by violence and war, only to be drawn back by the innocence of, and concern for, a child. The actors and actresses of Pan’s Labyrinth maintain their convincing performance throughout the film. In the case of General Vidal, this is quite disturbing. Perhaps this is why he is consistently portrayed in a dark light (both figuratively and literally). The greatness of the acting is in part, due to seemingly inherent talent. However, costume designers, graphics men and make-up artists should also take credit for this feat. The cinematics of Pan’s Labyrinth should be noted. Scenes important to the plot, generally, are longer. Close-ups are relegated to highlight particularly important scenes and events (The nymph fly, or the final shot of Ophelia, for instance). The screenplay was written by del Toro after the fundamental idea solidified in his mind for over a decade. As with so many other great works of art, it seems that Pan’s Labyrinth’s greatness could only come of this period of refinement and thought. The film, like few others, caters to an array of emotions that leaves any viewer yearning for more. Pan’s Laybrinth is wholly deserving of its multiple rewards and recognitions, and it is wholly deserving of yours.

Super, Bad

I finally did it, I caved and went to see Superbad. Contrary to common reaction, it was not a great movie. Sure, it didn't fail, and it get quite a few good laughs out of me. Any movie, though, can go on sophomoric banter. The laughs were genuine, but not because the movie was well written. I can't say I pity myself, because I had a premonition of this before I saw it. No matter how I tried to tell myself that this teen box-office-predictable comedy of a movie was different, it wasn't. I knew what my reaction would be. I feel for their trap again, damn it. My reaction leaves me with a profound question. How am I tricked into seeing a movie I know is bad? I am not by nature some lemur, but I did it again. Surely there is some psychologist in Los Angeles who is paid six figures to lure unsuspecting Midwestern teens into these movies. It actually seems to be a peculiar phenomenon in our culture. That same shrink in Los Angeles must also work for NBC, CBS, ABC, Columbia, FOX and Sony. (busy guy) How else could 300 million people be so captivated by American Idol singers, or Britney Spears' obvious mental decay? (It better be manipulation, the alternatives are even worse.) I hope those Los Angelinos feel better about themselves now that they have robbed me of $8 and 90 minutes. I can get back neither. I suppose there is always the next movie to get my mind off such silly thoughts.

EBERT GOES NOSTALGIC

Ebert goes nostalgic. In his review of Cabiria he reminds us of another era, and how that era is preserved. Ebert tells of the work which went into the filming of the movie.

The film was made with limitless scope and ambition, with towering sets and
thousands of extras, with stunts that (because they were actually performed
by
stuntmen) have an impact lost in these days of visual effects. Hannibal's
elephants actually cross the Alps in this movie. But there is room for the
tiny
detail; in an early scene, the foreground action takes place before an
imposing
palace wall.

Cabiria is not important because of the film itself, rather its importance within the development of cinema. It becomes a transition between antiquity and epic. The effort put into the film's restoration is focused upon.

here was the original film, compiled from prints found in Moscow, Paris,
London, New York and Pastrone's estate, and restored to within three minutes of
its original running time.

Ebert even remarks to those directors to whom this movie influenced: Griffith, DeMille. I found it curious to how a 1914 film influenced one made the next year. It is either a lie or a testament to the speed with which early film morphed into what can be recognized as modern. I pass no judgement either way. This thought also seems to be generalizable of Ebert's feelings toward the historic archive of cinema. Ebert notes the absence of close-ups within the movie, in my opinion due to the quality or ability of the camera. This quip of information reaffirms Ebert's thesis. The structure of the review is also of note. The outline of plot is not mentioned until the end of the piece, taking emphasis off what I suspect would be a rather complex and dry subject matter. Again, that was not the intent when Ebert called our intention to the film.

Ebert concludes, intangibly, by alluding to some Russian doll model of age; an old movie depicting an old subject. The silence of the medium leaves him dreamier and more subject to the whim of time and thought. I agree.

That leaves me, I suppose, with the necessary explanation of my title. I say it with no kindness. Ebert, holistically, seems to be somewhat enamored with the idea of a silent film. He says how awestruck he is by the scale of the sets, the number of extras, the authenticity of the stunts. The euphoria that a film critic will experience studying various aspects of early cinematography, Edwardian actors and pre-war stunts does not apply to the interest of people at large. In this way, Ebert puts film on an inaccessible pedestal to a great mass of consumers. This is not to be the "contrarian". I agree with the points made about its historic importance, preservation, et. cetera. Weather intended or not, the review here becomes pretentious.