Like Anna Karina's Sweater

He's making a list. . .

Filmbrain apologizes for the paucity of posts lately -- he's been on a quest to catch up with the remaining films from 2004, esepcially those that might have had a shot at landing on his Top Ten list of the year. In the past few days, he saw Kinsey (harmless, but flat), The Life Aquatic (Anderson should go back to making smaller movies -- he does them so well), The Aviator (a really good film, just not a really good Scorsese film), The Woodsman (disappointing), Beyond the Sea (yikes!), Closer (wow!), and a bunch of films on DVD that he missed theatrically, including the film that's on almost everybody's list -- Before Sunset. The rest of the time, he has been reading everybody else's Top Ten list, and finding it harder and harder to comprehend how people can rank Million Dollar Baby as the best film of the year. Filmbrain is at the point of desperation -- seriously. Would anybody be willing to take the time to explain to him how this film is anything more than a cliché ridden Lifetime movie-of-the-week with cringe-inducing dialog? To point out what in the film is even remotely original, new, fresh, etc? Jonathan Rosenbaum joins the list of those that call it a masterpiece. A.O. Scott and Mahnola Dargis both have it as their number one of the year. (Dargis goes so far as to claim it contains the spirit of John Coltrane's A Love Supreme. What?!?) Why can't Filmbrain find even a hint of masterpiece in it? Would the accolades be tossed around if Clint was not involved? Please feel free to comment below. . .Filmbrain needs to discuss this with someone.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 3, Week 5

From an email received on Christmas day: "If you tried, you couldn't have found a more depressing Christmas scene. Thanks for making me feel miserable." Filmbrain certainly didn't mean to put a damper on anybody's holiday cheer, but this scene from the conclusion of Jacques Demy's Les Parapluies de Cherbourg (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg) is a bit of a heartbreaker. For those unfamiliar with this most perfect of musicals, add it to your must-see list -- just keep the tissues handy. Sticking with the holiday theme, here is a painfully easy New Year's themed shot from a film everybody knows. This one is a gift -- starting next week things will get more difficult. Send your answer to the final 2004 quiz to this address. Good luck, and Happy New Year to all!

[The devastating news out of South Asia these past few days is clearly on everybody's mind, and with each passing day the number of victims rises, not to mention the threat of disease to the area. Many organizations are collecting money for disaster relief. Amazon has set up a page where you can contribute directly to the American Red Cross. As of this writing, they have collected nearly $690,000. Click here if you would like to make a donation.]

Days of Being in the Mood for Love

The way in which one approaches Wong Kar-wai's 2046 will no doubt have a tremendous effect on the reaction to it. Is it possible to simply view it as the "new" Wong Kar-wai film given the hype that has surrounded this film since it was first announced almost four years ago? First it was meant to be about Hong Kong fifty years after the handover, then we heard that Bjork and Maggie Cheung were involved, then there was the website Wong set up, looking for interesting faces. When it was revealed that it would be a sequel (of sorts) to In the Mood for Love, the anticipation grew even more. There were endless delays, right up until the premiere at Cannes earlier this year, where the film arrived a couple of days late due to some last minute edits. Even after the festival Wong pulled the film in order to tinker with it some more. (Back in October, Variety reported that the post-Cannes version ran four minutes longer, with some minor music changes.) The critical reaction so far has been rather tepid. (At least from the reviews Filmbrain has read.) It seems that after all the waiting, critics were expecting something flawless, or at the very least better than In the Mood for Love, and few have approached it simply as a film on its own. (Which, admittedly, is not so easy.) Filmbrain has seen 2046, though only on DVD (a nice release out of Hong Kong). This is a shame, for Wong's direction and Christopher Doyle's cinematography needs be seen on the big screen. (At the moment the film has no US distributor.) The easy stuff first -- the film looks exquisite. The pairing of Wong and Doyle has once again proven itself a match made in heaven, and the re-creation of 1960's Hong Kong is breathtaking. (It was shot in Cinemascope, yet another reason why it must be seen large.) Unfortunately, the sequences not shot by Doyle (but by Kwan Pung-leung and Lai Yiu-fai) pale in comparison, and, as Doyle told Filmbrain earlier this year at the Tribeca Film Festival, "it's clear who shot what". The soundtrack once again contains themes by Shigeru Umebayashi, and period songs by Nat King Cole and Dean Martin, but it also includes new music by regular Fassbinder composer Peer Raben. Interestingly, Wong also uses themes from other films, including Kieslowski's A Short Film About Killing and Truffaut's Confidentially Yours. Now the difficult part -- what to make of the film itself? 2046, at times, seems more conventional than Wong's earlier films -- whereas he often relies on images and gestures to tell the story (as opposed to endless dialog), this one contains voiceover that is at times too expository, even though the story is being told by a writer. (Was Wong going for a film-noir feel?) Fortunately, it's not overused, nor does it reach the point of being obtrusive. The film also employs a non-linear structure that works to great effect, and is not simply a gimmick. Also effective is the mood of the film, which is an amalgam of his other works -- the longing of In the Mood for Love, the playfulness of Chungking Express, and the romantic loss of Days of Being Wild. (And of course, the film contains Wong's signature head-on-the-shoulder-in-the-back-of-a-taxi shot.) Beginning some years after the conclusion of In the Mood for Love, 2046 continues with the story of Chow Mo Wan (Tony Leung), a changed man after losing Su Li Zhen (Maggie Cheung). Returning to Hong Kong, he checks into a hotel and requests room 2046 (the room number he and Su Li Zhen had their few intimate moments in). What follows is a series of varying relationships with several women at the hotel -- Carina Lau (reprising her role from Days of Being Wild), Faye Wong and Zhang Ziyi (who proves that she actually can act) -- and it is these sequences that find Wong at his very best. His use of space, his framing, the repetition of certain actions and shots -- this is what makes him one of cinema's greatest artists. Each of the relationships reveals a little bit more about Chow, and as to how damaged he actually is. This is masterful storytelling, and Wong's screenplay never says more than it needs to. Noticeably different are the sex scenes which, though far from explicit, are a bit more daring than usual, but they don't work as well, and come off as slightly uncomfortable. The story jumps back and forth in time, and these other sequences, particularly the futuristic scenes, don't work nearly as well. The tale set in 2046 (written by Chow) concerns a Japanese man (Takuya Kimura) who has made the mistake of falling in love with an android -- a relationship that is doomed from the start. Though this is clearly an allegory of Chow's own story, it lacks the emotional draw of his Hong Kong scenes, and the CGI effects are distracting. The sequence in Singapore, which tells of Chow's relationship with yet another Su Li Zhen (Gong Li, who is phenomenal here), feels truncated and rushed. (Wong mentioned in a recent interview that there is enough material for at least one more feature on the cutting room floor.) Even with these minor gripes, 2046 is a reminder of the fabulous potential of cinema as an art form, and not simply as a storytelling device. There are images and tiny moments that stick with you for days after seeing the film, and lines that can repeatedly tear you apart. (Faye Wong repeating Japanese phrases, Tony Leung's voyeuristic gaze into an adjoining room, conversations in doorways, phone calls made behind a partition, etc.) Stories of love and loss come a dime a dozen, but Wong's method is uniquely his own. 2046 is an incredibly sad film that doesn't leave you feeling miserable. The reason this review lacks greater insight is that it's going to take Filmbrain more time (and repeated viewings) to fully grasp everything the film has to offer. The question also remains -- can/does 2046 work as well if you haven't seen In the Mood for Love? Is 2046 as perfect a film as In the Mood for Love? No. It's larger in scope and tells not one simple story, but many. It is, however, a great Wong Kar-wai film, and is without a doubt a leap forward for him. Is it one of the best films of the year? Very possibly. [The region-free DVD of 2046 has been released by Mei Ah, and is readily available from many online Asian DVD etailers.]

Sadly not on DVD: Night of the Iguana

When a film's pre-credit sequence has Richard Burton (as a priest) suffering a complete nervous breakdown in front of his parishioners, you know you're in for something special. Of all the filmed adaptations of Tennessee Williams' plays, John Huston's Night of the Iguana (1964) is easily one of the best. This tale of a defrocked, alcoholic priest (Burton) and the various women in his life contains the typical Williams themes -- guilt, repressed sexuality. and spiritual torment. The best thing about the film (besides the wonderful black and white photography by cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa) is the performances by the three leads -- Burton, Ava Gardner, and Deborah Kerr. Some have claimed that Richard Burton is being too Richard Burton in the film, but Filmbrain believes it is one of his best performances, running a close second to Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. Ava Gardner, looking a bit haggard after her Sinatra years, gives a stellar performance, as does Deborah Kerr. Sue Lyon, in a near reprise of her role in Lolita, looks right for the part, but simply cannot keep up with her co-stars. The story is set in Mexico, and most of the action takes place at a mountaintop inn run by Maxine Faulk (Ava Gardner). Locked out of his church, the alcoholic Reverend Lawrence Shannon (Burton) now operates bus tours of Mexico for wealthy American women. He incurs the wrath of Judith Fellowes (Grayson Hall -- born to play this sort of character) when she suspects that Burton has seduced nymphomaniac jailbait passenger Charlotte Goodall (Sue Lyon). Determined to destroy him, Burton has no choice but to hijack the group and keep them at his friend Maxine's inn in order to prevent Judith from reporting the affair to both the tour company and the clergy. Also staying at the hotel is Hannah Jelkes (Deborah Kerr) a New England spinster traveling with her ninety-two year old poet grandfather Nonno (Cyril Delevanti). A great hodgepodge of characters as only Williams can create. The world at the inn is one dominated by women -- the nymphet, the vamp, the spinster and a handful of old crones -- and Burton finds himself increasingly set upon by all of them. In fact, other than Maxine's two servants cum sexual playthings, Pepe and Pedro (always shown shirtless and shaking maracas), Burton is the reluctant rooster in the hen house. (The bus driver, old poet, and stoned Chinese cook pose no threat to that paradigm.) Though he and Maxine have had a sexual past (even while she was married), he's more consumed by chasing his demons than the women who desire him. The dialogue is sharp from start to finish, and screenwriter Anthony Veiller did a great job with the adaptation. For example, when Maxine suspects that Hannah has eyes for the Reverend, she brushes it off with "I'm a New England spinster who is pushing forty", only to be met with Maxine's "Well who the hell isn't?" Or when it's revealed that Ms. Fellowes' hatred of the Reverend is due to her own Sapphic desire for the young Charlotte, Maxine (she really has the best lines) delivers the following -- "Do you know that if it wasn't for the dikes, the plains of Texas would be engulfed by the gulf?" -- a great way to address a then-taboo subject. Yet Night of the Iguana is truly Burton's film. Whether he's screaming at parishioners, walking on broken glass, or thrashing about while tied to a hammock -- this is a masterful performance. The paranoia, the fear, the fever-driven madness -- Burton pulls it off without once going over the top. The pristine letterbox print that shows occasionally on Turner Classic Movies is ripe for DVD -- hopefully someone will resurrect this wonderful film so that all can experience it.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 3, Week 4

Filmbrain's readers really know their Kubrick...sort of. Though many were quick to spot that the Russian matchbox camera shown in last week's quiz came from Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, only a scant few of you remembered that it was Peter Sellers (as President Merkin Muffley) and not Peter Bull (the Russian Ambassador) holding the camera in that scene. (Fair enough, that was pretty damn hard!) With the Christmas season upon us, Filmbrain thought he would get into the spirit of things and choose a holiday-related screen capture this week. Easier said than done! Stare at your DVD collection and try to recall which films have a Christmas scene -- it's quite a challenge. This week's quiz is a bit difficult, but if you're familiar with the film, it should be easy. As always, send answers to this address. Good luck!

The Clint-Swank Redemption

Filmbrain really didn't want to write this review. Million Dollar Baby is a film that nearly 98% of critics have not liked, but loved. The word masterpiece has been assigned by way too many, and it's been called, without hesitation, the best film released by a major Hollywood studio this year. Does A. O. Scott (and others) truly believe this, or has Clint Eastwood been granted some sort of status whereby it is taboo to criticize him? How could "professional" critics not see that the film is a horrendously written exercise in cliché and shameless melodrama that is manipulative to the point where Spielberg would blush? Filmbrain knew that publishing a negative review would result in many angry emails, name calling, and accusations of being elitist, cynical, heartless, etc. But then he had a conversation with a highly regarded individual "in the business" who had an even stronger dislike for the film, and who also felt that critics were being overly kind to Mr. Eastwood. It was that conversation combined with the Best Director win at the NYFCC Awards that gave Filmbrain the final push to write it. In all fairness, there are others who are as baffled as Filmbrain by the endless gushing. Charles Taylor's review in Salon includes a question that Filmbrain found himself asking as well: "Have any of the critics praising Million Dollar Baby actually ever seen another movie -- any movie?" In a similar vein, Armond White (a critic Filmbrain rarely agrees with) begins his review with the following: "Ignorance might begin to explain why anyone would think Clint Eastwood's Million Dollar Baby is a masterpiece." At least Filmbrain isn't alone in his bewilderment. [NB: The following review reveals major plot points -- if you haven't seen it, and intend to, stop now.] There was a wonderful Saturday Night Live sketch some years back called "Who's More Grizzled?" -- a game show that had Will Ferrell and Robert Duvall as tough old-timers going head to head to see who was the king of grizzle. Eastwood and co-star Morgan Freeman seem to be playing that game in the film, and from the earliest moments each is trying to outdo the other with their ultra-gravelly voices and cantankerous mannerisms. (It's hard to believe these are the same two that were so wonderful together in Unforgiven.) It soon becomes clear that Freeman's function is that of expository narrator -- something he was much better at in The Shawshank Redemption. Though the two characters have a past together, and Clint feels a certain responsibility for him, Freeman's character is just one of many shameful devices that screenwriter Paul Haggis employs. Enter Hillary Swank as Maggie Fitzgerald, a white trash waitress who moved to Los Angeles to fulfill her self-proclaimed only purpose in life -- to be a boxer. To be sure we don't miss that she's from the South, she spouts lines like "Ah don't rahtly know", one of a handful of hackneyed Southernisms that are only heard in movies. Maggie wants to be trained by the great Frankie Dunn (Eastwood), who naturally "doesn't train girlies". After a myriad of refusal scenes (a few too many), he finally agrees to train her. Her zero to hero rise is strictly by the book (Rocky, Girlfight, etc.) yet it occurs almost instantaneously and seemingly without much effort. This is because Eastwood is going to shift gears for the final third and turn it into a melodramatic weepy of the worst kind. Even when Eastwood is good (Mystic River, Unforgiven) he has a bad habit of making things too obvious -- both visually and, even worse, in the dialog. Characters say too much, or repeat things unnecessarily; as if he wants to be sure everybody gets it. Million Dollar Baby is no exception, but what's worse here is that characters say and do things that are simply plot devices, and not about genuine character building. Frankie's struggle with religion, his interest in Gaelic, his estranged daughter, Maggie's missing father, her random story about the family dog -- it's so blatantly obvious that each of these things exist purely so they will have some resonance later on. This is screenwriter Paul Haggis' first cinematic outing -- his resume is solely in television, and it shows -- there's nothing even remotely subtle in the film. For example, Maggie asking Frankie to do the same thing to her that her father did to the dog is something you'd expect out of a bad first screenplay -- which is sort of what this is. The film ultimately resorts to emotional manipulation, and it's surprising that more critics didn't pick up on that. When you spend the first two-thirds of your screenplay getting your audience behind a likeable and sympathetic underdog character like Maggie, and then turn her into a quadriplegic, tongue-chewing amputee who wants to die, it's doesn't take much to get the waterworks flowing. For a moment or two, Filmbrain thought the film might turn into an interesting meditation on euthanasia, but those hopes were quickly dashed. Any struggle Frankie has is quickly wrapped up in a couple of scenes, resulting in a highly unimaginative melodramatic ending that breaks no new ground whatsoever. (Not to mention the ridiculous postscript.) There's quite a lot in the film that is serves no purpose other than filler. The sub-plots concerning the various characters that hang around the gym, Maggie's stereotypical villainous poor white trash family (including tattooed ex-con brother), and even Morgan Freeman's fight with a young boxer is all rather pointless, and the writing throughout is incredibly stilted. It's as if the Frankie-Maggie story wasn't meaty enough to fill the screenplay, so it was padded with this other material. Filmbrain doesn't buy the argument that Million Dollar Baby (an awful title by the way) is a return to classic Hollywood filmmaking. Even the worst B-pictures relied on something more than ham-fisted devices and clichés to tell their stories. (All that's missing here is Maggie teaching Frankie the true meaning of Christmas.) Yet this is the type of film that Oscar loves, and it will probably grab several major awards come March. Filmbrain could easily go on cataloguing things he disliked about the film, but he'll save it for any arguments that should ensue. Comments are welcomed (and encouraged) by all -- pro or con.

How long is long?

Last week, Filmbrain received correspondence from a film critic in Norway who pointed out a rather glaring mistake he found in Filmbrain's review of Café Lumière. Though Hou Hsiao-hsien made the film as a tribute to Ozu, Filmbrain stated incorrectly that Hou's long takes are influenced by Ozu, when in fact Ozu rarely used them. (He's better known for continually cutting between characters as they converse.) Filmbrain still seems to recall long shots in Days of Youth, but as Jonathan Rosenbaum points out in this essay, the average shot length in I Was Born But... is a mere four seconds while in Tokyo Story it is only ten. Though Café Lumière felt like an Ozu film, it was more for its subject matter and dramatic structure, rather than its lengthy takes, which is more Hou than Ozu. After this realization, Filmbrain got into a discussion with a friend about long takes in general. What constitutes a long take, and has the definition changed over time (at least since the MTV-influenced 80s)? When we think of directors who regularly use long takes -- Tarkovsky, Hou, Angelopoulos, Mizoguchi, Tarr -- there's no question, for they have scenes that go on for several minutes. But what about directors who use them less frequently -- Scorsese, Welles, Kubrick, Altman, DePalma -- at what point can a shot be considered a long take? Forty-five seconds, one minute, one and a half minutes? (Altman and DePalma's long takes aren't always at noticeable because they keep the camera moving.) For example, there's a wonderful lengthy close-up shot of Nicole Kidman's face in Birth -- but can it be considered a long take? Is there an agreed upon minimum length? This of course got Filmbrain thinking -- what are some of the lengthiest and/or best long takes? At the far end of the extreme there are examples like Sokurov's Russian Ark, which is one ninety-six minute take, and Warhol's Empire, which is an eight hour shot of the Empire State Building. Bela Tarr's Satantango (pictured above) contains some of the most powerful long takes, and the roof-to-pool shot in Mikheil Kalatozishvili's I Am Cuba is one of the most impressive. Then of course there are the famous ones -- the opening of Touch of Evil, the Copa scene from Goodfellas, the extended tracking shot in Godard's Weekend, and the ten shots that make up Hitchcock's Rope. Filmbrain would love to hear some thoughts on this topic -- how would you define a long take, and what are some of your favorites?

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 3, Week 3

Blasted Google! More than one person admitted to Filmbrain in the past week that searching on 'green pie glass of milk film' yielded the correct answer to last week's quiz. (Though others said the Dutch angle was a dead giveaway!) It is indeed Mickey Knox who orders a piece of key lime pie and a "big ole' glass of nonfat milk" from the former Mrs. Sam Shepard (thanks Jim B. for that tidbit) in Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers. Congratulations to all that got it, and a special thanks to Sophie R. from Paris for the tarte tatin recipe. This week's quiz should at least limit Google searches to those with Cyrillic keyboards. Name the film, and for a bonus point, the name of the actor holding the thing. Send answers to this address. Good luck! [Don't forget about the prizes this round offered by Zeitgeist Films. See Week 1 for details.]

The 2004 New York Film Critics Circle Awards

Well, the awards have just been announced, and the big winner this year is Alexander Payne's Sideways, taking home four awards (Best Picture, Actor, Supporting Actress, and Screenplay). Filmbrain is surprised that certain films were overlooked (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, We Don't Live Here Anymore, The Aviator) and even more surprised about Clint Eastwood taking the Best Director award. (Filmbrain fears that Million Dollar Baby will be too feel-good and uplifting for his tastes. However, perhaps Eastwood has delivered something more than a gender-bending Rocky. Maybe it's just the awful trailer that makes the film seem so simple.)

The complete list of winners:

• Best Picture - Sideways
• Best Actor - Paul Giamatti (Sideways)
• Best Actress - Imelda Staunton (Vera Drake)
• Best Supporting Actor - Clive Owen (Closer)
• Best Supporting Actress - Virginia Madsen (Sideways)
• Best Director - Clint Eastwood (Million Dollar Baby)
• Best Screenplay - Alexander Payne & Jim Taylor (Sideways)
• Best Cinematographer - Christopher Doyle (Hero)
• Best Foreign Film - Bad Education
• Best Non-Fiction Film - Fahrenheit 9/11
• Best Animated Film - The Incredibles
• Best First Film - Maria Full of Grace

For those unfamiliar with the NYFCC, it is made up of (at the moment) thirty-four film critics who are mostly based in NYC, and they have been handing out annual awards for the past sixty-five years. Current members include David Ansen, Andrew Sarris, David Denby, Peter Travers and J. Hoberman.

Thoughts, anyone?

The Quiet Katakuris

Keeping up with über-prolific director Takashi Miike is no easy feat. In fact, by the time you finish reading this he'll have completed another film. Though a handful of his releases are readily available in the States (with more on the way), it's still only a fraction of the sixty-plus features he's directed. Though best known for the disturbing Audition and the hyper-kinetic violence of Ichi the Killer or the Dead or Alive trilogy, it would be a mistake to pigeonhole him to a single genre. From the simple character study that is Rainy Dog, to the magic realism of The Bird People in China, to the surreal brilliance of this year's Gozu, Miike is continually reinventing himself. Of all his films, the one that is the most touching (even amidst its absurdity) is the murderous family musical The Happiness of the Katakuris. The 2001 film is actually a remake of the 1998 Korean black comedy The Quiet Family, directed by Kim Ji-woon (A Tale of Two Sisters). In an interview, Miike described seeing the film on his nearly broken VHS player, and even though the he could barely see the image for part of the film, he was so moved by the story that he knew he had to remake it. The premise of the two films is identical -- a family buys a dilapidated mountain inn with hopes that a newly planned road will bring them success. The trouble begins when the few guests they receive in the interim all wind up dead. The differences between the two films range from subtle (the family make-up is altered a bit) to overt (Miike's is a musical that takes an entirely different path at the end). The Quiet Family (top photo) plays it as a straight black comedy from start to finish. As the body count starts rising, so does the paranoia, fear, and general distrust amongst the family members. The story stays wonderfully dark throughout, and the third act has a wonderful payoff. The use of music in the film is quite impressive, though more than a bit odd. From the hip-hop version of The Lonely Bull heard during the opening tracking shot through the inn (with attention to wallpaper, as in A Tale of Two Sisters), to the final scene punctuated by The Partridge Family's I Think I love You, Kim tosses in songs from such diverse artists as The Stray Cats, Love & Rockets, The Box Tops, and Harry Nilsson. Everyone in the ensemble cast, which includes Song Kang-ho (Memories of Murder) and the great Choi Min-sik (Oldboy, Happy End), turns in a richly comic but understated performance. What Takashi Miike took away from The Quiet Family was a sense that there is nothing stronger than a family bond, and it is this idea that runs through The Happiness of the Katakuris (bottom photo). The handful of bubbly musical numbers makes the dark material a bit lighter, though no less macabre. There are some additional characters here, including a phony air force pilot, and a sumo wrestler with a tiny teenage girlfriend. The story follows along the same route as the original until the final reel, where Miike changes gears and the film becomes something quite different, though no less satisfying than the original film, and distinctively Miike. One of his goals was to make a film that you could take your kids to. While it might not be suitable for young children, it certainly is one of the mildest films in his oeuvre, but also one the most fun. Miike chose actors who hail from different film and TV genres, none of whom had sung before, with the exception of Kiyoshiro Imawano, a well-known rock star in Japan. They give it their all, and the behind the scenes footage on the DVD shows just how dedicated they were to the project. Filmbrain highly recommends both films -- and not simply for reasons of comparison. There are a handful of very good Korean black comedies, and The Quiet Family is one of the best. If you've never seen a Takashi Miike film before, The Happiness of the Katakuris is as good a place as any to begin, and a pleasant surprise for those who only know his more twisted side. Both films are (hoorah!) available on DVD. Netflix carries them both.