As I predicted, Netflix and movie-watching have taken over my life. I present you proof of my existence:
The Squid and the Whale (Baumbach, 2005)
So painful it’s funny; so funny it’s painful. The Squid and the Whale is the best movie I’ve seen all year. Writer-director Noah Baumbach’s semi-autobiographical take on his parent’s divorce is brimming with pointed barbs, bravely mocking the very intellectual audience that the film appeals to. The opening sequence of the family tennis match perfectly establishes the family dynamic in a matter of minutes—older son Walt and pompous dad Bernard vs. younger son Owen and mother Joan. This intimate, character-driven dramedy cuts a clear slice of life with its keen insight and sharp wit. It’s one of those movies that make loving movies worthwhile. A
P.S. I don’t understand why people keep comparing The Squid and the Whale with The Royal Tenenbaums. As much as I adore Wes Anderson, he can have all of his funky costumes, anamorphic lens, and big budgets, but he has yet to touch the poignancy of Squid’s biting realism.
28 Days Later (Boyle, 2003)
Honestly, I’m not usually one for zombie movies—schlock horror has never appealed to me beyond “Let’s get scared for Halloween.” But 28 Days Later, directed by the genre-hopping Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland, is a genuine fright that electrified me for two hours. The gritty DV gives the film an eerie realism, especially during the shots of an empty London. Cillian Murphy’s blue eyes reflect the startling terror that permeates this multi-layered film. B+
Secretary (Shainberg, 2002)
Love with a kinky twist—that’s the premise of the dark S&M comedy Secretary. Maggie Gyllenhaal gamely turns into the shy Lee Holloway, who returns from a stint at the mental institution to work for James Spader’s domineering lawyer Mr. Grey. Secretary is an office romance that works out better than it should, picking up the dark and the funny but never passing judgment. It’s a bit too bare bones, but the inspired art design and costumes give it a wholly original weight. B
The Sea Inside (Amenábar, 2004)
Melodrama is at tricky genre, and director Alejandro Amenábar fails to temper the melodrama of The Sea Inside into a good movie. About quadriplegic Ramón Sampedro’s struggle to die with dignity, the film hardly focuses on the psychology of the man himself, instead settling to manufacture drama out of Ramón’s surrounding friends and family. Some stunning cinematography hardly makes up for the inert and lifeless direction. D+
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
I Heart Huckabees (Russell, 2004)
Tell me the significance of this coincidence: I’ve watched 3 random movies recently—Shopgirl, Rushmore, and now I Heart Huckabees—all featuring actor Jason Schwartzman. And in all three movies, Schwartzman has played a lovable schmuck with bad hair and less-than-desirable professions.
The lovable schmuck played by Schwartman in I Heart Huckabees, Albert Markovski, also stumbles on a puzzling coincidence. After meeting a tall African man at three chance encounters, Albert decides to take his case to Jaffe & Jaffe (Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman), a husband and wife team of existential detectives.
Existential what? Yes, detectives. This is where we know that David O. Russell’s soup and nuts existential comedy I Heart Huckabees is as just as well soupy and nutty. As the existential detectives pry into Albert to find the meaning of his life, we see his quixotic quest to save a swamp from the evil denizens of Huckabee’s, a Wal-Mart like corporate bulldozer. Along the way, the script also throws in a depressed firefighter lecturing on the evils of petroleum (Mark Wahlberg), a French philosopher/sexpot (Fanny Ardant) Huckabee’s golden boy and Albert’s nemesis Brad Stand (Jude Law), and his ditzy girlfriend Dawn (Naomi Watts), who also happens to Huckabee’s spokeswoman.
The characters’ tangential importance in Albert’s life is well…tangential, but they’re here because, as Jaffe and Jaffe claims, “Everything is connected.” Too bad this disparate movie itself can’t figure out exactly how they’re connected. Add in monkey sex in the mud, whacking faces with balls, an Amish bonnet, (deliberately) cheesy special effects, and here we have a movie drowning in the kitchen sink.
Only Jude Law and Naomi Watts manage to stay half afloat in this messy puddle. As Jaffe and Jaffe continue their poking, Brad’s life begins spiraling downward, much to Albert’s schadenfraudelicious delight. Even with a shoddy American accent and a bad dye job, not to mention fake breasts and a long blonde wig in one scene, Law exudes enough charisma to almost give this movie a reason to exist. Watts provides the only other perk in this otherwise dull comedy as the hopelessly ditzy Dawn, who turns on the frump after an encounter with Jaffe and Jaffe. “You can’t deal with the infinite nature of my existence,” shouts Dawn in an Amish bonnet and overalls. “Yes, I can…Wait, what do you mean” answers Brad. The titter tat between this seemingly golden couple is the only comedy find you’re going to mine at Huckabees.
There are some other cheap laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of the situations, but none of the wit you would expect from such a highbrow concept. Or maybe those lightning fast one-liners were witty, but they are thrown out with such blasé that they hardly lingered in the air. Huckabees is light on characters and heavy on philosophy, or at least the name-dropping of it. But for a movie about philosophy, it sure doesn’t provoke much thought.
I
n keeping with its peek-a-boo narrative, Huckabees doesn’t tell us the meaning of life; it doesn’t even tell us the meaning of Albert’s coincidence. As for my coincidence of watching Jason Schwartman films, let’s just say there is no significance, just as I Heart Huckabees has none either. But perhaps Russell wanted to make an inane and absurd comedy about the inanity and absurdity of philosophical musings. In that case: Bravo, you’ve made a good point. Now make a good movie.
The lovable schmuck played by Schwartman in I Heart Huckabees, Albert Markovski, also stumbles on a puzzling coincidence. After meeting a tall African man at three chance encounters, Albert decides to take his case to Jaffe & Jaffe (Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman), a husband and wife team of existential detectives.
Existential what? Yes, detectives. This is where we know that David O. Russell’s soup and nuts existential comedy I Heart Huckabees is as just as well soupy and nutty. As the existential detectives pry into Albert to find the meaning of his life, we see his quixotic quest to save a swamp from the evil denizens of Huckabee’s, a Wal-Mart like corporate bulldozer. Along the way, the script also throws in a depressed firefighter lecturing on the evils of petroleum (Mark Wahlberg), a French philosopher/sexpot (Fanny Ardant) Huckabee’s golden boy and Albert’s nemesis Brad Stand (Jude Law), and his ditzy girlfriend Dawn (Naomi Watts), who also happens to Huckabee’s spokeswoman.
The characters’ tangential importance in Albert’s life is well…tangential, but they’re here because, as Jaffe and Jaffe claims, “Everything is connected.” Too bad this disparate movie itself can’t figure out exactly how they’re connected. Add in monkey sex in the mud, whacking faces with balls, an Amish bonnet, (deliberately) cheesy special effects, and here we have a movie drowning in the kitchen sink.
Only Jude Law and Naomi Watts manage to stay half afloat in this messy puddle. As Jaffe and Jaffe continue their poking, Brad’s life begins spiraling downward, much to Albert’s schadenfraudelicious delight. Even with a shoddy American accent and a bad dye job, not to mention fake breasts and a long blonde wig in one scene, Law exudes enough charisma to almost give this movie a reason to exist. Watts provides the only other perk in this otherwise dull comedy as the hopelessly ditzy Dawn, who turns on the frump after an encounter with Jaffe and Jaffe. “You can’t deal with the infinite nature of my existence,” shouts Dawn in an Amish bonnet and overalls. “Yes, I can…Wait, what do you mean” answers Brad. The titter tat between this seemingly golden couple is the only comedy find you’re going to mine at Huckabees.
There are some other cheap laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of the situations, but none of the wit you would expect from such a highbrow concept. Or maybe those lightning fast one-liners were witty, but they are thrown out with such blasé that they hardly lingered in the air. Huckabees is light on characters and heavy on philosophy, or at least the name-dropping of it. But for a movie about philosophy, it sure doesn’t provoke much thought.
I
n keeping with its peek-a-boo narrative, Huckabees doesn’t tell us the meaning of life; it doesn’t even tell us the meaning of Albert’s coincidence. As for my coincidence of watching Jason Schwartman films, let’s just say there is no significance, just as I Heart Huckabees has none either. But perhaps Russell wanted to make an inane and absurd comedy about the inanity and absurdity of philosophical musings. In that case: Bravo, you’ve made a good point. Now make a good movie.
Summer Bitchin'
Hah, life has depressed into another one of those summer lulls. My body has been taken hostage by a full bout of inert forces, turning me into a lumpy potato. Ambulatory matters become ones of exertion. Funny how I used to feel that summer days dragged on and on because now I look back each night and think, "Where did my day go?" The clock ticks and the pendulum swings as I sit aimlessly browsing the Internet.
Having received my report card, I can finally cleanse my hands of junior year--a year mostly unremarkable now that I think about it. It didn't kill me, nor tickle me, nor amuse me. It was just there. To my utmost surprise, I managed to scrape an A- in English, a feat I had previously deemed impossible. My dad looked at my report card and gave a look of relief, "You haven't gotten any B's ever, right?" Whatever, I get the distinct feeling that my dad knows my grades much better than I do.
A pile of library DVDs, 5 boxes high, sits next to my bed away from the prying eyes of my parents. Sigh, how will I ever get through them and still be content with reality? Netflix is being really shitty about logging my returned DVDs; I beginning to experience that wonderful thing called "throttling." I need to give them a bitch call once I find their phantom customer service number.
AP Psych class slides deeper and deeper into oblivion and uselessness. For my next assignment, I'm supposed to give on example of why I am in to the Genital Stage of Freud's psychosexual development. Why is CTY telling us, a assembled group of geeks and nerds, to spill our sex lives?
Having received my report card, I can finally cleanse my hands of junior year--a year mostly unremarkable now that I think about it. It didn't kill me, nor tickle me, nor amuse me. It was just there. To my utmost surprise, I managed to scrape an A- in English, a feat I had previously deemed impossible. My dad looked at my report card and gave a look of relief, "You haven't gotten any B's ever, right?" Whatever, I get the distinct feeling that my dad knows my grades much better than I do.
A pile of library DVDs, 5 boxes high, sits next to my bed away from the prying eyes of my parents. Sigh, how will I ever get through them and still be content with reality? Netflix is being really shitty about logging my returned DVDs; I beginning to experience that wonderful thing called "throttling." I need to give them a bitch call once I find their phantom customer service number.
AP Psych class slides deeper and deeper into oblivion and uselessness. For my next assignment, I'm supposed to give on example of why I am in to the Genital Stage of Freud's psychosexual development. Why is CTY telling us, a assembled group of geeks and nerds, to spill our sex lives?
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Why I Will Never Be a Doctor: Day 2
On the hierarchy at Emerson, I am at the very bottom. The amoeba of the food chain. The last rung. The farthest from the hub. One of those newbie volunteers who stumble through the hospital with a hesitant step and unsure gaze. So today was a sophomore volunteer effort at Emerson Hospital—a mostly mind-numbing unexercise spent in the butt-numbing seat at reception.
As far as volunteer experiences go, today was actually was quite pleasant because everyone was so damn nice. The problem: I didn't meet many people, as I spent 4 hours in a lobby with a traffic of 25 human bodies per hour—the vast majority of which whirled by without a gaze. One woman even deigned to say to me, “You must be soooo bored!”
Word.
Although 95% of my time was spent trying not to look bored, a few interesting moments did pop up. Not especially interesting, mind you, because in the context of these events, even an ant crawling would have been a welcome relief.
Exhibit A:
Man walks in.
Man: Is plastic surgery on the 7th floor?
Me: Let me check.
Me (thinking): What? Emerson does plastic surgery? This guy is pretty good looking in a creepy hot villain kind of way; he shouldn’t be having plastic surgery.
Man pulls out hand with 2-inch festering sore.
Me (thinking): Ooooooh. It looks like an acid burn.
Exhibit B:
Woman: “Excuse me sir, can you tell me what time it is?”
Man 1: “Oh sorry. I didn’t look when I left.”
Woman: “Am I making you nervous? Am I?”
Man 1: “Hey, there’s a clock right there” Points to wall.
** 1 minute later **
Woman: “Excuse me sir, do you know what time it is?”
Man 2: “It’s 4:21.”
The lady must have asked for the time on at least 4 different instances within a span of 10 minutes. Huh.
Exhibit C:
Woman (same one): “Hey look! I think that lady is Innn-dian. Doesn’t she look like she’s from Innn-dia? You know, there are so many Innn-dian people in Woburn. Doesn’t she look like she’s from Innn-dia?”
Alright, I’m done. I’m probably violating a great many patient confidentiality rules and deserve to be fired. Boredom must be the seed of all maliciousness.
As far as volunteer experiences go, today was actually was quite pleasant because everyone was so damn nice. The problem: I didn't meet many people, as I spent 4 hours in a lobby with a traffic of 25 human bodies per hour—the vast majority of which whirled by without a gaze. One woman even deigned to say to me, “You must be soooo bored!”
Word.
Although 95% of my time was spent trying not to look bored, a few interesting moments did pop up. Not especially interesting, mind you, because in the context of these events, even an ant crawling would have been a welcome relief.
Exhibit A:
Man walks in.
Man: Is plastic surgery on the 7th floor?
Me: Let me check.
Me (thinking): What? Emerson does plastic surgery? This guy is pretty good looking in a creepy hot villain kind of way; he shouldn’t be having plastic surgery.
Man pulls out hand with 2-inch festering sore.
Me (thinking): Ooooooh. It looks like an acid burn.
Exhibit B:
Woman: “Excuse me sir, can you tell me what time it is?”
Man 1: “Oh sorry. I didn’t look when I left.”
Woman: “Am I making you nervous? Am I?”
Man 1: “Hey, there’s a clock right there” Points to wall.
** 1 minute later **
Woman: “Excuse me sir, do you know what time it is?”
Man 2: “It’s 4:21.”
The lady must have asked for the time on at least 4 different instances within a span of 10 minutes. Huh.
Exhibit C:
Woman (same one): “Hey look! I think that lady is Innn-dian. Doesn’t she look like she’s from Innn-dia? You know, there are so many Innn-dian people in Woburn. Doesn’t she look like she’s from Innn-dia?”
Alright, I’m done. I’m probably violating a great many patient confidentiality rules and deserve to be fired. Boredom must be the seed of all maliciousness.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Y tu mamá también (Cuarón, 2001)
Conventional wisdom tells us that to make a serious movie, you must have serious characters. Y tu mamá también flippantly dismisses this rule in the same way its two obnoxious, immature protagonists flippantly dismiss everything else.
These protagonists are Julio (Gael García Bernal) and Tenoch (Diego Luna), two Mexican teenagers bent on getting high and getting laid. When their girlfriends depart to Italy for the summer, the two best friends are bored out of their minds, resorting to whacking off in the swimming pool.
At a family wedding, the boys meet Luisa (Maribel Verdú), a beautiful, older Spanish woman married to Tenoch’s arrogant prick of cousin. (Such a characterization would aptly describe Julio and Tenoch as well.) On a lark, they flirt with Luisa by asking her to a fictional beach called Heaven’s Mouth. When she unexpectedly accepts, the threesome departs on an improvised road trip, rife with juvenile jokes and rowdy sex.
If Y tu mamá también is sounding like American Pie: Mexican Road Trip Edition, it isn’t. Yes, it begins with the teenagers having sex with their girlfriends. Yes, there are two fart jokes in the first ten minutes. Yes, there are enough sex, drugs, and swears for a very naughty teen movie. But Y tu mamá también is, after all, a “serious” film. A serious film that treats its immature characters with not disdain but care, and chronicles life’s gritty realities through a distant but perceptive lens.
Although there are three physical characters on the road trip—Luisa, Julio, and Tenoch—there is a fourth character built from the roving camera and omniscient narration. The script, written by director Alfonso Cuarón and his brother Carlos Cuarón, is much keener than its characters. As Julio casually complains about the bad traffic, the camera meanders aside to find a covered corpse, and the narrator tells us the man was killed because he had no choice but to cross the busy street to get to work. Throughout the film, the camera wanders off the road into one of those poignant tangents, abandoning our characters for a brief moment to remind us of the world outside their insular lives. Director Cuarón does a deft job with juggling relationship of his three main characters and the film’s greater ambitions. The almost blasé manner of social and political commentary—the narration simply tells, it never judges—gives Y tu mamá también a weight that never seems laden with pretension. After all, Julio and Tenoch themselves could care less about the dead man.
Luisa, played magnificently by Verdú, is the anchor of the film as the older, wiser woman. She has her own mysterious reasons for going on the road trip, reasons that Julio and Tenoch would not understand even if they knew. It is Luisa with whom the audience sympathizes while laughing at the clumsiness of the boys in their attempts to woo her. Even with their shameless immaturity, Julio and Tenoch become almost endearing in their own pathetic manner. Although such a road trip should bring two best friends closer, the teenagers drift and jolt apart. When they finally reach Heaven’s Mouth, they are no longer friends, and by the end of the movie, they are certainly no longer boys.
Y tu mamá también is indeed a road trip movie with lots of sex and nudity, but it is so much more. What makes it memorable is not the immediate punch of brazen sexuality or pulsing energy, but its lingering and haunting sadness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)