seenery

Movies/TV I saw last month...

American Horror Story (s1, 2011)—On the device front, I acquired a Kindle Fire (my first personal object truly dependent on infernal wi-fi) along with an Amazon Prime account, which is sort of switching up some viewing habits. Suddenly I can get through TV series a bit more efficiently (within the choices offered, of course, as the cost otherwise seems high to me). It's also a novelty so I'm looking at more things just to experience what it's like to look at things this way (weirdly, I find that looking at these screens from five inches is not bad at replicating a "big" experience—the HD may be helping that). At any rate, that's how I've happened to start on this ripe, rotting purple haunted house spiel set in Los Angeles with Dylan McDermott and Connie Britton. I remember it being hyped rather sky-high in some quarters. It reminds me of Natural Born Killers so far—many things thrown against many insane walls, and you get the sense they may not really know what they're doing. It's not very scary, that's one thing, and not always so funny either, though jury still out on that. It normalizes rather than goes all the way with a developmentally disabled character (a no-win situation on a TV show anyway, but the original impulse good horror instinct). It is sometimes unpleasant though not sure yet if that's in good or bad ways. Jessica Lange is clearly having a ball, ditto Denis O'Hare, but too it often seems to settle into pedestrian TV rhythms. I think my approach to TV series from now on will be more reporting in at the end of seasons as I reach them so I will probably have more to say about this next month.
The Bat (1959)—Not much to this killer-on-the-loose wheezer, including especially the inane twists and turns of the plot, but Vincent Price and Agnes Moorehead are entertaining, and it has some effective points. I wouldn't call it ever scary, but occasionally diverting, and short.
Battlestar Galactica (s3, 2006-2007)— From the safety of my cloister, the way the last season ended I had expected something more along the lines of life on an occupied planet under Cylon rule, which sounded interesting. Instead, they got out of that with a virtual hop, skip, and jiggety-jig two-parter, and back to outer space and the emotional agonies. The usual long-term symptoms of TV dramatic series are now causing the usual problems—shallow allegorical characters distributed across an overarching concept who continually meet and re-meet (by coincidence!) and never die, except occasionally during sweeps months. Then they milk it till that cow goes dry (looking at you, Ellen Tigh thread). Much intermarriage and fraternizing and attendant anguish. As science fiction filmmaking I think it's a wash, with nice ideas and interestingly imposed limitations but also strange ways of shooting outer space (handheld, really? didn't you think about the, er, gravity? maybe there's something I don't know). And enough already with the high-speed for action. Sorry for the snark, it's just the seams for me are starting to show a little. The character studies are too often trite and convenient, doing little to move anything forward. I don't care who is or is not "really" a Cylon—I think that's beside the point. But the Cylons (both centurions and clones) remain such great and intriguing creations that it still keeps me predisposed to forgive. And I find the religious themes interesting, which surprises me too—one of the main things that keeps me going, in fact (albeit more and more on WTF-anyway levels). So few of these series find satisfying conclusions that I must remain skeptical. As I recall, the reviews were not particularly kind, but I'm in for the whole shebang.
Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me (2012)—Solid documentary, seems to be talking to most of the right people, does a nice job of elevating Chris Bell to his rightful place, and otherwise gets out of the way. The stories are poignant and achingly sad, and the music is as beautiful as ever—more so.
Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974)—Wow, director and co-screenwriter Sam Peckinpah achieves maximum velocity nihilism with one gruesome plot point (see title) and builds something utterly compelling out of it, with the critical help of Warren Oates as Bennie, a down-and-out lounge musician with a lot of sand. He reminded me a little of Robert Altman's Philip Marlowe in The Long Goodbye, a sad sack loser putting everything into one last insane mission. Peckinpah ratchets that a few times and proceeds to sustain it from beginning to end. Amazing, really.
Carlos the Jackal (2010)—The first part seemed to be little more than an empty litany of terrorist actions, glamorized, and I was worried about what I was in for if it was going to be five hours of that. True, there is one amazing scene of high tension, but felt surrounded by a lot of puffery. Maybe this is my resentment about five-hour movies speaking. But the second part boasts an absolutely riveting first hour as it focuses on a single extremely high-stakes mission. Still have the third part to go, but feeling pretty sure that this self-consciously "big" entry from Olivier Assayas doesn't have to be as long as it is. Not to be confused with Che, directed by Steven Soderbergh.
Children of the Corn (1984)—Stacie Ponder of Final Girl held an all-day movie blogathon last month, The Corn-ening by name, in which she watched and reported on every installment in this franchise (some seven or eight pictures, including a reboot). Don't miss it. Then, also, lately I've been reading Son of Danse Macabre by Bryce Wilson of Things That Don't Suck. It's a fine, gabby, opinionated read (and an explicit bow to Stephen King, whose Danse Macabre, published in 1981, is an essential survey of horror). I've been enjoying it enormously, even as it has accelerated and deepened a recent fascination with horror. So I decided to take a look at the original Children of the Corn. Set in rural Nebraska, the premise is utterly opaque, something about corn fields and murdering fundamentalist children (reminds me more than anything else of a certain Star Trek episode with children). But it has a reasonable share of unsavory ideas, shock images, ominous passages, and a few scares, though more of the subtly disturbing variety (credit to Stephen King for much of what works). In general it was kind of a blast. Stacie Ponder says a couple of the sequels are pretty good too.
City Lights (1931)—Favorite.


The Devil Bat (1940)—This description from IMDb about covers it: "A mad scientist develops an aftershave lotion that causes his gigantic bats to kill anyone who wears it." But it has Lugosi, and at least one strikingly odd set, so maybe worth a look. Only 68 minutes.
Encounters at the End of the World (2007)—Werner Herzog at today's South Pole is almost inevitable when you think about his filmmaking career, particularly the documentaries, particularly the number of them in the past 10 or 15 years. So perhaps a little disappointing for being so flat and matter-of-fact. But many interesting characters (too often slightly too proud of themselves for having chosen to live there), a fair share of interesting science, and especially Herzog's tart, caustic observations on the modern condition definitely make it worthwhile.
The Evil Dead (1981)—Classic, way more scary than funny, unlike its sequels. Love the hell out of it now. Particularly enjoyed Tom Sullivan's makeup work this last time.
Frances Ha (2012)—Director Noah Baumbach and star-in-making Greta Gerwig collaborated on the screenplay for this black and white character study of youthful New York creatives in their natural environs. Mostly it works, and I swear, every time I see Gerwig she seems to get better—more funny, more cutting, more surprising. More powerful. Here she mixes up elements of Miranda July, Catherine Keener, and Diane Keaton (and a little bit of Mariel Hemingway, since the Manhattan sources for this are transparent, and at some angles she bears a resemblance, or maybe that's the film stock). It's a real kick when it's working. The way her pointless stories start and bloat, or the mock fighting, a great idea used perfectly—a weird bit of exuberant social interaction that turns naturally into an uncomfortable (and very funny) moment. Sometimes you may be looking through your fingers—Gerwig is particularly good at the awkward social moment.
The Ghost Ship (1943)—This Val Lewton production, sidelined for some 50 years by some legal dispute over ownership of the premise, is less ghost story and more mutiny on the high seas variation. But director Mark Robson brings the hush and the deep shadows and it's hardly bad as mood piece, though Lesser Lewton.
Ghost Town (2008)—Ricky Gervais vehicle, playing a reclusive dentist in Manhattan who is a bit of a jerk and suddenly able to interact with needy New York ghosts. Some laughs, some sweet moments, etc., the usual rom-com crapshoot. But it's my belief that Kristen Wiig's turn as a vain and superficial surgeon makes the whole thing definitely worth tracking down.
Goodfellas (1990)—Mesmerizing, as usual.
A Hard Day's Night (1964)—Lively and spirited and a blast of joy to see again, it also has many surprisingly long, quiet scenes. I love how it just assumes the garb of French New Wave.
House on Haunted Hill (1959)—Ingratiatingly silly exercise directed by William Castle that nonetheless finds its way to one or two nice scares. It's cheap and trying to be flashy too much of the time, but there's a good premise (stay the night, get big bucks), Vincent Price brings the usual, and the story more or less works out, unusual for some of these things. Nice weird cast too, including Elisha Cook Jr.
Ju-on: The Grudge (2002)—Basic haunted house story, but with a sort of Chekhovian twist that elevates it, this Japanese production (directed by Takashi Shimizu, who appears to own a franchise) relies on a deliberate pace, carefully deployed images, the occasional shock cut, and sound effects to make it work. It slows to a crawl at points, and caught me by surprise over and over. Often scary. A good one. (Also traveling, best I can tell, under the name Ju-on with a release date of 2004, as on Amazon Prime. Not to be confused with the American remake, called The Grudge, with Sarah Michelle Gellar.)
Kung Fu Panda (2008)—This struck me as tolerable, with some interesting visuals, but exceedingly slight and with an eye always on marketing considerations. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Lacombe, Lucien (1974)—I'm not sure why I had such trepidations about director Louis Malle's WWII tale of a raw misguided French country youth who falls in with Nazis, especially since I like Atlantic City so much, but I didn't have to worry. It's a great picture, with a sharp, interesting, and heartrending story.
The Last Man on Earth (1964)—A fascinating and obvious source for Night of the Living Dead, this is the first of three cracks at the Richard Matheson novel I Am Legend (most recently the 2007 version with Will Smith), and the first I've seen of any of them. I don't know the novel either. This one's a TV movie, adding to general low budget woes. But I loved all the proto-zombie vampire scenes and I'm not about to complain about Vincent Price. Worth a look.
Living in Oblivion (1995)—There's a lot to love here, with great performances by Steve Buscemi, Peter Dinklage, Catherine Keener, James Le Gros (and more!), a bottomless puzzle-knot of a narrative that predates Run Lola Run, shifting between the soundstages of an indie movie and people's dreams and I don't know what-all, and feels pinpoint sharp on the frustrations and boredom and random wonders of making a movie. I love these kinds of things when they're done well (hate them when they're not), and this is one of the best.
Looney Tunes—Attempting to be systematic about getting through this massive box does threaten to become a chore sometimes. But the cartoons are always impressive on the level of pure technique even if I am not laughing out loud. And sometimes I am laughing out loud: "Awful Orphan" (1949), "Baton Bunny" (1959), "The Big Snooze" (1946), "A Broken Leghorn" (1959), "Broom-Stick Bunny" (1956), "Bugs and Thugs" (1954), "Bugs Bunny Gets the Boid" (1942), "Bugs Bunny Rides Again" (1948, starting to think I've spent most of my life underrating Yosemite Sam), "Bunker Hill Bunny" (1950), "Bunny Hugged" (1951), "Canary Row" (1950, have never cared for Tweety, there I said it), "Canned Feud" (1951), "Daffy Duck Hunt" (1949, a good one, with Daffy Duck's personality fuzzing at the edges), "Devil May Hare" (1954), "Don't Give Up the Sheep" (1953, starting to see how Wile E. Coyote is one of their best creations), "Early to Bet" (1951, a good one, all done with generic characters and a one-off [I think], the so-called Gambling Bug), "Feed the Kitty" (1952), "The Foghorn Leghorn" (1948, true confession: Foghorn Leghorn was my favorite Looney Tunes character as a kid), "For Scent-imental Reasons" (1949), "French Rarebit" (1951), "Frigid Hare" (1949), "Gorilla My Dreams" (1948), "Hair-Raising Hare" (1946), "The Hare-Brained Hypnotist" (1942, these early Bugs Bunny riffs, very interesting), "Hare Conditioned" (1945), "Haredevil Hare" (1948), "The Heckling Hare" (1941), "The Hypo-Chondri-Cat" (1950), "Kit for Cat" (1948), "Lumber Jerks" (1955), "Putty Tat Trouble" (1951), "Speedy Gonzales" (1955), "Tortoise Wins by a Hare" (1943, one of the best I saw this month because it is a unique place where immovable object and irresistible force meet, the familiar old fable on the one hand and the fact that Bugs Bunny never loses on the other, and the way that is resolved is nigh unto brilliant), "Tweety's S.O.S." (1951).
Manhattan (1979)
The Mirror (1975)
Nashville (1975)—I'm a city slicker out of suburbia, so maybe that's my bias, but I actually think this has a pretty good take on country music. I don't mind that Altman is patently suspicious of it because I am too, and Nashville is as good a place as any to go and be suspicious. The fact that Karen Black wrote very bad songs does not diminish the very good songs by Ronee Blakley, nor make the like-them-in-spite-of-myself novelties from Henry Gibson any less spot-on (e.g., "there's three reasons why"). And there is always a new thread or nuance of performance, every time I see it. This go-round, the incredibly acute prescience of the politics, which could well be distinguishing itself for me now only because we have made it this far into the future.
Pacific Rim (2013)—The "on paper" vision here—giant robots battling giant alien monsters from another dimension arriving via a rift under the sea, all of this directed by Guillermo del Toro—plays out pretty well for once. It's basically a lot of cardboard cutouts reciting words from the English language, but when the action starts, hold on. I confess to consuming a brownie beforehand. Recommend you sit close.
The Passenger (1975)—I had avoided all this time because generally I remain suspicious of Antonioni. But I thought this was actually pretty good once acclimated to the pace and all the narrative refractin'. Nicholson is carrying the load a good deal more than Maria Schneider, I would say, which may or may not be a screenplay problem. But arguably it is right in the heart of Nicholson's prime, and he is clearly up to it.
Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)—Yeah, love this one. This time noticed how it uses the Psycho strategy of an early-disappearing female lead another way. Instead of a fallen woman, the focus is a trio of innocents (albeit unwitting imperialists, if you want to look at it that way). And they are gone from the movie nearly as soon. And there's no psychiatrist to explain it at the end either. One of my favorites by Weir. Almost perfectly mysterious.
Reprise (2006)—Not sure how this wound up in my queue, but it's about what I expected sight unseen, more or less post-'90s film festival fodder, clipped and efficient and looking good. It's from Norway and directed by Joachim Trier, who also did Oslo, August 31st, which I never saw but heard good things about ... and which is now in my queue too. Reprise is handsomely mounted and has an affable way of deploying metaphor (however strained) and retiring into ambiguity. But it also had a certain witless presumption of privilege that annoyed.
Scenes From a Marriage (1973)—Theatrical release. Normally I like the full-on version, but looking at this again reminded me that it has its appeals too, notably making the entire thing more accessible in one go.
Straight Time (1978)—This is a nicely done examination of criminals and prison mentality with a riveting central performance by Dustin Hoffman. There's a lot of fireworks and outbursts of action but it always feels low-key and tempered, and it is often quite intense. Recommended.
The Sugarland Express (1974)—I used to love The Rockford Files but at some point I lost all interest in most car chase stories (The Road Warrior excepted, of course), especially those set in the South. So this was 0-2 going in. But the main role of Lou Jean, played at the absolute highest level of her career by Goldie Hawn, is uncanny, and the characters that materialize in support of her are complex and interesting, particularly watching them try to figure each other out. An underrated Steven Spielberg—I didn't know those existed.
The Tall T (1957)—Interesting Western based on an Elmore Leonard story, typically enough heartless when it wants to be. My first time seeing Randolph Scott, who cuts a memorable figure, though I can see there's potential there for hokum.
The Visitor (2007)—For some reason my first impulse is to complain about the flaws, but for whatever reason this turned out to be one of the most interesting movies I looked at all month. I was hanging on it all the way for what happened next. Richard Jenkins might play it a little too guarded. The story may ultimately have too many implausible elements, and leave out too much information. But there I go complaining. I think I want to see it again already.
White Zombie (1932)—I've seen this a few times now in recent years and it only seems to get stranger and more creepy. An early marker in the zombie subgenre, it gets there by way of obvious lifts from the Universal Dracula and Frankenstein movies, but manages to create something in that nexus of mesmerism and decaying body parts that still seems a little startling and new.
The Wire (s3, 2004)—Warming to this some—I certainly admire it, it's thought through conceptually to an impressive degree. And it does have interesting characters. But there's so much plot flashing by that I tend to get a little lost sometimes. Doing this the old-fashioned way too, with Netflix discs, because it would cost $15 on Amazon Prime. Does that make me cheap? It's more than half what I pay Netflix a month.
A Woman Under the Influence (1974)—Somehow I saw this when it was new, and I was impressed even then, but a follow-on dip into something else by director John Cassavetes (Husbands, maybe?) actually had the effect of repulsing me and effectively stilled my interest for a long time. So I still haven't seen much else by him, which I believe I may need to rectify soon. Because this is just great, maybe the best thing I saw all month—Gena Rowlands and Peter Falk are outstanding, and the way the story is told, in allusive, kinetic fits and starts, on a rich grainy color film stock, is just completely captivating. It's nimble and charming, but often painful too, and equally as often amazing, with breathtaking wide open emotional spaces.