Honeydripper (2007) +

Cute genre experiment with surprising, subtle depth. Sayles takes the radical approach by allowing the char/actors time to maneuver the simplistic formula and stock character tropes that this narrative provides them. It's the digging at the edges of the characters and the scenarios that allows for a differently dimensional kind of storytelling here. This is the kind of movie that inspires my instinct to defend. Yes, it's slow. Yes, it's sweet. Yes, it's predictable. But it's also John Sayles who - for better and worse - is ever interested in the surprise and depth hidden in plain sight along well-worn, ostensibly familiar paths. The worst aspects of this piece come from the central male performances -- Danny Glover who's both too old and too ostentatious for this piece and Charles S. Dutton who demonstrates that he's tone-deaf to the subtleties of style that this genre riff requires. Yaya DaCosta is adequate but beautiful/compelling nonetheless. The main kid is wonderful, as is the guitar ghost guy. One aspect of the film that's also nice is how the two white characters are just as cliched/stock as the black characters and they too are afforded surprising depth in expert cameo/supporting performances by Stacy Keach (as good as he's ever been) and Mary Steenburgen who's just beyond good as the depressed southern housewife who Lisa Gay Hamilton's character works for. A secondary plotline of rabbling cottonpickers is handled well with solid/excellent performances throughout (especially from Kel Mitchell who should just have much more of a career he's so interesting). This isn't a great movie but is surprisingly deep/rich/nice. (I'm also struck by how much the barely hidden spiritual message of the film -- get out of the way and allow the miracle to happen -- so resonates with my own experience this week.) Plus, I just love Lisa Gay Hamilton.

Myra Breckenridge (1970) -

This is just such a categorically unpleasant film. Which is I so love it, when I love it. When I'm not in the place to love it, the noxious unpleasantness makes it really tough. This time through, when I was admittedly giving it less than my full attention, I was struck by two main things. First, how complex the intercutting of Hollywood stock footage is and how essential it is the to operation of the narrative (not just the film but the narrative). Second, how perfect Raquel Welch is in the role. It plays upon her particular gifts: her presence, her beauty, that vague impression of superiority that she somehow always conveys, and her ability to be absolutely, believably, sincerely artificial. It's not a simple vacuousness (ala Farrah Fawcett's really sweet performance as the dimwitted actress) but it's a studied artificiality that Welch is able to do well and here it suits the role. (Indeed, that simplicity is what throws Mae West off -- her presence is completely artificial but always somehow also insincere.) Raquel Welch is really good in this part, perhaps because her weaknesses as an actress are totally suited to this character. Got a few key ideas from the opening sequence. Otherwise, thsi was an un-fun screening, reminding me how much this film really comes alive on a big screen.

Be Kind, Rewind (2008) -

Cute but limited experiment. The premise -- a gaggle of loser outsiders band together to craft a grassroots cinephile community through the magic of vhs -- creates a number of setups for a whole range of homages to home video trash. The film doesn't make sense on a certain level (why vhs?) but there's a lot of pleasures in the film (mostly observing the wacky crafty clevernesses of the scenery/props/costumes in the remakes). The cast -- Jack Black, Mos Def, Danny Glover, Mia Farrow, Melonie Diaz -- are all just fine, each doing their characteristic schtick. This, of course, creates a dilemma...if you don't hook into the charms of a particular performer, their component of the piece becomes a real charm gap. And since this movie totally depends on the CHARM and WHIMSY and CUTENESS, that can be a problem. Diverting enough, most of the time, but ultimately sorta dumb.

Boom! (1968) ?!?

Wow. Well. That was an experience not to be missed. Probably an experience not to be repeated either. The film is an extraordinary, incomprehensible mess. Elizabeth Taylor's too young for the role of an elderly wealthy woman staving off paranoia and insanity as she desperately clings to her fantasies of herself. Richard Burton's too old for the mysterious, masculine drifter capable of stirring the souls of women on the verge of death, reawakening long dormant desires and longings while pressing them ever closer toward surrendering to final mortality. Noel Coward's too glib for the role of Taylor's queer corollary, his gentility cutting awkwardly across the lascivious and lurid bitchiness of his character's lines. Plus, the whole scenario makes next to no sense. All of which, however, doesn't stop the extraordinary excess of the production from bringing some genuine thrill into the proceedings from time to time. Like when Noel Coward arrives to Taylor's mountaintop abode riding upon the swarthy shoulders of some mediterrannean macho. Or when Taylor arrives to a patio dinner consisting of many beasts roast on spits wearing a spangly caftan and a giant headdress sculpted, it seems, entirely from paper mache, dixie cups and soda straws. Or when Burton melifluously intones the Xanadu-Kubla-Khan poetry to which Taylor responds with a shrieking "Whaaaaaat?!" An extraordinary, excessive mess that must be experienced.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007) +

Surprisingly, deeply effective film. The screenplay and cinematography work brilliantly to enhance the incredible drama of the situation -- a paralyzed man who can only communicate by blinking one eyelid. The ensemble of women surrounding the central guy are great, especially the wife (Emanuelle Seigner) and the speech therapist (the simply extraordinary Marie-Josée Croze). What I found so surprising about the film is that it works outside conventional narrative structure, using the cinematic apparatus to construct an empathy of consciousness. At our Friday afternoon screening, the whole crowd of 16 audibly squirmed when a fly landed on the tip Jean-Dominique Bauby's nose (the adorable Matthieu Amalric, freaky paralyzed here). And I surprised myself by bursting into tears when Bauby's friend Laurent -- who's a disaster working on the alphabet techique -- comes to read Balzac to him. I don't have much profound to say about the film, beyond the simple fact that it worked on a visual and emotional level in ways that so surpassed so many films. I've not been a fan of Schnable until now really and I think this film marks a really important cue into how to access his films: using visuality to explore the narrative and emotional dimensions of consciousness. (Max Von Sydow is also really good here.) A good movie. Surprising, pensive, subtly intense...

Sayonara (1957) +

Always an amazing experience to watch this film. As MrStinky noted, the central story of Major Gruver and Hana-Ogi being structured as a romantic comedy, with the ancillary storylines creating the contours of the romantic tragedy. Of course, the reason I watched this was to think through the Nakamura story (Ricardo Montalban as the Kabuki actor) but what became more clear was how the all the likable characters are involved in some American on Japanese action, which for some reason I did not recall. The narrative locates the interracial/international romance in terms of unjust laws - social conventions that are legally sustained and which do not acknowledge the maneuvers of the human heart. It's an anti-segregationist, anti-JimCrow view of international/interracial romance, with the old guard (military authority as embodied both by the general, as well as the cracker colonel; society rules as embodied by Martha Scott's Mrs. Webster; even the hoodlums at the end) standing stubbornly in the way of blossoming new love. Michael's right this is the basic, in a Northrop Frye sense, of the romantic comedy. The media interest in the Gruver/HanaOgi romance is itself an interesting redeployment of the society: the press and the fans as a way to suggest a new model of societal sanction. The thing that's important to note about Montalban's presence in the film is how segregated he is: the only named MALE Japanese character, the only Japanese character to be not performed by a Japanese or Japanese American actor. Montalban's presence in the film is also the only vision of a masculine spectacular. His near nudity in the early costuming scenes, his light brown skin and lanky limbs connoting a clearly non-white physicality even as his skin is whitened. The contrast of the whiteness of his makeup and his undergarments, as well as the lean musculature of his frame, are some of the only extended scenes of individuated physical spectacularity of any gendered body in the film. In contrast, Red Buttons' scene in the bath is a spectacle of Katsumi's domestic service; Hana-Ogi's performance montage (notably, her virtuosity here is constructed not as skill of performance, but much more in the Ziegfield sense of a model wearing different outfits). The only male physical spectacle that is anywhere as pronounced is Brando's "gone native" scene in which he greets Eileen Webster (Patricia Owens) wearing a kimono, a kimono notably in the same shades of steel blue as his military uniform. The other thing to note about Nakamura as a character is that he's the only character who demonstrates any meaningful cosmopolitanism, as lucid in American cultural referents as he is enmeshed in Japanese tradition. He becomes, like Eileen, the only presence aware of the complexity of the interracial/international romance, in emotional, cultural and political terms. Eileen's final line renders an open space of unexamined and undiscussed possibility ("There's only one person I want to talk about this, mother, and he's JAPANESE!") -- the implication is that the interracial/international romances are not truncated by the governmental policies or social sanction, that they will continue on their own terms -- not to survive, necessarily, but to continue on their own terms. Nakamura's character is a racially queer figure -- neither white nor Japanese, neither American nor not American -- and his physical attractiveness is alibied by his Latinness. (The Marilyn Monroe references anchoring his heterosexuality, while the female fandom -- think of the American woman who claims that her young daughter is a big fan -- anchors his appeal as being different than competitive masculinity.) Nowhere does the film suggest that Eileen chooses Nakamura over Gruver, but the film does go far to imply that she enjoys more chemistry with Nakamura, that she might prefer Nakamura though she would of course choose Gruver.
2.9

Persepolis (2007) +

Tender and pensive, Marjane Satrapi's graphic memoir/novel receives an apt cinematic adaptation here. Gorgeously animated in (mostly) black/white 2-dimensions accomplishes something marvelous in conveying the aesthetic sensibility of Central Asian/Islamic cultural practice as it collides with Western visual principles of perspective and chiaroscuro. Notably, I feel the animation fundamentally and aptly centers the story in a Middle Eastern cultural perspective, thus "making strange" the visual and cultural predispositions of Western Europe. I especially like the telling of Iranian/Persion pre-history using the techniques of Turkish shadow puppet theatre. Works on so many levels, both humorous and poignant, while also conveying the essential historical context to which most Western audiences would be otherwise completely naive. The b&w also does a nice job of deracinating the story so that the political and/or cultural distinctions between the characters become the most legible markers of difference. Poignant, pensive, sensible. A generally gratifying film. As MrStinky noted immediately upon its conclusion: "I want to see the sequel." A strong testament to the effectiveness of the film's style of life narrative.

I'm Not There (2007) -

A possibly brilliant failure. The second pass through Todd Haynes explication of persona, celebrity, identity, biography, history and Bob Dylan wasn't much more entertaining than the first time. The art of the intertwinings is more evident, as well as the thematics underlying each characterization. However, while the 2nd pass permitted me a greater appreciation of the art of the intersections, it also emphasized the emotional vacuity of the enterprise. Without the aspect of emotional aspiration of surprise, it seemed all the more clear that this is a film of images and ideas and occasional exhilarations. There are perhaps two actual relationships staged in film - Blanchett's Jude with the journalist Keenan and Charlotte Gainsbourg with Heath Ledger's character. However, even there, the characters are in relationship with their ideas of the other. All told the film is an excellent explication of the same celebrity dynamics elaborated in Joseph Roach's IT, with Dylan being the abstracted role-icon that ghosts each narrative as they are each deployed in implicit tension with the other. It's an intriguing enterprise but, again, I found it emotionally vacuous. Only Gere and Bale have a clear handle on their character's emotional reality. Ledger's good, appropriately interior but ultimately obtuse. The kid is fine, more so than I originally thought, as is the interrogated poet. The only manifestation of the Dylan role-icon that I found to be entirely dissatisfying was Blanchett's Jude. I can't tell if I'm reacting to the fact that Jude's supposed to be Dylan at his most self-satisfied/terrified and solipsistic, but there's an affect of interior detachment that Blanchett adopts that I find really annoying. Blanchett's Jude seems to be watching himself act out, with only Keenan and/or perhaps the Michelle Williams figure able to really distract him from his self-fascination. This makes intellectual sense to the architecture of the film, but Blanchett's accomplishment in crafting this creature does not extend to tethering Jude to any actual emotional reality. Blanchett's Jude is an object lesson in self-abstraction, of getting so caught up in one's idea of one's self as to become estranged from the experience of life. Again, it's an amazing accomplishment that Blanchett's characterization is so convincing, but the one thing it's not is alive. Blanchett's Jude is absolutely vivid in the word's sense of producing clear mental images, but not in the word's more basic sense of being emotionally lively. The thing is -- as much as I feel that Blanchett nailed the ideas Haynes needed, I feel just as strongly that she neglected to invest these ideas with necessary humanness. The characterization is as a strange creature, not a man estranged from his experience of self... Moreover, although Blanchett's characterization is the most clearly memorable of them all, watching the characterization in isolation (as you can on the website) from the other aspects of the character reveal the simplistic -- even tediously repetitive -- dimensions of the characterization. Incredibly accomplished work, without the emotional texture to elevate beyond the level of occasionally enthralling stuntwork.

Casting About (2004) +

Fascinating tribute to the work of acting. The conceit of the film - 184 actresses auditioning for roles in an independent film which features the audition footage as a component of the film, a film which was never made - allows for startling insight into the work of actressing. The hard-to-define distinctions between good and bad, interesting and banal, competent and excellent. Most interesting is how the unvarnished aspects of the auditioner performance -- especially the single takes and the lack of professional makeup -- all of that makes the "feel" of the acting work very different. It's great to see the same monologue done by two actresses simultaneously. It's great to see the montage of different women answering the nudity question. It's great to see an actor tell a true story before moving into a similarly intense monolog, only to realize that she was a more compelling screen presence when she didn't have lines to say. Also great was the actress toward the end, Naomi Krass I think, who performed mostly in German but who was just amazing. A fascinating film but mostly for actressexual and acting geeks, probably.

Indie Sex: Taboos & Interviews (2007) +

Really good. I love this series. The interviews were great - the producers arranged some of the talking head commentary into topical/thematic sections. It's excellent to hear actors/directors especially talk about the experience of nudity and filming a sex scene. Perhaps the most interesting approach to the topic I've seen. Definitely usable for class. The Taboo film again avoided race, which is just weird, instead emphasizing kink in ways that seem very sensible from a sexuality perspective but less so from social history perspective.

American Gangster (2007) -

A paint-by-numbers gangster epic, overlaying a civil rights "uplift" narrative in the conventional template of the cop/criminal love affair. It's just a really bloated, self-consciously serious epic featuring two of the most self-consciously serious A-list actors in contemporary film. I haaaaaaated it. It's very well done and loaded to the rafters with interesting actors but none of them get to do anything that's at all emotionally compelling. It's pretty much all about the spectacle of criminality in 1970s New York, with the actors all inhabiting ideas instead of characters. I can't believe that people like Chiwetel Ejiofor and John Hawkes and Joe Morton are made to be so negligible and generic by the massive operations of the film. Some actors have somewhat showier moments (like Roger Bart as a racist State Department functionary or, more prominently, Armand Assante and Josh Brolin as, respectively, a supersleazy mafioso or a supersleazy cop) which are diverting but nothing seems to bring the film anywhere near the realm of emotional impact. The closest thing we get to an emotional reality is the relationship between Carla Gugino and Russell Crowe. Gugino -- who is just surprisingly, subtly good -- plays a handful of scenes as Crowe's exhausted ex-wife, and her presence is perhaps the only piece of the film that jolts with an emotional integrity (which, to his credit, Crowe participates in -- she makes him better). Less effective are the women in the Denzel Washington storyline, Ruby Dee and Lymari Nadal, both of whom are much better than their roles but who can only do so much when overwhelmed by the soul-sucking, stentorian superiority of Denzel Washington's approach to the role. The character may have kept his emotions at a distance but it feels here that everytime Denzel's acting opposite a woman he lets her do all the work which he barely acknowledges. That may be an apt character choice, but as an acting choice it's deadly, creating a vacuum in which the work of Dee and Nadal get stifled by Denzel's emotional silence. Washington's better with men, as with the impossibly hot Richard Guenver Smith (who, once again, just slays me with the force of his strange attractiveness).