Tag Archives: Drama

Cartoon Comparisons: Metropolis (1927) / Metropolis (2001)

20 Sunday Mar 2016

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Up and up they build the tower;
Up and up ambition leads.
Further down, foundations sour
As equality recedes.

Bitter grows the patient base
And richer grows the wealthy crest.
Neither’s happy with their place,
And both believe that they know best.

Social dangers of the past
Are pains mankind will not outgrow.
In the future, race and caste
Are rifts we still must overthrow.
____________________

MPAA rating for 1927 Metropolis: Not Rated (should be PG)
MPAA rating for 2001 Metropolis: PG-13

This will be the beginning of a new feature called Cartoon Comparisons, in which I will compare and contrast a live-action and animated film that share plot elements or source material. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my first stab at this was my double review of Ordinary People and Colorful, after which I discovered several other pairs of films to consider. For this Cartoon Comparison, I’ll be tackling the silent-era German classic Metropolis and the 2001 anime adaptation, also called Metropolis.

I haven’t seen a great many silent films, but most seem to be relatively short so as not to overstay their welcome. Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, at least in its most restored version, clocks in at nearly 2½ hours, a daunting runtime that’s long by talkie standards. Until recently, my only exposure to Metropolis was in Queen’s music video for “Radio Ga Ga,” which shows many of the film’s most impressive special effects, expansive skylines with tiny moving vehicles and floating ships that still beg the question “How did they do that in the 1920s?!” The art deco set design is consistently impressive so that even if some viewers start getting bored, architectural enthusiasts shouldn’t. Being familiar with only the film’s visual style, I was surprised at the high-minded plot, which includes a despotic industrialist, his sympathetic son Freder, a peace-urging love interest named Maria, and a mad scientist who creates a robot to become Maria’s evil doppelganger.

The film clearly owes its classic status to its interesting story and memorable imagery, but the usual complaints and conventions of black-and-white silent pictures apply, even more than usual due to its length. When characters are in love or shock, they hold their hands over their heart; when they’re tired, they conspicuously wipe their brow; when they’re scared, they practically have a seizure. Brigitte Helm does double duty as both the demure, angelic Maria and her wicked robot copy, who indulges in weirdly reptilian movements and is over-literally equated with the Whore of Babylon.

Despite the silent-era excesses (like most of the men wearing lipstick), many elements still hold resonance. Some are visually striking, such as Maria being chased by a flashlight’s glow, the flooding of the worker city, and the climactic fight with shades of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. One of the most notable social aspects was the tension between the poor working class and the wealthy elite, led by Freder’s father. The evil Maria takes advantage of the oppressed workers to incite riots and impulsive fury, which cause more problems and grief than they fix. Even in 1927, before Hitler’s Germany or more recent threats of rioting, Metropolis served as a warning against blind proletarian rage in favor of understanding on both sides. It’s a drawn-out, melodramatic test of one’s patience but one ultimately worthy of all the critical appreciation.

Now for the 2001 anime film of the same name. This Metropolis is based on the 1927 film but has its roots in a 1949 manga of the same name, which has little-to-no connection with Fritz Lang’s story. There’s still a bustling metropolis, parallels to the Tower of Babel, a mad scientist, societal turmoil, and a robotic girl, but despite some set design toward the end that pays homage to the original film, the story is its own. Other similarities are owed to the film’s production team. Many of the cartoonish character designs with big eyes and bigger noses seem as if they had been plucked from Astro Boy, due to the involvement of Tezuka Productions, which was founded by Astro Boy’s creator. In addition, the script was written by Katsuhiro Otomo, which explains traces of his cult favorite Akira, such as the distinct character motivations, political uprising amid catastrophic danger, and runaway power resulting in eye-popping destruction.

The Metropolis anime still has the social tension between classes, but this becomes secondary to the tension between humans and machines. It is robots who are relegated to the lowest levels of Metropolis, and distrust of machines runs rampant. Instead of a robotic harlot to sow dissent, the central android is a young girl named Tima, commissioned by a power-hungry duke but found first by a detective’s nephew who believes her to be human. The duke’s adopted son vows to hunt her down even as she questions her own identity.

This version of Metropolis is unlikely to leave anyone bored, and the animation is as polished and spectacular as any anime I’ve seen, albeit with a more sci-fi sheen than the films of Studio Ghibli. As a fan of futuristic cityscapes, Roger Ebert even called it “one of the best animated films [he’d] ever seen.” Like the original Metropolis, much of its power lies in the visuals: enormous fish swimming through the transparent wall of a high-rise office, a threatening stand-off as snow begins to fall, and especially the explosive climax set to a bizarrely fitting Ray Charles song.

Like Akira, Metropolis was meant to be a game-changer for anime, and the skill on display does not disappoint. What it lacks is a bit more focus on characters. The villain’s machinations are left rather vague, while the key relationship between the boy and the robot girl could have used more depth. I liked how their bond was tested, but by the end, the closing scenes don’t seem quite as optimistic as they try to be. These complaints are still quibbles, since the characters are still more engaging than in Akira.

It’s no surprise that a film with so much more action, color, and sound is far more entertaining than a silent picture from 1927. Lang’s Metropolis was the forerunner, the seed of so many other futuristic films since, while the animated Metropolis is like the vibrant blooming of its influence on animation worldwide. Both are must-sees for fans of science fiction cinema.

Best line from the 1927 Metropolis: (the closing title card, echoing Maria) “The mediator between head and hands must be the heart!”

Best line from the 2001 Metropolis: (Atlas) “It’s our emotions. They vibrate, and all we can do is move forward within that amplitude. But without affirming them, we can’t survive.”

 

Rank: Both List Runners-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

369 Followers and Counting

 

Strictly Ballroom (1992)

17 Thursday Mar 2016

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There once was a couple steadfast
Who danced on the floor unsurpassed,
Till, thrilled by the groove,
The man busted a move,
And every last judge was aghast.

They groaned and bemoaned the upstart.
They claimed he disgraced their whole art.
Yet those like the pair
Who were willing to dare
Realized they didn’t care
About outlawing flair
And let them keep dancing their heart.
________________

MPAA rating: PG

Have you ever started watching a movie and knew from the first ten minutes that you didn’t care for it, and then, by unexpected degrees, warmed up to it until you realized that you did actually like it? I can’t think of another time when that was the case, but that was my experience with Strictly Ballroom, the first film from Australian director Baz Luhrmann. I’ve only seen his rather forgettable version of The Great Gatsby (the second half of which was better than the first), but Strictly Ballroom is his most critically acclaimed film, with a Rotten Tomatoes score of 95%.

Centered on Australian competitive ballroom dancing long before Dancing with the Stars, the movie starts out as a garish mockumentary, detailing the unconventional style of dancing favorite Scott Hastings (Paul Mercurio) and trying to paint his haughty mother and the judges as unbearably pretentious. The gaudy close-ups and quirky editing were probably meant to be comedic and cater to Luhrmann’s penchant for flashiness, but it just comes off as bad acting and direction.

I was about ready to write it off as not for me, but I stayed with it. I watched as Scott was approached by the ugly duckling of the dance academy Fran (Tara Morice). I watched as their unlikely partnership bloomed into romance and Fran’s Spanish family showed their dancing chops. (There are Spanish people in Australia. Who knew?) I watched as Scott was torn between winning a competition for his sheepish father’s sake or dancing for himself and Fran. The whole movie just kept improving until I was left pleased and cheered by the finished product. The choreography was excellent, and certain scenes with Scott and Fran seemed to have a memorable quality, as if they should be much more famous and iconic.

Why did it have to start so poorly? I’ve read that the film plays with stereotypes, but the beginning employed a stylistic choice that fell flat, in my opinion, and persisted in the insufferable authority figures who refused to allow Scott’s personal dance choices. While they were consistently grating, I did appreciate how his foe’s stance was explained as both uncertainty at what would be acceptable or able to win and cutthroat greed to protect a “sport” that had become an industry.

Either way, I wouldn’t watch Strictly Ballroom for the antagonists. Scott and Fran and their dancing are the core of the film and an endearing cinematic example of the whole “follow your heart” cliché. My ranking it as List Runner-Up rather than List-Worthy lies mainly in the beginning’s shortcomings and the fact that it wasn’t very funny for a comedy, but another viewing could easily raise my opinion. Strictly Ballroom is a prime example of why you should finish what you start; it just might surprise you.

Best line: (Fran, with a quote that seems like it should be more famous too) “A life lived in fear is a life half lived.”

 

Rank: List Runner-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

368 Followers and Counting

 

The Martian (2015)

13 Sunday Mar 2016

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Loneliness can end in death
And one forlorn and final breath,
If a person in despair
Is not aware that others care.

A lonely man can yield to fears
That he’s alone among the spheres,
And many have assessed such thoughts,
From wealthy men to astronauts.

It’s true that lonely men can fret,
But loneliness can also set
A man’s commitment to restore
His life and courage from before.
__________________

MPAA rating: PG-13 (mainly for language)

I’m so very glad I finally saw this movie. Based on the same-titled book by Andy Weir, who published it serially on a blog before a big publishing deal arrived, The Martian is a combination of Cast Away and Apollo 13, borrowing and in some cases heightening their strengths.

When a storm hits NASA’s Mars base and the six astronauts are forced to evacuate, Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is left behind and forced to survive and wait for rescue. I was surprised that most of that synopsis happened in the first ten minutes, with the rest of the film dedicated to the survival. There was no real establishing of characters, least of all Mark, not even the cursory introduction of Gravity’s opening scene, before the action and disaster kicked in. Actually, the rest of the film isn’t much different in its absence of backstory, yet the central plot and struggle compensate for the fact that such potential shallowness would normally earn criticism. Weir in writing the story and Ridley Scott in directing it have fashioned a film full of characters, wordless activity, calculations, and halfway understandable science that is still somehow riveting, entertaining, and never boring. That’s no mean feat.

I don’t mind Matt Damon, but my VC actively dislikes him. In fact, the only role she’s liked of his (aside from Spirit since that was just his voice) was in Interstellar because he got blown out an air lock. Against all odds, she too enjoyed The Martian. She might have enjoyed it more with a different actor, but at least she was rooting for Damon not to get blown out an air lock. Damon’s performance isn’t quite on the level of Tom Hanks in Cast Away, but he deftly carries his alone time on Mars with humor and resolve while occasionally letting his inner distress peek through. At least he didn’t have to deal with aliens, right? The rest of the ensemble trying to rescue Mark fill their roles well, with Chiwetel Ejiofor and Jessica Chastain standing out. Jeff Daniels as the Director of NASA comes off at first as a soulless administrator, but his steely commitment to making hard choices covers some genuine concern for his astronauts that isn’t obvious.

What makes The Martian special spans both the minute details and the big picture. Aside from the amazing special effects and expansive Martian vistas (and the characters floating through the rotating Hermes shuttle was pretty darn cool), there is much to enjoy. The ’70s disco soundtrack is supposed to get on Mark’s nerves, but it heightens the overall enjoyment for us, with self-referential choices like Thelma Houston’s “Don’t Leave Me This Way” and Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” David Bowie’s “Starman” especially complements its montage and got stuck in my head afterward. Other little geeky moments include Sean Bean’s explanation of the Council of Elrond, as well as Sebastian Stan (The Winter Soldier) and Michael Peña (Ant-Man) as shipmates and cheering for “Iron Man.” I can’t wait to see if Bucky and Luis meet in the MCU. “Hey, weren’t you in The Martian?”

In addition to the little personal touches, the entire film serves as an encouraging repudiation of the famous declaration of logic from Spock (and Dickens): “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” While NASA’s director holds to that theory, far more people see Mark’s rescue as a duty to his individual value. Putting “no man left behind” over the more utilitarian view, many people sacrifice their time, their safety, and their personal interests to bring him home.

The Martian definitely vies with True Grit for my favorite of Matt Damon’s films, and it’s a shame it didn’t win any Oscars due to stiff competition. I suppose that’s why it was made into a “musical or comedy” to get some traction at the Golden Globes, but it’s much more dramatic than comedic. It’s a satisfying testament to the danger and unifying potential of space travel, the power of duct tape, and the worth of even one life.

Best line: (Mark Watney) “I don’t want to come off as arrogant here, but I’m the greatest botanist on this planet.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

367 Followers and Counting

 

Akeelah and the Bee (2006)

09 Wednesday Mar 2016

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Some have their goals and their futures all mapped,
People who know where their aptitudes lie, but
Endless potential is often untapped,
Loath to step out and wholeheartedly try, but
Longing one day to catch somebody’s eye.

You may have dreams that remain in your head
Only to wither away over time.
Useless are hopes overlooked and unsaid, and
Rare is the victor unwilling to climb.

Hear not the people who doubt every rung,
Echoing doubts they themselves have received.
Attend to the words of the more fruitful tongue,
Ready and willing, no thoughts preconceived,
To trust and to see what great deeds are achieved.

Open your notions of what you can do;
Utter a cheer for still others like you, and
Try, for indeed that is how dreams come true.
____________________

MPAA rating: PG

I’ve often enjoyed watching the Scripps National Spelling Bee, a contest that mainly serves as an outlet for everyone to marvel at how kids can do what so many adults can’t. While it’s heartbreaking to watch the loser’s hopes dashed with the ding of a bell after words like ptyalagogue and apparatchik, the winning moment is a well-deserved shot of feel-good triumph, for the winner and those watching. Such is the appeal of Akeelah and the Bee, a story of hard work rewarded.

Keke Palmer is excellent as Akeelah Anderson, a young black girl who tries to merely blend in at her inner-city school. What makes her different, though, is her uncommon interest in spelling, which is little more than a hobby, but when she is urged to take part in the school’s spelling bee, it becomes more than that. Suddenly, her principal (Curtis Armstrong) has high hopes for her and encourages her to train with Dr. Larabee (Laurence Fishburne), who himself participated in the National Spelling Bee as a child. Though her own confidence is fragile, she commits to the effort of studying and preparing for the National Bee.

Akeelah and the Bee could easily have been a ho-hum inspirational tale, but its nuance and heart win the day. Akeelah is almost trapped by a system that expects the least of her, while others see her potential. Fishburne is especially admirable as her spelling coach, acting not unlike Sydney Poitier in To Sir, with Love, patient with his pupil’s progress but adamant that she not become complacent or “talk ghetto” when their focus is the English language. He enshrines a quote by Marianne Williamson as his cogent argument against self-doubt, and even as he feels himself getting more invested in Akeelah than he had planned, he provides an example for her and an implicit call for her to be a role model for others.

The Scripps National Spelling Bee itself is recreated perfectly, right down to the same moderator whose recognizably uninflected voice reads out those difficult terms that no one would really use in a sentence. The pressure on the contestants is also very real and not just for Akeelah. Her rival Dylan Chiu (Sean Michael Afable) is constantly pressured by his father to win, and some scenes made me question the merit of putting kids under so much strain for the sake of an unlikely win. Yet Akeelah also makes friends through her newfound ambition, and even wins the encouragement of her mother (Angela Bassett) and her entire community. One seemingly shady punk named Derrick briefly reveals a softer side that seems to have been quashed by his environment, and his backing of Akeelah’s goals is like a chance to lend the support he never gave his own.

Akeelah and the Bee occasionally drifts into predictable territory, but by the end, the plot and characters take the unexpected high road to a happy ending well-earned. It’s hard to find fault when a film’s message of self-confidence and accomplishment is so earnestly and realistically presented (for the most part), and Akeelah and the Bee is a perfect example of an inspirational story done right.

Best line: (Derrick) “Kick his butt, Akeelah! B-U-T-T, butt!”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

367 Followers and Counting

 

Earthquake (1974) / San Andreas (2015)

06 Sunday Mar 2016

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Just another normal day,
Just keeping normal cares at bay,
But then to everyone’s dismay,
The ground begins to shake.
The rocks and hills begin to play,
The soundest structures start to sway,
Entire buildings fall away
Amid the sudden quake.

If you make it through the scare,
You wonder how your loved ones fare.
Do they live and how and where?
You worry more for them.
The worst disasters we must bear
At best encourage us to dare
To save the ones for whom we care,
Whom danger might condemn.
__________________

MPAA rating for Earthquake: PG
MPAA rating for San Andreas: PG-13

There’s something strangely entertaining about a disaster. Whether it be the dated survival tales of the 1970s or the modern effects-heavy world-wreckers, it seems clear that it’s not just the Joker who likes to watch the world burn. Of course, this doesn’t apply to real-life disasters. Films like The Impossible and World Trade Center are serious and painful reminders of tragedies, but others like San Andreas are enjoyed as popcorn fun simply because they’re not real. This seems like a puzzling dichotomy, but it’s no less true.

I thought I’d do a comparison of two similar films from different eras that exploit people’s fondness for destruction: 1974’s Earthquake and last year’s San Andreas. Both revolve around earthquakes blind-siding California and people’s struggles to survive. Both include experts who saw the quake coming but didn’t act fast enough, crumbling cityscapes, characters getting trapped in a parking garage, and a dam’s destruction and subsequent deluge (one at the beginning, one at the climax). While a few of the shaking scenes are even similar (both show a glimpse of a cook suffering at the hands of his stove), the two films are on entirely different levels. Earthquake was groundbreaking at the time and even won an uncontested Oscar for Best Visual Effects, but it seems quaint next to the comprehensive devastation of San Andreas, which is ironic since the quake in Earthquake is a 9.9 on the Richter scale while those in San Andreas only reach 9.6. (Yeah, only.)

I was curious to see Earthquake because of its tie-in to an episode of Quantum Leap, in which Sam leaps into a stuntman who features in a famous scene from this movie, complete with a clip showing Lorne Greene. It’s clear now as it surely was then that Earthquake is a gimmick film. Released at the height of the ‘70s disaster craze and the same year as The Towering Inferno, it seemed to be the result of producers saying to themselves, “Let’s see, we know of movies with a plane disaster, a ship disaster, a hurricane disaster, a fire disaster…What’s left? I know! An earthquake!” Plus, the film was accompanied by a new speaker system called Sensurround, which was meant to heighten the feeling of experiencing an earthquake and which was shorter-lived than the early 3-D craze. With so much effort put into accentuating the quake itself, everything else about the movie seems secondary, even though the actual shaking is relatively short.

Like other disaster films of the era, Earthquake is jam-packed with stars: Charlton Heston as a businessman unhappy with his marriage, Ava Gardner as his sullen wife, Genevieve Bujold as his lover, Lorne Greene as his boss, George Kennedy as a policeman, Richard Roundtree as a stuntman, Walter Matthau (under a pseudonym) as a drunk, and Marjoe Gortner as a psychopathic National Guardsman who uses the disaster for his own empowerment. And that’s not even half of the ensemble. It’s clear what the filmmakers were trying to do, focusing on a large swath of the population dealing with a huge disaster in different ways, yet only five or so characters really matter and even the film seems to forget about many secondaries by the end. Certain scenes are impressive for their time, and several are tense as characters try to escape the aftermath of the quake. I just wish that the cast and the narrative overall had been streamlined, perhaps with a less downbeat ending.

San Andreas, on the other hand, is everything a disaster movie should be, with all the unmitigated damage you could want. We see dams bursting, cars crashing, helicopters crashing, buildings toppled or chipped apart, and entire cities reduced to a flooded, smoking ruin, and it’s cool! Of course, it would be horrific if this actually happened (and I suppose it could), but it’s a feast for the eyes boasting an astronomical body count with no actual bodies. While I don’t really buy the causes for disasters like The Day after Tomorrow or 2012, an earthquake is more plausible and thus more alarming, though I was confused by the inclusion of a tsunami. (Seriously, wouldn’t a tsunami go out toward the sea and hit Hawaii instead of doubling back toward the source of the quake?)

Dwayne Johnson (whom everyone still calls the Rock) isn’t what most would consider a consummate actor, but he certainly knows how to play a tough, capable lead such as air rescue pilot Ray Gaines. Returning as his co-star from Race to Witch Mountain, Carla Gugino plays his soon-to-be ex-wife, whom Ray must save from certain death, along with their daughter Blake (Alexandra Daddario of the Percy Jackson films). There’s also Paul Giamatti’s worried seismologist and Ioan Gruffudd’s architect/home-wrecker, whose character is tested by stress and easily written off as selfish. While there are still many minor players, Ray’s family is the focus, which proves to be far more entertaining than the scattered attention of Earthquake. Screenwriter Carlton Cuse gives just enough emotional baggage and stress-kindled romance to be relatable, while throwing in a few moments that seemed directly drawn from his experience with Lost.

Neither film is what I’d call great cinema, but as a disaster movie, San Andreas is easily the better movie and one of the more exciting entries in the genre. I enjoyed watching it a second time even more because I got to watch my easily excitable dad jump out of his seat with two dozen “OMG” moments. Watching the two films side-by-side did emphasize one of the differences between the old wave and the new wave of disaster movies. While the likes of The Poseidon Adventure and Earthquake weren’t afraid to kill off main roles and leave the audience sharing some grief with the characters, more recent films are more concerned with keeping the protagonists together and finding a silver lining. It’s hard to say which is a better method, but one thing is for sure: movies like San Andreas and Earthquake are why I will never move to California!

Best line from Earthquake (which ties in to my elevator list): (dam caretaker, when told things seem fine after an elevator incident) “Right. People drown in elevators every damn day of the week!”

Best line from San Andreas: (young Ollie, after getting Blake’s phone number for his older brother) “I can’t wait to be twenty.”

 

Rank for Earthquake: Honorable Mention

Rank for San Andreas: List Runner-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

367 Followers and Counting

 

When Marnie Was There (2014)

21 Sunday Feb 2016

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Out in the marsh where the sandpipers wade
And the reeds allow breezes to bend every blade,
Visions appear in the moonlight and fade
And leave witnesses with a curious scare.

Some think they’re nothing but eyes playing tricks,
And others fear ghosts have escaped from the Styx,
But some explore further with sorrows to fix
And find answers they didn’t know would be there.
___________________

 

MPAA rating: PG

 

Studio Ghibli has been crafting outstanding animations for the last three decades, and now that co-founder Hayao Miyazaki is officially retired (again), it looks as if its present hiatus may be permanent. Before the hiatus, though, the studio gave us one more Ghibli gift in When Marnie Was There. Is it among the best Ghibli has to offer? No, but it still has a magical and earnest quality that can hold fast with the likes of Porco Rosso and The Secret World of Arrietty (also directed by Hiromasa Yonebayashi).

Based on Joan G. Robinson’s 1965 YA novel, which is one of Miyazaki’s favorites, When Marnie Was There is also one of Ghibli’s more mature works, not in a graphic sense like Princess Mononoke, but in an emotional sense. Anna (voiced by Hailee Steinfeld in the English dub) is a deeply troubled girl who keeps all of her griefs inside. As she says, she hates herself, for having asthma, for not fitting in at school, for not feeling at home with her foster parents. When she is sent to the countryside to live with friendly relatives, she remains uncomfortably stoic until she encounters a rundown mansion and the mysterious blonde girl Marnie (Kiernan Shipka) who only appears to her. When Anna crosses the tidal marsh to the mansion, she seems to step back in time, and their friendship grows, allowing Anna to regain her emotions and her self-confidence.

Many Ghibli films are leisurely paced, and this is no exception. The beginning takes time in establishing the characters: the nosy but nice would-be friend, the laconic neighborhood fisherman, the habitual painter fond of Marnie’s mansion. This community is merely a quaint backdrop for the central friendship and mystery between Anna and Marnie. The slowness of the mystery taxes the patience more than the film overall, but luckily there is a payoff, even if the line between dreams and reality becomes more ambiguous over time.

Some comments on the film have considered the girls’ bond in a romantic context with words like “infatuation,” and there were times that I was wondering where exactly their relationship was going. By today’s standards, when two twelve-year-olds meet secretly and dance in the moonlight and express their love, romance is assumed over friendship, while the opposite probably would have been true in the past. Perhaps modern sensibilities have colored people’s perceptions, like the humorous assumptions on Sherlock or the way some people mistake Sam and Frodo’s brotherly camaraderie in The Lord of the Rings for longing. Ultimately, the girls are meant to be only friends, yet the solving of the mystery reveals that their connection is indeed deeper than first thought. Actually, the revelation casts certain scenes in a much more tender and meaningful light, with subtle psychological details unseen in most Ghiblis. (Note the doll that Anna holds during a painful flashback.)

Though it’s not obvious at first, Anna’s greatest misery is being ignored or not wanted. Even the nicest people who seem to pay her attention are easily distracted, leaving her with nothing but personal distaste. Is Marnie merely the subconscious product of her desire for attention or a supernatural answer to it? By the end, it doesn’t really matter. Wishing to belong is nothing new in family films, but When Marnie Is There supplies a satisfying reply with more realistic resonances than most. With so much emotional depth, it’s unfortunate that the film’s visual style can’t quite match it. It has its fair share of memorable Ghibli-style scenes (a moonlit rowboat, wading through a rising tide), but its beauty just doesn’t compare with their best. Though Marnie has earned a nomination for Best Animated Feature, Inside Out is still a shoo-in. Despite this, When Marnie Is There is a bittersweet swan song for one of the great animation studios.

Best line: (Anna, watching her classmates) “In this world, there’s an invisible magic circle. There’s an inside, and an outside. Those people are inside the circle, and I’m outside.”

 

Rank: List Runner-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

364 Followers and Counting

 

Dominick and Eugene (1988)

12 Friday Feb 2016

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Bless all brothers near and far,
The sensitive and callous ones,
The playmates prone to jealousy
Yet somehow fond of family,
The boys who tease and rib and spar
Yet love their parents’ other sons.

Maybe brothers don’t realize
The privilege that I never had,
A friend you maybe did not want,
A buddy quicker to confront,
Yet one whose love your name implies,
Who shares more than a mom and dad.
______________

 

MPAA rating: PG-13

 

I recently found a local movie channel that shows more obscure films, and checking out one such sleeper just for the heck of it, I discovered this underrated drama. Dominick and Eugene seems like a prime award magnet. It features a nuanced fraternal relationship, a superb performance from an Oscar nominee (Tom Hulce), strong supporting roles for Ray Liotta and Jamie Lee Curtis, and a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Yet I’d never heard of it, and the most it received in 1988 was a Golden Globe nom for Hulce before fading away into the sea of forgotten ‘80s movies. Maybe its title was too generic, but this is a shame.

The titular duo are twins living together in Pittsburgh. Liotta is Eugene, a doctor-to-be who tries to start a relationship with a colleague (Curtis) and further his career while dealing with his mentally challenged brother. Hulce as Dominick is the star here. He is child-like, earnest, and hopelessly gullible, often falling for the tricks or suggestions of his coworker Larry and the local hoodlums, and when an idea gets in his head, he doesn’t let it go easily. Despite his disability, though, Nicky is the breadwinner, and his job as a garbage man serves to fund his brother’s education. Eugene is both protective of and frustrated by his brother, for reasons not clear at first, and life, love, and tragedy get in the way of their close relationship.

Dominick and Eugene could have drawn comparisons to the other drama about brotherly bonds and mental illness from that same year Rain Man, which did earn Best Picture and Best Actor Oscars and had far more advertising and better known stars. Hulce can’t quite compare with Dustin Hoffman’s role there (few can), but his fragile and earnest performance surely deserved more attention. One scene in particular stood out to me, as the camera centers on Hulce’s first-person view and reaction to a shocking act and a personal realization. The relationship between the two brothers is both strained yet unbreakable and more believable than in Rain Man, helping Dominick and Eugene to succeed as a subtle and touching affirmation of family ties.

Best line: (Dominick, who is a Christian but discouraged, looking at a crucifix) “If I was God, I wouldn’t let that happen to my boy.”

 

Rank: List-Worthy (tied with Rain Man)

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

361 Followers and Counting

 

Wit (2001)

09 Tuesday Feb 2016

Posted by in Movies, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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Cancer—I have seen your pitiless work,
The way you so silently grow from within.
The experts have learned how you burgeon and lurk,
A game meant to study but never to win.
So many have felt your pale fingers intrude;
So many have borne the despair in your wake;
So many have prayed that you might be subdued;
So many have suffered and cursed for your sake.
Physicians give odds with no true guarantee,
Less interest in me than my cunning disease.
They can’t cure themselves, and they cannot cure me;
They fight off the chorus, then wait for reprise.
Oh, cancer, your name is a tyrant for now,
But after your reign, we will nevermore bow.
________________

 

MPAA rating: PG-13 (for themes and brief nudity and language)

 

I’ve seen a lot of great movies lately, yet none have touched me as profoundly as Wit, such a simple title for such a powerful film. In fact, I think everyone ought to see this underrated HBO film, especially those fond of poetry or having any experience with medicine and hospitals. Directed by Mike Nichols, Wit is based on the play by Margaret Edson, which very deservedly won the 1999 Pulitzer Prize for Drama.

The always wonderful Emma Thompson gives one of her finest performances as Professor Vivian Bearing, a renowned scholar of metaphysical poetry. When diagnosed with advanced metastatic ovarian cancer, she has little choice but to submit to a rigorous experimental treatment prescribed by her Dr. Kelekian (a surprisingly straight-laced Christopher Lloyd). What she at first approached with cool confidence quickly becomes a constant hardship, and the treatment becomes more traumatic than the disease. While Bearing interacts with doctors and her sympathetic nurse (Audra McDonald), much of the film is her speaking directly to the camera, describing her passion for poetry, the trials of her chemotherapy, and her internal musings and doubts. When scenes of hospital room waiting start to drag, she makes note of the tedium and points out that as boring as these few scenes are for us, just consider how they feel for her. Thompson shaved her head for this role, and while Judy Davis stole Emmy and Golden Globe wins for the biopic Life with Judy Garland: Me and My Shadows and was indeed excellent, I think Thompson should have won something for her phenomenal performance here.

Bearing has spent her life dedicated to the work of John Donne, the master of 17th-century metaphysical poetry, full of conceits and metaphors so deep that lifetimes are spent unraveling their full meaning. I remember reading his poem “The Compass” (which is quoted in the film) in my literature class and being at first confused and then blown away by the depth of meaning, the kind of depth that appeals to English professors like Bearing and made Helene Hanff “dizzy for Donne” in 84 Charing Cross Road. One of the amazing things about Wit is that it is almost a cinematic version of a Donne poem, much more understandable on the surface but boasting ever more profound layers of wisdom the further one goes.

So many concepts are touched on with earnest emotion: her doctors’ cold scrutiny of her as “research” rather than a human being; the disconnect between studying the concept of death and confronting it in reality; the inconveniences and ineptitude of health care, which anyone who has endured a hospital stay has experienced to some extent; and the universal desire for pity, even when one has denied it to others. Of all the ideas discussed, empathy is perhaps the most prominent. McDonald plays the best kind of nurse, possessing a firm hand while demonstrating genuine concern for her patients, even in the details, in marked contrast to the ambitious but indifferent young doctor Jason (Jonathan M. Woodward, from the Firefly episode “The Message”). While the doctors are able to view Bearing’s degenerating condition with clinical dispassion, she admits that her life has reached the point of corny sentiment, when the most desired by someone in pain is the touch of human kindness.

Despite a sweet flashback with her father, Bearing is sadly bereft of friends and loved ones. Throughout her ordeal, she gets only one visitor, whose tenderness offers one of the most tear-jerking scenes in recent memory and places Bearing’s life and life in general within a subtle religious context. It’s also a reminder that, after a life dedicated to mature wisdom and the quest for knowledge and meaning, even the simplest of acts and themes can mean more. Wit is a masterpiece of insight and emotion, which as Bearing’s own professor states about Donne’s poetry, is not merely concerned with wit but truth.

Best line: (Vivian Bearing, near the end) “It came so quickly after taking so long.”

VC’s best line: (Dr. Jason) “What do you do for exercise?”   (Bearing) “Pace.”

 

Rank: Top 100-Worthy

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

361 Followers and Counting

 

Woman in Gold (2015)

31 Sunday Jan 2016

Posted by in Movies, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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I stand here and smile on the gallery wall,
Watching the patrons who stare and pass on,
And sometimes the curator comes in to call
To boast of my grace and my era long gone.

I’m used to the gaze of dispassionate eyes,
But I once adorned a more intimate wall
When I was a gift, not a national prize,
A visage of somebody few now recall.

Not many remember my former abode,
But my memory, like my smile, never dies,
Corrupt men and hatred marked that episode
That stole me away as mere rare merchandise.

Suppose me content with my grace and my smile
After what I have seen on my difficult road?
I won’t be content until we reconcile.
I wait for my family; to them I am owed.
______________

MPAA rating: PG-13

 

Woman in Gold may be the most underrated drama of 2015. Reviews were mixed, and its two award-worthy performances have been pretty much ignored by any of the awards, aside from a single SAG nomination for Helen Mirren. While everyone has their own personal grumble about the Academy’s choices, this one is mine. Woman in Gold deserves so much better.

The film’s greatest assets are its two appealing leads, played by Helen Mirren and Ryan Reynolds. Mirren is Maria Altman, an elegant grandmother who fled Nazi Germany as a young newlywed and now wishes to reclaim a painting she left behind, Gustave Klimt’s Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, otherwise known as The Woman in Gold. The problem is that, while Maria sees it as a fond portrait of her late aunt, the nation of Austria guards it as a national treasure, their own Mona Lisa. That’s where Reynolds’ Randy Schoenberg comes in, a less-than-successful lawyer whose familial connections trump the fact that he knows nothing of art restitution cases. Together, the old lady and the bookish attorney make an unlikely team against Austria and the injustice of the past.

Many films have touched upon the Nazis’ forced appropriation of great artwork, from 1964’s The Train to 2014’s The Monuments Men, but rarely do these films present the personal cost of those crimes. They weren’t just stealing valuables, but precious antiques and family heirlooms. Art isn’t exactly my favorite subject, and Woman in Gold could have come off as just some stuffy lady wanting back what’s hers; instead, flashbacks to Maria’s life in Vienna elucidate just how much these treasures meant to her, not merely because of their monetary value but because of their memory and affection that only she can fully understand. It’s personal, and the film translates that fact effectively.

Mirren is a brilliant Maria with her grandmotherly concerns and dry wit, but when the long road to restitution takes its toll, Reynolds’ Randy steps up to keep the crusade going. Randy lives in the shadow of his judge father and famous composer grandfather, and when pushed to look into Maria’s case, he decides to give it his all, right up to the overwhelming challenge of the Supreme Court. As the case moves forward, it’s clear that it’s personal for Randy too, and visits to Vienna reinforce the importance of his Jewish-German heritage.

Woman in Gold also features welcome smaller roles from Daniel Bruhl, Frances Farmer, and Jonathan Pryce and a witty, at times tense screenplay that bounces nicely between past and present. With all these positives, why then has the film been snubbed? Perhaps because the pacing lags at times or because it isn’t entirely historically accurate. Neither of these faults bothered me, and the historical deviations don’t seem to bother the real Randy Schoenberg, who was interviewed for the film’s bonus features. Woman in Gold turns a legal battle over art into a personal underdog story, and by the Titanic-style ending, my VC was in tears and I wasn’t far behind.

Best line: (ignorant court house employee) “I want to go to Austria sometime with my daughter. She loves kangaroos!”

 

Rank: List-Worthy

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

361 Followers and Counting

 

Memento (2000)

13 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by in Movies, Poetry, Reviews, Writing

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(In honor of this film’s unique storyline, try reading this poem backwards too.)

 
“Where am I?”
You ask and wonder;
You are someplace yet unknown,
Lacking memories of your own.
Your life’s asunder;
Know not why.

Every scar
Helps you recall
The pain that drives you every day
Without a doubt as to your prey,
Assuming all,
Here you are.
_______________

MPAA rating: R (for much language and brief violence)

 

Since I’ve very much enjoyed Christopher Nolan’s other films, especially Inception and The Prestige, I thought I should check out Memento, his first studio-funded project, which was based on his brother Jonathan’s short story “Memento Mori.” I watched it and found it to be everything people said it was: confusing, daring, intricate, and mind-bending, adjectives that have come to be synonymous with Nolan’s brand of filmmaking. Non-linear storytelling can be a love-it or hate-it selling point. I was willing to be confused in the hope of a payoff, while I knew from the start that this was not a film my VC would enjoy. If you want a film to enjoy casually, Memento is not it. You can watch it all the way through and still may be lost; heaven help you if you miss a piece of this tightly edited puzzle.

Leonard (Guy Pearce) is a man with anterograde amnesia; unable to store recent memories, his brain resets every fifteen minutes or so to completely forget where he is, how he got there, and what happened since the event that caused the amnesia. To get his bearings, he keeps photographs and notes and, for very important facts, tattoos, most of which explain to him that his wife was raped and murdered by someone named John G. whom he must seek out to exact his revenge.

In order to replicate the disorienting effect of Leonard’s lapses in memory, everything is broken up into disjointed sections that begin in medias res, with each division explaining the part before it. The film starts with a picture of a murder; then you see the murder itself. Leonard wakes in a hotel room with a man tied up in the closet; two segments later, you understand how that came about, even if Leonard himself will never remember the details.

One of the first questions for me kicked in when I wondered just how he knew the murderer was named John G. and how he obtained John G.’s license plate, despite his seemingly debilitating handicap. Doubt like that is exactly the point. Leonard’s “condition” leaves him entirely at the mercy of his notes and the explanations of others, if he chooses to listen to them. An apparent friend named Teddy (Joe Pantoliano from The Matrix) seems to want to help Leonard, but Leonard doesn’t know who he is. He could be his closest friend or his mortal enemy, and all he has to go by is a picture through which he has told himself not to trust Teddy, advice completely dependent on Leonard’s mindset at the time he wrote it. The same goes for a woman named Natalie (Carrie-Anne Moss, also from The Matrix), whose involvement with Leonard ranges from sympathetic to abusive depending on which piece of the puzzle we’re watching. Right when you think you know what’s going on, the next segment casts a new light on things.

This kind of storytelling is extremely fascinating, but confusion is unavoidable at times. It took me half the movie to realize that a series of intermixed black-and-white scenes of Leonard talking on the phone were happening chronologically in the past so that they would meet the scenes that were happening backwards. I’m still not sure I understand everything, and a second viewing is almost required.

Christopher Nolan’s first big mindbender is both his most puzzling and his most alienating work. While I was intrigued to find out what would happen (or rather what happened) and a perspective-changing tragedy tugged the mental heartstrings, the film felt cold overall. Most of Nolan’s work has some light to it, whether it be the dubiously heartwarming conclusions of Inception and Interstellar, the one-sided happy ending of The Prestige, or the humanity of the boat hostages in The Dark Knight. In Memento, there’s no satisfaction for anyone, no good will or unqualified concern. Brighter elements like these perhaps might seem out of place in a story about mental illness and revenge, but without them, Memento is not as emotionally engaging as it is mentally. Combine that with the fact that it features more foul language than all of Nolan’s later films combined, and it falls toward the bottom of his filmography for me, even if it is a riveting and wholly original piece of work.

Best line: (Leonard, to his wife while she’s re-reading a book) “I always thought the joy of reading a book is not knowing what happens next.”

 

Rank: List Runner-Up

 

© 2016 S. G. Liput

356 Followers and Counting