Mostly because I'm tracking my Scorsese watching with this blog. Also, Leonardo DiCaprio and SO MUCH BOSTON ACCENTEDNESS.
1. Shutter Island (2010)
Is Martin Scorsese allergic to editing movies to under two hours?
And why didn't he cut down any of the languid middle scenes that were 1) boring, 2) not at all misleading (which was their primary goal), and 3) not furthering the plot?
Speaking of editing, why were there so many editing continuity errors?
Will Jackie Earle Haley ever not play a total creepy creep in a movie?
Should Scorsese stick with realism?
Nice suits, boys.
2. The Departed (2006)
How solidly entertaining was this movie?
Was the reason I liked this movie so much because I liked Infernal Affairs so much?
Does any one miss the anxious masculinity replete in other Scorsese movies, but is skimmed over if present at all in this one?
Why are tightly scripted thrillers like this so rare?
1. Alice Doesn't Live Her Anymore (1974) managed to fly in the face of my auteur-with-a-misogynist-bent idea of Scorsese. Chronicling the life of Alice (Ellen Burstyn) after the death of her husband, we follow her and her son Tommy's (Alfred Lutter) move from New Mexico to Monterey, California, the palce where she was a singer in her youth. In Phoenix, they stop so Alice can earn money as a singer. She gets tangled up with an abusive married man (of course), so they move onto Tuscan where Alice gets work as a waitress. While Tuscan wasn't the end goal, Alice and Tommy find people and things to love there.
This sounds corny and cliche, but the film has a sense of menace that only Scorsese could bring to a woman-coming-into-her-own movie. The abusive relationship with the married man is scary, with the camera capturing long takes of him knocking around furniture and going after both Alice and his wife. Even scenes in the diner that might have been silly and fun in other movies, like diner revolting and throwing food at the one waitress left to serve everyone, are full of real violence. I'm still wondering if I was taking these scenes too sensitively, but I appreciate that he was taking these women's fears seriously enough to make these moments frightening.
Although there were some great light-hearted moments as well, like Tommy making friends with town hooligan Audrey (Jodie Foster) and learning to shoplift. In fact, most things out of Tommy's mouth are golden, capturing the 12-year-old's ability to both be legitimately funny and incredibly obnoxious in equal parts. This is just to say, Alfred Lutter gets Least Annoying Child Actor award for life, wherever he is now.
But the thing that won me over was the camera's focus on Alice. The beginning the film shows our girl Alice's actions with a quick (and usually annoyed) follow-up reaction from her husband, child, or girlfriend as if to indicate that Alice defines herself only by the way other people respond to her. As the movie progresses, I noticed less and less of this camera dwelling on others' reactions as Alice starts to come into her own and discover who she is without a husband, lover, or familiar friends.
Plus, a lot of the reactions were replaced by the rancher who takes interest in Alice. Kris Kristofferson gets to show off his patented Look of Love, especially in a sweet scene where he and Alice are relaxing in the kitchen, half-clothed talking about Alice's childhood and her old dreams. The way Kris (let's be honest, he was probably just playing himself) looks at Alice is full of such sincere interest and affection. It was a nice scene that spoke more of romance than most movies entire.
And while this film indulges a little too much in the histrionic, I found this the most interesting of Scorsese's films that use a meandering plot.
Huge tonal change.
2. Cape Fear (1991). This movie was perfect. You can have your Goodfellas, or Mean Streets, but neither of those two bring it like Cape Fear. First and foremost, the film had a focus: ex-con Max Cady (Robert De Niro) recently released from a 14-year prison sentence wants his lawyer, Sam (Nick Nolte), to suffer because Sam buried a document noting the woman Cady raped was promiscuous which may have lessened Cady's sentence. So with an actual plot, we watch as Cady goes after Sam's dog, his coworker Lori (who Sam spends a lot of time with, although it's not quite an affair), his daughter (Juliette Lewis), and finally his very life. The film gets more and more tense as the movie goes on.
Part of that has to do with giving Sam and family some scenes to show intrafamilial tension as well. Sam and his wife Leigh (Jessica Lange) have had marital problems in the past, so when coworker Lori becomes a victim, it causes the two to argue. So not only is there a psycho messing with them, they're not getting along. And then the daughter is in summer school after being busted from smoking pot, so she's not exactly on good terms with her parents either. But they don't seem to be absolutely shrill to one another either (one of the many reasons American Beauty makes me cringe). They've got some bonds that are keeping them together through this craziness.
I also enjoyed the cinematography in this film. The filmmakers seemed to be having fun as they have objects appear in the foreground of shots or have shot-reverse-shot conversations often defy the 180 degree rule, making everything seem just a little off. And a smattering of Dutch angles add to the disconcerting feel of the movie and also add a sense of old school style. There were also some fun allusions to Scorsese's own work (the opening shot of a shirtless De Niro is reminiscent to his role in Taxi Driver) and other classics (Gregory Peck shows up, and it's awesome).
But the best (er, creepiest) moments where the long scenes where Cady is messing with the family members. Most pronounced is Cady's interaction with Danielle, the 15-year-old daughter. After talking on the phone with her the night before by pretending to be her new drama teacher, Cady has Danielle meet him in the auditorium alone. He treats her like a grown-up and gets her to confess her unhappiness with her parents. He even gets her to confess her interest in sex, talking about literature with notorious sexual descriptions, and even further gets her to allow him to touch her. Juliette Lewis is so good here, being equal parts embarrassed, intrigued, and willing to be rebellious. She's not a completely stupid teenager, but she also craves to be treated like she's older. And Cady's gentle approach is so disturbing because the scene plays out so naturally. (At this point in the movie, I was curled up in a ball saying, "Ew, ew ,ew" over and over again.) De Niro's ability to harness a fine balance between charming and creepy is incredible.
What it comes down to is this: Cape Fear is a perfect thriller, giving enough character development to make the audience care, but also a chipper enough pace to keep the tension high. Recommend.
Raging Bull (1980) was nominated for many awards and is highly rated in many "best films ever" lists. It won Oscars for Robert De Niro's performance as the fallen boxing champion Jake La Motta and for best film editing by Thelma Schoonmaker. These are deserved awards. De Niro brings his A-game, ranging from a fit young scrapper to a fat has-been. And the boxing scenes are magical, combining classical music, quick editing, slow motion, and fog to an already legend-implying black-and-white film.
However, I did not care for this film. Never has Martin Scorsese's knack for capturing the male gaze been so apparent. Yes, the character La Motta is sexist, so having the film treat the women as mere objects of desire makes sense. But watching a man order a woman around as to how she can pleasure him is just sickening--if not tedious--to watch, not to mention the more blatant physical abuse. And even when the women in Raging Bull do fight back or divorce, it comes off as mere annoyance rather than a deeply emotional event. Again, this reemphasizes La Motta's perspective, but it sucks and I don't want to see it reemphasized in the film's overall perspective.
And besides my feminist rantings, Behind the Music and E! True Hollywood Story episodes have told the tale of the fallen star enough times that this film doesn't seem as fresh as it may have in 1980. I doesn't help either that I saw Casinobefore this, which has a similar De Niro/Pesci fighting about a blonde woman moments, just with less mafia and actual adultery.
In the end, I wish there was less sexist asshole and more boxing, for I could watch slow motion boxing set to Pietro Mascagni all day.
Opening scene from Raging Bull.
The Elephant Man, another heavily nominated film of 1980, appeals to my taste for the bizarre. The black-and-white filming in this case made the story of 19th century John Merrick, or the Elephant Man, seem more like an urban legend. Though an odd story about a highly deformed man, it's based on a true events (though the script sensationalizes some of the accounts found in The Elephant Man and Other Reminiscences and The Elephant Man: A Study in Human Dignity). It somehow walks a fine line between respecting the life of the Elephant Man and exploiting the fantastic elements in his life. It also managed to keep something that features sideshow freaks from getting campy and something so life-affirming from getting saccharine.
One of the most effective devices in showing John Merrick's journey from freak to full human is how the character is filmed. Certainly, Mr. Merrick's face has monstrous elements. The beginning of the film finds him being gawked at, first as part of a side show and later as part of Dr. Treves' anatomical lecture. David Lynch's decision to hide Merrick's face and body at the beginning borrows suspense-building techniques from horror films, keeping the audience in the same trepidation that the characters around him are. But as Dr. Treves' starts to bring out Merrick's humanness, mostly in the form of oral communication, he is finally shown on the screen as much as the other characters, no longer hidden behind is deformities.
The two main protagonists are played as good men without it coming off as sanctimonious. John Hurt, as John Merrick, manages to bring out genuine goodness and intelligence from behind the heavy makeup required for the role; Anthony Hopkins brings a clinical but kind air to his role as the anatomist Frederick Treves, with a healthy dose of conflicted feelings toward his treatment of Mr. Merrick. These two fit well into a film that in some ways almost feels like a Charles Dickens tale, with no good villains, dirty streets, and upper-class slumming.
But this is a David Lynch production, so it's not completely cheesy so much as vaguely surreal and somehow beautiful.
Opening scene from The Elephant Man.
Post script: Despite my obvious preference between the two films, I can't choose between these two gorgeous scores. Raging Bull makes violence beautiful with its use of Italian opera, while The Elephant Man finds beauty after a journey through strange and haunting circus themes. But they are both absolutely lovely soundtracks.
"Intermezzo" from Raging Bull composed by Pietro Mascagni (again, because I can't resist):
The romance of Italian opera.
"The Elephant Man Theme" from The Elephant Man composed by John Morris:
I finally got around to Zach Braff's Garden State (2004) and Martin Scorsese's Mean Streets (1973), and I got pretty bored with both films. This probably has less to do with the quality of the movies (they're not terrible as much as merely adequate) and more to do with their influence on films since they came out.
I tried to watch Garden State once before, but about a half hour in I was bored enough to just go to bed. This second time, I was wide awake, but still had to force myself to plow through the first chunk of the film where the protagonist is still unemotional and no one likable has even come into the film. As it gets going, however, more personality comes across as Braff and Peter Sarsgaard lose the loathesome behavior and really breathe life into an otherwise bipolarly boring/overly poignant script. And as much as I like Natalie Portman, she once again proves why I have no idea why I like her so much. She does better with smaller films since she's not a very big actress (neither physically or acting-wise), but she's still not that spectacular. I couldn't help but compare her crazy character to Kate Winslet's in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) and see her coming extremely short in creating an interesting and attractive character out of weird behavior. I still like you, though, Natalie.
And like most folks my age, I have a copy of the Garden State soundtrack. It features of mix of new indie bands and mellow older songs that are the hallmark of quirky independent film lately (extra reading from the Culture Warrior). Unfortunately, the moments when this music shows up for 30 seconds are some of the best parts of the film if only to break up the silent, static shots of Zach Braff staring into the camera blankly. Sorry, but the brief soundtrack probably shouldn't be the best parts.
I think why I'm had so much trouble liking this movie is because it seems like it's everyone's favorite film ever. But like its hipster cousin Once (2006), I was merely whelmed* instead of inspired. I liked it okay, but the overly excited hype made me feel bad about not liking it more.
At the end of Roger Eberts retrospective on Mean Streets, he states, "In countless ways, right down to the detail of modern TV crime shows, Mean Streets is one of the source points of modern movies." I certainly saw that. But besides being an early example of the small scale crime drama, it gets a little boring. Perhaps because it was so pioneering, it feels cliche. But I think it's also evident that this is one of Scorsese's earlier films, since this feels a little like a less sleek and less fun Goodfellas, although with a healthy dose of remorse. (Oddly enough, one of my biggest complaints with Goodfellas was the lack of remorse.)
There are some good performances, with De Niro playing a dumb member of the mob who gets into money trouble. And the frequent fights set to upbeat pop or traditional sounding Italian music were the most entertaining parts for me (Scorsese classic contrast!). The fights looked sloppy like real fights actually look which brought more realism to the film than anything else. Although the ending violent shootout had some humorously bright colored blood spraying out of bodily orifices which made me laugh hysterically. Perhaps this wasn't the intended response. In fact, I don't think I really responded as strongly to any other part of the film as I did with this scene. I should probably seek out more spectacularly gory horror movies.
Anyway, the downfall of both films was that they both spent a lot of time on unlikable characters doing tedious things, which compels me find something else to do while watching the movies rather than give my full attention. However, both films had some intriguing, if inconsistent, performances and soundtracks that are awesome and carried me through the film when nothing else did.
All in all, I don't think I'll ever seek these movies out again. They just don't appeal to me. But don't worry. I feel bad about it.
P.S. Movie highlights:Garden State features Jim Parsons in a knight costume. Mean Streets features the same opening credits song as Dirty Dancing. Again, I think I was missing the point of both films. Oh well.
In pursuit of understanding why Martin Scorsese is a great director, I rented one of his classics, Taxi Driver (1976), and I think I get his legacy now.
One of the beautiful things about Taxi Driver, and the thing that stuck with me after I finished watching it, was how subtle and ambiguous it was. We don't really know the main character Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) that well and are given scraps to piece together. Things we learn about him in the film: he went to Vietnam as a marine, he's having trouble sleeping, he watches hard core films in his spare time, he works long hours at nights in the trashiest neighborhoods of New York (despite his hatred for them), and his only friends--if you can call them that--are other Taxi Drivers. We also see his inability to not be off-putting to both women and men; he's hopelessly awkward in the creepiest way. He also writes down his thoughts in a well written and honest journal. Throughout this, the camera, not to mention De Niro's listless inattention, effectively isolates Travis from his surrounding environment. From this we can create our own character from what these actions imply: 1) Travis is probably screwed up from the war, 2) he's probably extremely lonely, and 3) he wants to do something good for the world/somebody.
Unfortunately, his attempts at doing something good end are unsolicited and somewhat terrifying.His journal entries, read effectively in a conversational sort of dictation by De Niro, hint at things deeply felt and unsatisfied. The narration is the eeriest part of the film, and I couldn't help thinking that Travis was the basis for Watchmen's Rorschach, the character also expressing through a journal a loathing for the rotting city and a capacity for violence.
And when that violence plays out, it's haunting. Like other Scorsese films I've seen, the violence is given full screen time, with no hiding. In this case, the violence is bloody and sloppy.By the end of it, we see a birds-eye-view of the scene that almost lovingly goes over each body, each bullet wound. I'm never sure how Scorsese feels about violence--whether or not he condones it, because he never seems to outright condemn it--and this film is no exception. Although for me, Taxi Driver is at least disturbing in idea, if not emotion toward the violence.
Travis trying out his gunslinging contraptions.
However, I was excited by a few of the roles. Cybill Shepherd as Betsy was able to play a professional campaigner who is self-assured which is refreshing seeing as how I haven't been too please with some of the female roles in Marty's movies. Betsy knows what she will and will not take. When she decides she doesn't want to see Travis anymore, she doesn't. Also, Albert Brooks as Tom also makes an appearance as a fellow campaigner with Betsy. It was one of those pleasing cinematic moments when a comedic actor does well within the context of a very dark and serious drama. And while I'd heard a lot about Jodi Foster in this film, she's more like a placeholder, another example of Travis' inability of really helping people. His solutions are in violence, and that, obviously, isn't always the answer.
By the end of the film, we see that Travis is lauded as a hero. It seems only the film's audience who was privy to his journals and private acts know that it probably wasn't just heroism that motivated his actions; something is terribly wrong with him, but we don't know what. We end up asking, what happens if he reaches that breaking point again?
After already standing 2 hours with Joe Pesci in Goodfellas, I decided I'd just get the 3 more hours of him out of the way with Casino.
The first hour, kind of like Goodfellas, is a lot of fun to watch. We hear through narration and quick shots how everyone got into the casino buisness, how the money got to the men on top, how the Tangiers functioned. Unfortunately, there's about 2 more hours of stuff to get through. This movie is way too much of a biopic (it's based on a book that's based on real events) for it to really be a solid piece of cinema. The problem with a film trying to be epic is that it's a short story format. You can have a fun ride with a film, but you're never going to get the characterization or emotional ties that a novel or television show has because of the length.
Even at 3 hours, Casino can't decide what it is. The quick pace at the beginning makes it seem like it will be a fast paced overview of a man's journey in Vegas. Unfortunately, as the pacing slows, scenes are drawn out, and as the narration drops out more and more, the film becomes tedious. Pretty soon people aren't saying anything to each other but f-bombs. People are drunk, high, sleeping together, tying up children. I honestly just started doing other things. I knit about a third of a scarf. I knit a scarf while watching Casino.
I just find biopics boring. I don't care what anyone says, Ray, Walk the Line, My Left Food, Out of Africa, Goodfellas--they're just not that good. Sure the acting is good--a biopic is nothing if not an excuse for an actor to go all out and impersonate someone--but the problem with actually adapting someone's life to film is that you can't make a clean story arc or character arc. You're forced to adapt events to what really happens. And even when a film plays around with events to create an arc, it's still not a streamlined story because you have to cram in so much. I'd rather have somebody just tell me the highlights (like Casino does at the beginning) or dwell on certain events. Probably the most interesting biopic I've seen is Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould. It's not a favorite, but at least it acknowldeges that the audience is just getting a mosaic of person's life whether or not it's shown in a linear fashion, and so we share in 32 events/habits that define the man.
Really, this is just to say that Casino started out fun and interesting, but got progressively more boring as the movie went on. I just wish the movie would have stayed as fun as it was in the beginning. But good old Marty Scorsese wins you over at the very end with an ending de Niro narration of what happened to Vegas after the fall out (story time again!) and a return to the epic choral music that began the whole film. I'll give Scorsese this: he sure knows how to pick good music and begin and end a movie.
I've got a lot of time the next few days before I go home for Christmas (thanks weather) so I rented some movies I've always heard about but never got around to. Turned out, they were all "manly" mobster movies. First up, Goodfellas.
Much like The Godfather, it tracks the rise and involvement of a young man into the mob. But unlike The Godfather, the young man wants to get into the mob. It begins with Henry Hill, the half Irish half Italian neighborhood kid who sees and admires the gangster lifestyle. Christopher Serrone plays young Henry and captures the characteristics and enthusiasm older Henry played by Ray Liotta (and attractiveness).
From the very beginning, we realize we're going to get the greatest hits version of Henry's story, complete with narration. The first hour of the film until we catch up to the initial scene chronologically, is a pure pleasure to watch. We speed through facts and events and it feels like someone telling a story. Group scenes pan by each person describing their name and their role. Dialogue and music blend between scenes blatently skipping over non-essential information. His courtship with Karen is told by narration on both sides kind of reminiscent of When Harry Met Sally cut-ins but broken up by some scenes. Then it starts to get real with unprovoked murders, affairs, cocaine, and more murders. And then it gets irritating because everyone is making terrible choices and it's just painful to watch.
One of the most interesting things about the film is it's vague dwelling in the past. Although styles change all around, the music and Liotta's wardrobe stay behind. The music, although most is contemporary with the the time period, always sound a little antiquated. For example, an early 80s scene features a song by George Harrison who--like the rest of the Beatles--never could escape sounding at least vaguely like his old band. And then Ray Liotta's clothing usually looks like it's based on 50s style. His button-up shirts have clean, flat hems that don't require to be tucking or clean cut suits in dark teals and blues. It's as if he's holding onto the fairytale dream of the mob from when he was a kid. However, an 80s punk version of the Sinatra classic "My Way" leads us out of the film. I guess things caught up with Henry Hill.
This film is a loving tribute to the mob. Through the enthusiastic perspective of Henry, we never see the mob judged, except that it sure is a fun ride. The horrible things he tells matter-of-factly, the benefits he praises. In the end, Goodfellas is not my favorite film. I prefer character driven stories, and while this film certainly is about the character Henry Hill, it's always a little detached. We never know how he feels about his relationship with his wife or that innocent guys are being killed. We get glimpses by how he reacts in scenes, but for the most part he seems emotionally ambivilant about it until the fun times roll around. We know this: Henry Hill sure loves the mob.
Lessons learned: Joe Pesci is obnoxious and don't bust a mobster's balls.
Nice suits, boys.
Gun holsters and rolled-up sleeves.
One of the beautiful things about Taxi Driver, and the thing that stuck with me after I finished watching it, was how subtle and ambiguous it was. We don't really know the main character Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) that well and are given scraps to piece together. Things we learn about him in the film: he went to Vietnam as a marine, he's having trouble sleeping, he watches hard core films in his spare time, he works long hours at nights in the trashiest neighborhoods of New York (despite his hatred for them), and his only friends--if you can call them that--are other Taxi Drivers. We also see his inability to not be off-putting to both women and men; he's hopelessly awkward in the creepiest way. He also writes down his thoughts in a well written and honest journal. Throughout this, the camera, not to mention De Niro's listless inattention, effectively isolates Travis from his surrounding environment. From this we can create our own character from what these actions imply: 1) Travis is probably screwed up from the war, 2) he's probably extremely lonely, and 3) he wants to do something good for the world/somebody.
