End Of The Week Shorts #75
I try to avoid letting bad kids' films--or rather, films that bank on immaturity in the audience--get under my skin, but The Book of Life annoys me an awful lot.
I find no joy in saying this, but it seems to me that, in America, there are only two major, professional computer animation studios: Disney (which includes Pixar) and DreamWorks. Everything else seems to exist in a cesspool of cliche, poor writing, transparency, cheap characterisation, shockingly stupid jokes and general awkwardness in regards to everything technical. The Book of Life is not as bad as animation seen on children's television shows, but it's not much better. It seems to have envisioned a stripped down and profanely manipulative rendition of a shoddy Disney film and failed to hit its mark. Still, it revels in its grotesque and unnatural conception of a hero narrative, apparently pandering to some strange, suffocating mother archetype presiding over the brain-dead children that must be loving this film. I wish I could burn this out of my memory.
This will probably always be one of my favourite silent films--one of my favourite films, full stop. Sunrise is a synthesis of the American and European silent film, a kind of narrative poem that works in the abstract, but also appears in the literal foreground. This then operates as a Hollywood-ified Brothers Grimm-esque fairy tale about deception and murder that, instead of ending in ironic tragedy, ends happily. Simultaneously, however, Sunrise is an embodiment of harmony, its moving images ringing with romance of an elemental character that rises up from the earth and water, through the bodies and souls of humans, up through the skyline to the firmament above. Pushing through its melodrama archetypes of such rich palpability, Sunrise sees Murnau's expressionism merge with impressionism, making this one of his most technically impressive and experientially affective films. So much more could be said, but I am merely glad to have re-visited this after quite a few years. A masterwork.
My favourite part of Inglorious Basterds has always been the intro. Re-watching the first sequence alone reminded me of this and just how little I cared to sit through the rest of the film. I can't criticise the bulk of the narrative, however, because it has been quite a while since I've sat through it. The opening scene, however... perfectly performed; Waltz is so delightfully patient and ironically menacing, never overshadowing the cattle farmer played by Denis Ménochet, but allowing his subtle body language to ring out Tarantino's melodramatic Spaghetti Western-esque writing. And, having mentioned Tarantino, I think the intro of this film represents some of his best writing and direction - certainly not as iconic, but certainly less obnoxious and far more sophisticated, than the well-known sequences from Pulp Fiction, etc. Tarantino takes a back seat and lets his 'style' come through his 'insightful' commentary through dialogue concerning rats. That said, the grand take-away: now I've seen a few films from Russ Meyers, I'm not sure if I'll be able to sit through a Tarantino movie as I used to ever again.
I find it hard it believe that there could be another mainstream film out there as stupefyingly ludicrous as Weird Science. In essence, this boils down each of Hughes' classics to their basic beats and then smashes together a monstrous mess that is electrified into being by unrelenting and unabashed ridiculousness. Weird Science seems to be Hughes throwing his hands in the air after taking young adults (semi-)seriously through his melodramas and comedies and simply declaring that teenagers are laughably pathetic and unable to be helped. There is no other conclusion that can be made from this film; all of its insights and allure point at the target audience and mock. Maybe there is virtue in this; maybe it is an undecipherable satire built from the highest irony? Simultaneously, maybe not. The most entertaining thing about this film is the constant shocks you receive at how low it stoops. I remember liking this as a kid and I surely don't hate it now, but... it's a shock to the system.
Where Sunrise is a transitionary film for Murnau that signifies a movement between Europe and Hollywood, between stylised, expressionist and impressionist drama, to spectacle and character-driven melodrama, City Girl is through-and-through American. We see this in the characters and general tone, all of which are rooted in a deep understanding of genre via narrative; Murnau shows a very succinct understanding of genre via form, style and atmosphere, in the likes of Nosferatu and Faust (which signifies these films to be more 'artsy'), but, City Girl reveals itself to be a perfectly archetypal romance told wonderfully (quintessential Hollywood). In such, whilst there aren't too many surprises in the plot, the direction and pacing are absolutely phenomenal. Long has it been since I have sunk into a film so comfortably as this; the romance fits like a glove and it has been crafted masterfully. Only stating that love is a constant struggle, City Girl is simple and perfect. Highly recommended.
Ator The Fighting Eagle is an Italian rip-off, or mockbuster, of Conan The Barbarian. As you'd assume, the poster promises so much more than is delivered. What is so disappointing about Ator, however, is the sheer lack of entertainment and the abundance of awkward action wrapped up in unending ADR of the lowest quality.
The story told takes much inspiration from popular quests, such as Conan, Greek myths about Theseus, and also The Lord of the Rings. Not at all surprising, this seemingly unknowingly forces much archetypal imagery into an incoherent legend of an oppressive matriarchal society and a hero who wants to marry his not-sister. The best thing about this film are the dozens of inserted shots of a baby bear. Boring trash.
Kurt & Courtney is an investigative documentary that attempts to explore the mystery surrounding Kurt Cobain's death. This formulates, above all else, a rather nauseating experience for very many reasons: the subject matter is grim and far too easily exploited, there is an overwhelming focus on conspiracy theory and rather ludicrous, despicable at times, characters, all is mired down by an active, participatory question of truth and freedom of the press that often backfires - the audience not necessarily asking if what is caught in the lens of a camera is the truth, rather, if the presentation is truthful and genuine - etc. Kurt & Courtney then feels highly manipulative in its contrivance of a plot and pretentious in its supposed naivety. The truth this seems to access is founded in the discovery of a terrible network of friends around Kurt and the nonsense so many of them wish to indulge. I hazard to speak of this as truth, however, as there is one fundamental assumption that we are implicitly made to indulge: Kurt, himself, was a saint. He is a dark, unexplored hole in this film, and for this I have been left apathetic and exhausted.
Pretty good, but not great. The laughs come sparingly, the act-outs are poor and dry, the explanations of jokes and comedy, the prefaces, are weaved into the real joke-telling well, but are too jarring and ultimately unnecessary (as such things always are - and comedians really haven't seemed to register this in the past two years or so). The truth under the jokes, however, is what makes this work. Not bad for an hour of listening.
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Planet Earth II - The Two Forms Of Spectacle: Is Planet Earth A Documentary?
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