Author Archives: Simon Hardy Butler

Skip’s Quips: Accent on Credibility

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Blog Sketch 082813Could the greatest invention in the history of film be the subtitle?

I’m only kind of kidding. Where would we be without this wondrous tool, which has allowed those of us (including me) lacking fluency in various languages to enjoy works by Bergman, Kurosawa, Eisenstein, et al., without the burden of dubbing?

But that’s not its only benefit. Remember the time—not so long ago—when it seemed like all of the characters in movies set in countries outside the U.S. spoke accented English? Sometimes it appeared as if the accents didn’t need to be authentic … just unplaceably exotic.

We’ve evolved greatly since then, with subtitles informing a host of popular films—including those taking place in galaxies far, far away. That’s a positive step, though it doesn’t negate the continued bizarreness of time passing long enough in just a few scenes for any given protagonist to learn a native tongue quicker than a linguist devours alphabets.

I guess we’ll still have to take some things for granted. The language of the cinema almost makes me expect time to pass with a wipe in real life … or maybe with an iris. That it doesn’t isn’t disappointing; I just chalk it up to movie magic. Like I do the great subtitle—the silver screen’s own Babel fish—which has translated innumerable tongues for us, and in doing so, has improved the world. The folks behind this sadly unheralded art should be thanked.

We’d all be listening to forced, ambiguous accents without them.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: Bring Back the Blood Squibs?

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613I don’t know about you, but every time I see an action movie these days, I expect the gore to pepper the screen with pixels.

It’s hard to run away from computer-generated imagery. It’s all over TV–from commercials to ongoing series. And it pervades the cinema, where it has become, in some cases, the main reason to see certain pictures.

Yes, filmmakers can do things with CGI that couldn’t have been achieved 40 years ago. But is that always a positive? Are we relying too much on high rather than low technology?

I worried about this recently while watching Life of Pi, whose CGI animals—especially the growling, boat-hogging tiger—had a gloss and fluidity of movement that seemed slightly off. It was a solid technical achievement, surely, and the cinematography was often stunning. Yet the animals seemed less “real” than the fighting skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts. The tiger showed its stripes.

That doesn’t mean I think we should go back to adjusting models frame by frame and discarding all cinematic developments … though the process of creating CGI creatures may only be slightly less onerous. But I do think something’s missing from most of the computer-crafted images used today, whether it’s a tiger or a snowflake. It’s not just naturalness; it’s essence. Those battling skeletons—ludicrous as they may be—draw me in. That smooth-purring tiger doesn’t.

Somewhere Bruce the shark is rolling his dead eyes.

Skip’s Quips: Cinema and OCD

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Blog Sketch 082813Sometimes it seems there isn’t a disease, illness or affliction Hollywood doesn’t like—except for OCD.

It’s a checkered history. Obsessive-compulsive traits have often been played for laughs (see the twitching doctor in Bringing Up Baby or hysterical accountant Leo Bloom in The Producers), mined as a source of mild amusement (as in the introduction of Jimmy Two Times, who says everything twice, in Goodfellas), or regarded as aberrant and obnoxious (e.g., the insurance executive who neatly arranges his desk in The Incredibles). The reason: repeated action–the basis of comedy. Being obsessive is, well, ridiculous.

In reality, however, OCD is a serious disorder that can pervade a person’s life and daily activities. Television, to a certain extent, has lifted some of the stigmas attached to the condition, with shows such as Monk going far to address the frequently trauma-oriented roots of it, but even that series pointed to the supposed humor in obsessive-compulsive behaviors. (And don’t get me started on The Odd Couple.) The fact is, we’re used to seeing caricatures of people with mental illness onscreen, and it’s hard to accept a truly serious, credible portrayal of someone combating the psychological barriers of OCD without a guffaw or two.

Humanity’s come a long way since the days of visiting asylums to chortle at the inmates. Movies such as David and Lisa and I Never Promised You a Rose Garden have helped change perceptions of mental illness, but they’re countered by flicks such as 50 First Dates or Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo, in which issues such as short-term memory loss and Tourette syndrome are used as funny plot devices. Repeated, involuntary motion provides more laughs than compassion … until you experience it first-hand.

I know that experience intimately—as I have OCD. So does Setter. Because the author of this blog has it, too, and struggles every day to engage in normal, everyday activities that most people take for granted.

So in light of that, I’d like to ask Hollywood for understanding. Films can still be hilarious without making fun of OCD. Let’s find another movie mine for source material … unless it can be treated with the same empathy and respect informing the best aspects of our society.

That’s no tall order. It’s just the best one.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: Wrath of the Mythology Fan

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613I have one thing to say to those bent on making films inspired by ancient mythology.

Stop the cinematic madness.

From Troy to Wrath of the Titans, most of the legend-minded flicks of late have been absolutely horrid, with lousy scripts, all-too-CGI-ish special effects and plodding direction. But their worst offense is the transformation of these exciting, insightful tales of yore into tedious, talky stories of bore. I’m sorry, but who gave anyone the right to say, “Hey, I think my contemporary, magic-free interpretation of The Iliad is better than Homer’s”? Hm?

It sure felt a lot slower, despite the abbreviated (from the original source material) running time.

The fact is, myths remain topical because they’re intriguing enough to say something to us after all these years. They don’t need any tweaking to stay scary, witty or disturbing. They’re good as they are.

This goes, by the way, for any reimagining of mythology from any culture—including the lamentable Thor, whose silly, made-for-the-modern-age superhero and evil nemesis Loki resemble their legendary Norse counterparts as much as Hagar the Horrible resembles Snorri Sturluson. Sadly, we’re due for another installment of this blah-riffic series, which only means one thing: Hollywood loves to reimagine ancient mythology.

But we knew that, didn’t we? Stop the cinematic madness, I say.

Skip’s Quips: To Squirm or Not to Squirm

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Blog Sketch 082813Bad movies make me writhe. Stuck in my seat, knowing I paid mucho moola to watch them, I only have one recourse as the flicks meander on.

Fidget. Courageously.

It’s what I did while watching Oliver Stone’s dreadful Nixon, a dull, overstuffed journey into the life of Tricky Dick. The darkness of the theater, the film’s length and the fact that walking out would mean deserting my friends all prevented me from running the heck outta there.

So I writhed. Shifted in my seat. Tapped my fingers.

As Father Merrin from The Exorcist might cry: “The tedium of the movie compelled me!”

What else can we do in the face of such cinematic horrors? It’s even worse when you’re at a screening, where one must maintain a kind of politesse. Your power to criticize vocally is taken away from you. You’re even removed from any light—so there goes your ability to exit without stepping in someone’s popcorn.

The movie is your master. And you can’t do anything about it.

That’s why, these days, I prefer watching flicks on TV. You can always change the channel if, say, Nixon graces your screen. You can always go to the kitchen to get a snack or spend an inordinate time in the bathroom if the film takes too long.

The power of TV compels me … to embrace it. As well as remember that we still have the capacity, as consumers, to avoid the worst movies.

More power to us.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: The Real Horror Picture Shows

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613Let it be said (or written, as this format requires) that I’m not a fan of camp.

No, I’m not railing against burnt marshmallows, off-key singalongs or lopsided kickball teams. I’m ranting about the genre spawning the most insufferable Baz Luhrmann films or Stephen King tales. The ones that make Fellini flicks look subdued.

It ain’t art, in my opinion. And I wish we’d have less of it.

The thing is, it’s much easier to be over the top when it comes to script, direction, acting, et al., than it is to take ’em seriously. That’s because camp doesn’t need to be credible—it takes the short route, and that’s often enough.

Movies should be more than that. People shouldn’t have to settle.

The remake of Carrie makes me worried about this market. The original—camp at its most tiresome—seems to have accrued the luster of age, a phenomenon the villain Belloq cynically observed in Raiders of the Lost Ark. This sheen has been deemed worthy to capture in reinflicting this story upon the public, and I’m concerned it’s just the start of the trend. How much do we need of the same half-eaten sandwich, anyway?

The expectation, it seems, is that some people go to the movies to laugh at them instead of revel in them. To make fun of silly situations and come out thinking they’re like a ride at an amusement park, where cheap thrills welcome everybody. There’s a fear of becoming too involved in a real picture, such as The Godfather, where you’re forced to immerse yourself in a world you’ll never inhabit. Great films are scary. They require commitment.

Dr. Frank-N-Furter and his minions don’t require such dedication. It doesn’t stop, perhaps, their fans from participating in the campy singalongs. But such activities might cause them to miss the arias of real filmmaking.

And that, in my opinion, would be a shame.

Skip’s Quips: Asking Jokes to Take a Holiday

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Blog Sketch 082813Few films escape the pitiless skewer of parody, and The Seventh Seal is no exception. Yet as I was thinking about this black-and-white Ingmar Bergman movie today, I wondered if all the jokes are warranted. The fact is, they diminish public opinion of this great philosophical masterpiece, putting it in the attic of Works of Art That Are Too Frequently Lampooned to Be Taken Seriously Anymore.

That’s a shame, because this flick is as relevant and powerful today as it was 56 years ago.

One of the only films I’ve ever seen that evokes the fear and horror pervading the Middle Ages credibly—and done on a limited budget to boot—TSS features a stupendous central performance by Max von Sydow as an introspective knight who has returned from the Crusades to find his country ravaged by the plague. The surrounding cast, which includes Bibi Andersson and Nils Poppe as traveling actors, is brilliant, too, as is the wonderful, humor-filled (yes, humor!) script, brooding score and iconic cinematography. Of course, the black-clad, bald-headed Death also plays a part, in a memorable turn by Bengt Ekerot.

Is all of this worth making fun of? Perhaps. But I think the silliness has run its course. Now it’s time to revisit this glorious film and absorb its myriad pleasures—a bird hovering with menace in the sky, a squirrel jumping on a tree stump after Death has cut down a man trying to escape him, and the famous final “dance” in silhouette are but some of the movie’s glories. I believe it’s one of those must-watch motion pictures, and although I understand where all the jokes are coming from, I feel they hide its true worth.

So I’m going to open up this Seal again and ignore the parodies made of it. I hope it’s a start—I know it’s worth taking seriously.

A Skip and Setter Diatribe: State of the Cinema

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Blog Sketch A Skip and Setter Diatribe 101113Someone save the movies, please.

To crib from Byron: I want a hero. A super-director with a special power.

That power is trust.

Too few film makers these days are of the show-not-tell variety. Even the good ones seem to resort to preachiness as their work matures. An example: Ang Lee’s Life of Pi, an intriguing flick that ultimately turns to allegory to tell its story.

It didn’t need it. And that made it unsatisfying. But it’s not the only movie with this issue.

True, speechifying in film has been around since day one, with works such as Intolerance, The Great Dictator and others being benchmarks. Yet these days, it seems the genre has proliferated, with “man must” themes pervading serious cinema. They end up being hokey, as the dime-store morality in Forrest Gump was—becoming easily digestible pieces of protein without flavor.

Consarn it, I want more than just grill marks on my steak. I want seasoning, too—and it can’t be overcooked.

Many of the promising works of American filmmaking these days suffer from exactly that. They’re broiled too long and underseasoned, so you’re left not hungry for more, but annoyed that your meal cost so much.

Trusting the audience would make everything better.

So in this State of the Cinema, I urge the directors of today to edit. Leave exposition, back story and preaching on the cutting-room floor. Fill your movies with mystery and let the audience figure things out. You don’t need to be Harold Pinter, but you do need to believe in us.

Will you, that cinema hero, come? In anticipation, let’s sound the trumpets. And beat the drums.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: Labeling Tragic Masterpieces Correctly

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613I think we should start calling sad movies something else if they’re good enough.

It’s really a misnomer. The greatest films—even those surrounding the most tragic subjects–are elating, not painful. They don’t make me unhappy. They make me glad.

That’s how I felt after watching Satyajit Ray’s masterful Pather Panchali on TCM last night. It was the second time I’ve seen it, and despite the harrowing story—which concerns the struggles of an impoverished Bengali family as they try to make ends meet—I wasn’t upset by the time the devastating end came. Instead, I was ecstatic, overjoyed that I could watch such a film and immerse myself in it.

The pleasures were myriad: a hypnotic, wistful score by Ravi Shankar; superb cinematography that made me feel like I was living in an Indian village along with everyone else; terrific acting by a magnificent cast (I dare you not to be moved at the end); and a simple yet profound script providing astute social commentary without belaboring the viewer.

No, these are qualities to revel in, not be sad about. And I reveled in them accordingly, all the while wondering if there’s another name we can give this kind of film—a name that conveys its subject matter concisely while suggesting there’s no need to mourn the protagonists … just its ending, which warrants tears only because there’s no more movie left.

Skip’s Quips: ‘Tis the Season for ‘Kwaidan’

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Blog Sketch 082813Those seeking atmosphere in their films this Halloween over the standard weapon-wielding-maniac-goes-amok choices would do well to consider watching Kwaidan, Masaki Kobayashi’s colorful, eerie anthology of Japanese ghost stories. Adapted from Lafcadio Hearn’s collection of supernatural tales, this 1964 masterpiece is one of a kind, with gorgeous painted backdrops, stylized performances and pointed commentary on human foibles.

No, it’s not your everyday Halloween fare. But Halloween doesn’t come every day, anyway, so why not try it?

Personally, I find the film one of the most beautiful ever made, with stunning cinematography, bizarre landscapes (check out the eyes looking out at humanity from the sky in the second story), a creepy, minimalist score by the great composer Toru Takemitsu, and one of the best battle scenes ever put on film, a brilliantly photographed sea contest fought by doomed samurai in the movie’s centerpiece, the tale of Hoichi the Earless.

I’m not gonna reveal the derivation of the latter story’s title, but you can rest assured it’s completely warranted.

Bear in mind this flick isn’t as traditionally scary as, say, John Carpenter’s original Halloween or Jacques Tourneur’s terrific evil-on-the-loose film Curse of the Demon. Kwaidan makes up for those issues, however, with a disturbing, ominous tone and an otherworldly feel only achieved by the greatest ghost stories. It’s also from first-rate source material; you may want to grab the book for more after viewing the film, in which case you’ll encounter tales of people without faces, priests who battle bodyless ghouls, and other subjects.

Check Kwaidan out. It’s not very well known, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t memorable. Halloween probably won’t be the same to you afterward.