Tag Archives: movies

Skip’s Quips: Whatever Happened to Tyranny of the Majority?

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Blog Sketch 082813I deserve props. Last night, I sat through Now, Voyager without rolling my eyes … more than three times.

Do I get a prize? The Max Steiner Schmaltz Award for Tear-jerker Toleration?

More likely, this feat will fly under the radar. Especially since Voyager seems to be lauded by every film buff in the world but me.

I’m missing something, right? The charm of a story in which a damaged, fearsomely eyebrowed (and mothered) woman, played by Bette Davis, becomes the talk of the town and the blatant object of desire for every gainfully employed blue blood in Massachusetts, as well as the lover of an uncatchable architect taking the form of Paul Henreid. The irony surrounding her care of said architect’s melancholy daughter. The romance of Steiner’s repetitious, Oscar-winning score.

I tell you, I felt like blasting a bit of the old Ludwig van on the stereo after hearing Voyager‘s main musical motif for the thousandth time yesterday evening. Please, Max—for the love of all that is viscous, stop the melody; I want to get off!

The fact is, I found the movie horrid. Ludicrous situations abound—such as the scene in which Claude Rains’ doctor OKs Davis, a former patient, being nurse to her married beau’s daughter. And the script is like an exercise in manipulation, with every stop in the book pulled out to draw tears down the most reptilian of cheeks.

Well, I must be a crocodile, because it didn’t work for me.

Ms. Davis was a talented actress, and I’m partial to a number of her films, including The Man Who Came to Dinner. Voyager, however, didn’t float my boat. Perhaps someday I’ll discover why this much-venerated movie impresses so many fans. For now, though, I’m happy to praise the moon over the stars.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: ‘Smaug’ Lifts Spirits Despite Draggin’ at the End

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613So I saw The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug yesterday.

Well done … for the most part. It got a bit overdone toward the finale, what with all the running and jumping and dragon-escaping. And the abundance of chase scenes became somewhat exhausting. But in general, this is (as usual for director Peter Jackson) ace moviemaking, with memorable visuals, quick pacing, strong performances and a powerful score driving the picture. Plus, you’ve got a Gandalf-Sauron confrontation, barrel-riding galore and the wonderfully villainous Smaug crammed into it, so there’s no shortage of set pieces, while the entrance of the latter character is a testament to Jackson’s skill at providing good, old-fashioned suspense.

Like most quality movies, Desolation merits watching again. I’m curious to find out if it’ll lose its luster the second time or, like the Arkenstone, stay shiny after multiple viewings.

Skip’s Quips: Dusting Off the Snow for a Little de Broca

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Blog Sketch 082813It’s wintry days like these that make me want to watch movies such as That Man From Rio.

The tropically tinged Philippe de Broca film—a ludicrous and wonderfully affable 1964 romp through the titular city with Jean-Paul Belmondo, Françoise Dorléac and Adolfo Celi—is one of the most chipper movies ever to gild the silver screen … and also one of the most unsung. I’m not sure why de Broca has fallen by the public-estimation wayside; he was a master of light comedy, and That Man is one of his frothiest creations. It’s totally silly, with jewel thieves, egomaniacal archaeologists and other characters pursuing and/or being pursued by Belmondo’s carefree Adrien, who crosses the Atlantic in a mad chase to rescue his kidnapped girlfriend (Dorléac). Plus, there’s some sort of ancient statue that everyone’s after, because it’s the key to getting all of these riches or whatever.

Yeah, it’s a far cry from Breathless, isn’t it?

I’d recommend trying this flick on a day like today. It’s sunny, summery, full of bright music and craziness. And you’ve got the charming Belmondo and Dorléac careening through the picture. True, it’s fluff, but it’s so well done, you’ll remember it, along with vehicular color-and-design-combinations such as “pink with green stars.”

Oui, pink with green stars. That Man will explain all.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: Will You Take That Violence Offscreen, Please?

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613If Sophocles wrote Oedipus Rex today, I’m sure he’d have the doomed king pluck out his eyes onstage amid a free-flowing stream of fake, ketchup-colored blood.

It’s the sort of thing we’re seeing in the movies of this era. Lots of onscreen violence. CGI corpuscles. And plenty of slow-motion fights, allowing us to leave no “cool” move unwatched.

I think I know why this is happening. It’s not to call attention to the evils of violence, as some may have proposed years ago following the decline of Hays Code limits on cinematic vices.

In the movie Dirty Harry, Clint Eastwood’s Harry Callahan noted why he thought the Scorpio killer would murder again: “He likes it.”

That’s what’s going on. Audiences enjoy onscreen violence. And they always have.

It’s not necessarily worse than having the bloodshed occur offscreen. It certainly depends on the context … and the movie. But many films these days are taking advantage of humans’ primal desires—without providing opinions other than “Doesn’t this look cool?”

I’d like to see more than that.

There has to be a reason for every action in a picture, especially when it concerns a person getting hurt. We have to ask: Why are we seeing this? In Ran, the brutality conveyed the horrors of war. In Pan’s Labyrinth, the ruthlessness of a villain and his regime. Yet in 300, what are we looking at? The glories of stylized Sparta? How awesome it is to see a bunch of macho guys slice up ancient Persians in athletic ways?

Sorry, that’s not a valid perspective.

I’m not saying we should feel bad for enjoying a violent film—if it’s good enough. And a bloody movie needn’t be pro- or anti-war to justify its gore. Yet there should be some context to warrant its depiction; it can’t just be cosmetic, as 300 is. Humans don’t just want Titus Andronicus; they want Macbeth. We need substance with our violence.

The popularity of 300 may suggest otherwise, but that movie’s appeal won’t, I believe, last as long as, say, Ran‘s. The difference is in filmmaking—plus, in part, the outlook on violence. Something I wish more pictures today had.

Skip’s Quips: Remembrance of Scares Past

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Blog Sketch 082813Way back when, while I was still in college (so this is really back when), I attended a showing of Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window at the campus theater. I’d seen it before, but I was interested in observing how other people reacted to it, given its age and lack of profanity, graphic violence or anything else that might draw a contemporary audience.

I settled into my uncomfortable, non-stadium seating chair. So did everyone else. The movie started. We watched.

And then we got to the part where Grace Kelly’s Lisa is wiggling her finger to show Jimmy Stewart’s Jeff—who is watching from his window across the courtyard—that she has the ring once owned by the wife of Raymond Burr’s murderous Lars Thorwald. Thorwald notices what she’s doing. Gradually, he looks up at the camera. At us.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhh!” screamed the audience.

Yep. Quintessential movie moment. Proof that great films, no matter how old they are, can still affect people. And Rear Window is a great one.

This seemingly trivial incident made me happy. It was like the train in silents of old coming at you onscreen and scaring the daylights of everyone in the theater. The flick is so good that the audience believed it was there with Jimmy in his apartment, looking into places he wasn’t supposed to. This despite the old-time New York of the 1950s depicted in the movie. This despite the film’s age. This despite the lack of swearing or blood-squibby gunfights or … well, it did actually have a steamy interlude: that great, slow-motion kiss that Kelly and Stewart have at the beginning. And there was quite a lot of innuendo, in the manner typical of Hitch.

But this wasn’t beat-you-over-the-head filmmaking. This was director-in-control stuff.  And it had the right effect: making everyone watching it shriek. In joy, of course, like the shriek you expel while riding a roller-coaster. A true movie shriek.

One of these days, I’ll have to go see Rear Window again in the theater to observe how people react now. I suspect it will be similar. Great films don’t date; they remain pertinent forever. So viewers will scream afresh … as long as Thorwald looks at them in recognition.

That’s the kind of scream we need more of at the movies.

Why We Pay the Big Bucks

Setter’s ‘Spectives: Wizards and Balrogs and Oscars, Oh, My!

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613It’s become trendy these days to knock The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, as well as draw unfavorable comparisons to its immediate predecessor, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King—with the underlying suggestion that the era of taking these fantasy films seriously is over. We’ve grown out of that, right? We’d rather watch important flicks such as Lincoln from now on, no?

Perhaps some critics might. But I don’t. I thought Peter Jackson’s Hobbit was brilliantly done and see no reason to dismiss it because of its genre, length or resemblance to his cinematic adaptations of J.R.R. Tolkien’s LOTR trilogy, which I adore as well. And I’m looking forward to the next hobbity installment, The Desolation of Smaug, which I’m sure will be much more entertaining than any prestigey part of Lincoln—and less pretentious to boot. I’ll venture to guess that any picture with a talking, fire-breathing dragon in it won’t be in the same “for your consideration” pool come Academy Awards time.

But that’s the problem. Return of the King set a precedent for CGI-filled fantasy films … and the awards folks have been reluctant to dip into that well since. Look at Guillermo del Toro’s spellbinding Pan’s Labyrinth, as great a movie as any that has appeared in the last two decades, yet it was stepped over at the Oscars some years ago for The Lives of Others. I gotta think the special effects were the deciding factor. They’re components that everyone wants to see at the movies—as long as no one thinks they can help create a work of art.

I don’t believe in that balderdash. It’s based on the idea that popular entertainment can’t be important, which has remained pervasive despite centuries of being disproven by everyone from Charles Dickens to Aaron Copland. Art isn’t restricted to any particular theme or genre; it’s restricted to quality. And I think The Hobbit makes that grade.

Do I think it’s the most fabulous film? Nope; it’s got script issues like almost every movie, and it does feel padded in parts. But by and large, it channels the stirring spirit of Jackson’s previous LOTR flicks, and that’s a worthy breed. I’d rather watch that any day of the week over Lincoln and won’t convince myself not to because it’s based on a fantasy novel.

“What does your heart tell you?” Aragorn asks Gandalf in Jackson’s Return of the King.

Not what Lincoln tells me, that’s for sure. And boy am I glad about that.

Skip’s Quips: Silent Running (of the Mouth)

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Blog Sketch 082813Raise your hand if you thought The Artist would usher in a new era of silent, black-and-white movies.

OK, I didn’t, either. But I can’t say I wasn’t hoping. We need a little dose of the past to get us schlepping toward the future, and a retro attitude toward the cinema wouldn’t hurt. It certainly didn’t for M. Truffaut and other members of la Nouvelle Vague.

True, The Artist was a standout—not perfect, but clever and entertaining … like some of the best silent movies. The worst, however, are akin to any other lousy film: awful. Just because something’s silent doesn’t mean it’s good. Or vice versa.

Still, the film showed that the genre could be revitalized for a new audience, with a novelty value transcended by a smart script and direction. The question is, will a few more irises and wipes make for self-conscious cinema? They’d have to be incorporated organically to avoid affectation, and that’s a tall order. Skilled directors need apply.

I’d suggest starting a dialogue about this, but I think I need a title card.

What Could Happen if You See These Movies Before Dinner …

Setter’s ‘Spectives: The Ugly, Ambiguous Truth About Art

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613Back in the day, when I still thought good taste had nothing to do with opinion, I sat down with a dear friend of mine to watch the Marx Brothers’ A Night at the Opera on video. Ed adored classical music, especially Puccini, and had such elevated sensibilities that he often preferred singers who were just a smidgen flat to more on-pitch, yet less idiosyncratic performers. He was so erudite that I thought he’d go ga-ga over Night, one of my favorite comedies and, in my opinion, an affectionate look at the opera world. If anything, he’d get the joke and, like me, want to see it over again in the future.

Once we got to the scene, however, where Harpo and Chico switch the sheet music for Il Trovatore with that of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” I knew my choice was ill-conceived.

“This is a travesty,” Ed said as the brothers tossed a baseball in the orchestra pit.

The takeaway: Not everyone likes the Marx Brothers. But there’s another takeaway, and it’s less definite. It’s the question of what’s good and what’s not, and how do we know if something’s art or junk?

Tommy Chong answered that hilariously in the movie After Hours as his character steals a statue containing Griffin Dunne’s hapless yuppie: “Art sure is ugly.”

It would be easier to assess if it always were.

The problem is, it’s not always anything. You can’t say: Art has this quality and this quality, so therefore it’s what it is. And it’s not always known at first sight, either; plenty of works are pooh-poohed when they first debut and only obtain recognition years later. The lexicon has no deadline.

To a certain extent, art should affect you greatly, as A Night at the Opera does to me; it makes me laugh, and I never get tired of watching it. Yet what of those who prefer other comedies—or those who like slightly off-pitch singers? Their opinions matter as much as mine … if not more.

I once attended an event where basketball legend Michael Jordan was asked by movie critic Gene Siskel what his favorite film was. “Friday,” Jordan ultimately said, to Siskel’s visible dismay.

I saw Friday. Some of it was amusing. Some of it was junky. Is that personal taste, or can I say with authority that it doesn’t hold a candle to Night? After all, Jordan liked it. Who am I to dispute him?

We live in a world where the word “genius” is applied indiscriminately, where a man can break bottles pointlessly on the street and attract a curious audience—as I observed with bemusement one day during a trip to Paris. Can anything be called art as long as there’s someone backing the claim? Is it just a popularity contest?

I don’t think so. But I can’t figure out why. All I know is that some people love the Marx Brothers, and some people don’t. I don’t understand their perspective, but I’m not them.

If I knew how to sing just a little bit flat, maybe I’d get the idea.