Tuesday, April 29, 2014

House of Cards

At first I couldn't stop telling myself that it seemed like I was watching a dumbed-down version of "The West Wing."  At times, the first season attempted to remedy this by throwing in a few paragraphs of jargon regarding education or energy policy. But I soon found out that I was the dumb one. Season 2 of Netflix's "House of Cards" featured a thrilling quorum debacle in which Frank Underwood, played by Kevin Spacey as a man of haunting ambition, navigates. The scenes are fascinating and intelligent. Gone were the certain silly moments that all too easily induced eye-rolling, like when Claire, played by Robin Wright, learns of Frank's adultery and calmly asks what good it will bring them. (Incidentally, they tell us that the Underwoods are not meant to be the Clintons.) In its place were trade wars with China, cyberterrorism, and an energy crisis.

"House of Cards," the groundbreaking Netflix show, seemed at first to take itself a bit too seriously, seeing itself as almost Shakespearean. Ian Richardson (himself a Shakespearean actor) played the character in the original British series with a certain amount of lightness bordering on conviviality; just compare the opening music to both and you'll notice an obvious difference in tone. Perhaps that's a sign of the times; our television heroes today seem to be Walter White, not Jeb Bartlett. "House of Cards" can be good fun, but it can also be toxic. Such are the times.

Underwood, our anti-hero protagonist in an era of television anti-heroes, is a Democrat. The reason is obvious: avoid criticism and make the show transparent. Why bother making him a Republican when just about any viewer--liberal or conservative--would shout allegations of bias? In an era of such pessimism, there's a feeling of a plague on both our houses. Underwood being a Democrat was the only choice. But there is an additional question: why make him a Southern Democrat when there hardly is a thing anymore? The answer is provided in David Sirota's fascinating interview with show creator and head writer Beau Willimon:

There's a catchphrase in the British version where Francis Urquhart [Richardson's character] says, "You very well might think that--I couldn't possibly comment." It was something I wanted to resurrect in a couple of places as an homage. It just felt wrong to do "House of Cards" and not have that line exist somewhere. The problem I ran up against in my mind, is that this is not the way Americans talk, it is not idiomatically part of our vernacular to speak with that diction unless you put it in the mouth of someone with a South Carolina upcountry accent. Then it rolls of the tongue and kind of works.

My dad's side of the family is from South Carolina, and I know that accent well, and then it got me thinking about what Frank Underwood's story might be. The American mythology is that anyone could be president--you could be from a town called Hope and be president--so I thought him coming from a small town and coming from nothing is a much more American tale, as opposed to coming from aristocracy, which is much more a British political trajectory.

And so I asked my dad if there is a small town in South Carolina that would be appropriate and he mentioned Gaffney, which, of course, is perfect. It was represented for years by a Democrat, John Spratt. Underwood is in no way like Spratt, but the fact that a Democrat represented a mostly rural district in a mostly red state is fascinating.

How so?

It speaks to a way that Southern politics works differently than other places; it is a lot more about personal relationships and connections you make. You have a tradition of Southern Blue Dog Democrats being a lot more conservative than many of their peers from elsewhere...a lot of them historically seem to vote as though they should be in the Republican Party, but because their father was a Democrat and their father's father was a Democrat, they are a Democrat.

That means politics there has been, up until recently, less about party affiliation, and that means stuff there is inherently more political as opposed to ideological. I found that to be appropriate for Francis Underwood--someone who doesn't define himself by party of ideology, but operates on personal connections and traverses the political web as a free agent.

Underwood may be a free agent, but he's also a sociopath (and these folks agree). Just look at these common traits of a sociopath and it becomes crystal clear: superficial charm, absence of nervousness, untruthfulness, lack of remorse. egocentricity, inadequacy for love and a sex life that is impersonal and trivial. Frank.Under.Wood. Look at this quote: "Sociopaths, as mentioned previously, can also be dangerous, especially when they feel they have been wronged in some way." Underwood has been wronged--his rejection of being nominated for Secretary of State in the first episode--and so he becomes quite dangerous indeed. (For more on the psychology of Francis Underwood, click here.)

Spacey, as exceptionally talented as he is, does not do accents well. His Southern drawl here is as bad as it was in "A Time to Kill" two decades ago. The character at first is practically two dimensional, so much so that he frequently and annoyingly breaks the fourth wall to have a chat with us, and it's not until Chapter 8 that we see that there's something actually there. Part of me thinks that's the point, that it's meant to symbolize the facade that just about every politician seems to exhibit, or that it's meant to demonstrate that Frank Underwood is a farcical character in a farcical show. I haven't figured it out yet. Nonetheless, despite his accent, he is commendable and also supported by an exceptional cast, most of all Wright as Claire. Her performance is haunting, and yet she is surely the more sympathetic of the two--watch her powerful (and slightly untruthful) interview in Season 2 for an example. Providing the show's most interesting character as Pete Russo, a recovering alcoholic congressman who can't seem to do anything right, is Corey Stoll. There hardly is a bad performance anywhere in the show--also great are Michael Gil as the president, Michael Kelly as Underwood's tough as nails chief of staff, Rachel Brosnahan as a former sex worker caught under Underwood's grasp, and Gerald McRaney as a multimillionaire energy tycoon doing battle with Underwood.

It may seem that my criticisms will make me conclude that this is a show that I don't like to watch. That is totally untrue. I can't think of another show that features such crisp cinematography (by Igor Martinovic, Eigil Bryld, and Tim Ives) and hauntingly beautiful music (by Jeff Beal). I complained that the show takes itself too seriously, but actually there are often shows that don't take themselves seriously enough. There's an enormous amount of effort, skill, talent and thought in "House of Cards," and is reminiscent of that wonderful line in Oliver Stone's "Nixon." When the title character looks up at a portrait of his old adversary, John F. Kennedy, he mutters, "When they look at you, they see what they want to be. When they look at me, they see what they are." "The West Wing" might be what we want our political system to be; "House of Cards" might simply be what it is.






Saturday, April 26, 2014

A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese's Personal Journey


File:Martin Scorsese by David Shankbone.jpgProduced by the British Film Institute, "A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese" from 1995 is not only personal, it's educational. Scorsese is one of the great raconteurs of our time, and yet he is also an educator--Scorsese also used to teach film at New York University. One of his students, Oliver Stone, described his first impression of Scorsese as being a "New York nutcase." "A Personal Journey" allows Scorsese to teach students of all stripes.

If one truly loves movies, then one has an obligation to study them--all (or at least most) of them. Many of these films I had never heard of; most I had never seen. My "personal journey" through his "personal journey" has been an interesting one, and shall commence again with a part two, but for now, here's my take on some of the films he discusses in his introduction to the documentary:

The Bad and the Beautiful
Seen throughout numerous moments in the opening of his documentary, it's easy to understand why Scorsese admires a film like Vincente Minelli's "The Bad and the Beautiful." For one, he directed Minelli's daughter, Liza, in "New York, New York." Additionally, it's a movie about movies, and there is no other lover of film quite like Scorsese. As "The Bad and the Beautiful" opens his discussion, Scorsese quotes Frank Capra describing movies as an addiction; like heroine, Scorsese says, the only antidote is more movies. The scene Scorsese then shows features Douglas as Jonathan Shields barking orders to his independent director (Ivan Triesault) and humbled in the process.

At times, "The Bad and the Beautiful" seems like "The Kid Stays in the Picture" told in the style of "Citizen Kane." Film buffs might recognize Douglas and Barry Sullivan's solution for scaring audiences and equate it to how Steven Spielberg solved his dilemma of scaring audiences for "Jaws" without actually having a shark. But a more obvious connection is to "Cat People," practically identical to "Doom of the Cat Men."

"The Bad and the Beautiful" is melodramatic, sure, but at least mostly unpredictable. Douglas gives one of his best performances and is supported by a pretty good cast.

Duel in the Sun
Or "Lust in the Dust," as the Church dismissively called it, Scorsese says that this was a film his mother (using her son as an excuse to see such a scandalous movie, he tells us) took him to see as a very young child. He says that he was "mesmerized," and so virtually anyone who was ever a child and mesmerized by a movie at the cinema can relate. But I can't image what a young, four-year-old boy was thinking while watching the "overt sexuality."

Initially, it's difficult to see what the fuss was about. It's undoubtedly a pro-Christian (or at least pro-morality) picture, with its talk of a simplified "good versus evil" viewpoint of the world. But within moments, that is shattered. It's one of those old Hollywood movies that you wonder how they got away with such imagery during the Hayes period.

Scorsese uses the scenes of a director dueling with a producer in "The Bad and the Beautiful" to discuss the behind-the-scenes of "Duel in the Sun." Despite King Vidor directing it, it was producer David O. Selznick's baby, and their clashes led to Vidor quitting the film. (Like Selznick's other child, "Gone With the Wind," "Duel in the Sun" had several directors throughout its production.)

Scorsese still holds "Duel in the Sun" in high regard, but the film hasn't aged as well as "The Bad and the Beautiful." It's terribly racist and essentially sexist, and its star, Jennifer Jones (who won an Oscar several years before), presents an iconic film image but a fairly dull performance. Gregory Peck, however, is magnificent as one of the great villains of the Westerns. (Lillian Gish and Lionel Barrymore are also great.)

Incidentally, Scorsese mentions that it's a flawed film.

The Crowd
But "Duel in the Sun" is nowhere near as flawed as Vidor's film from 18 years earlier called "The Crowd." This is a comedy (I think), but its dramatic moments in particular are, well, overly dramatic. And while silent film acting is mostly seen through the prism of modern times as hyperbolic, to say the least, Vidor's lead actor James Murray gives a particularly dreadful performance. (Murray died only eight years after the film after falling--though it wasn't ruled if he fell or jumped--into the Hudson River and drowning. Vidor wrote an unrealized script about Murray's life called "The Actor.") While the zoom-in of the enormous building and the blissful affair at Niagara Falls should serve as a reminder that Vidor had talent for visuals, his talent for storytelling could be questioned.

The Girl Can't Help It
Getting just a quick namedrop from Scorsese as he explains the post-zenith era of Hollywood, it's not difficult to see why Scorsese likes "The Girl Can't Help It" so much. "The Girl Can't Help It," which is practically a musical version of "Born Yesterday," is not simply a musical, but a proud embrace of rock 'n' roll. Its influence on music is obvious; look at how Wikipedia summarizes it: "['The Girl Can't Help It'] fascinated a 16-year-old John Lennon by showing him, for the first time, his 'worshiped' American rock 'n' roll stars as living human beings and thus further inspiring him to pursue his own rock 'n' roll dream." Read on and you will see how "The Girl Can't Help It" connected Lennon and Paul McCartney. So given Scorsese's encyclopedic knowledge of the subject, my guess is that this movie practically speaks to him.

That being said, this is a weak, increasingly clunky movie. Despite its great musical numbers--some of them (including the title song) sung by Little Richard and other rock greats--it is ultimately a forgettable film. The lame 1950s jokes have not aged well, especially young Barry Gordon's annoying line, "If that's a girl, I don't know what my sister is." Edmund O'Brien is way over the top, screaming and shouting and barking through the cigar smoke. Fortunately, however, Jayne Mansfield is here. Of all the gorgeous people to have graced the screen, arguably no one was as beautiful as Mansfield. Her performance is commendable, but almost nothing else in "The Girl Can't Help It" is.

Sullivan's Travels
A slapstick comedy with bullet-speed dialogue, Preston Sturges' 1941 film is unfortunately also a terribly lame film. I will concede several things about the film, however: First, Joel McCrea and Veronica Lake make a charismatic couple; just as Mansfield is a saving grace of "The Girl Can't Help It," Lake has the same effect here. As a film of social themes, it's not bad, though a little overly melodramatic. Fans of the Coen Brothers' "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" might notice the connection--it's the name of the film the title character (McCrea) wants to make. Other than that, it's quite overrated.

The Naked Kiss
We have another miss here from Mr. Scorsese. "The Naked Kiss" is admittedly a brave story. Constance Towers plays a prostitute who longs to retire, so to speak, and work with children who have disabilities. She is more or less harassed by the town's police chief, who also was her final customer. While the movie does have some favorable aspects to it, such as the eeriness of it all, the acting is fairly atrocious.

Bigger Than Life
I will end on a better note.

While the corny title might be slightly less corny had it retained the title of the magazine article that inspired the film ("Ten Feet Tall"), "Bigger Than Life" might be the best film in this first part of Scorsese's documentary. It's the story of an ordinary school teacher, played by James Mason, who suffers from terrible pain due to an inflammation of his arteries. He's given an experimental (at the time) drug called cortisone, but when he takes it for too long (and increases his doses without notifying his doctors), he begins to develop psychological issues. A parent-teachers conference turns into a diatribe against children whose intellectual levels are, he says, at the level of those of apes; at home, he becomes increasingly impatient, critical and dangerous towards his family.

You may recognize the director, Nicholas Ray. He also directed "Rebel Without a Cause," which was released the previous year. Both films feature powerful stories of protagonists going through some form of internal battle. But "Bigger Than Life" is more unforgettable. Along with "The Bad and the Beautiful," it is the finest on this short list. It's a particularly powerful film for anyone who has had to struggle through the torment that is chronic pain.


I'm grateful for having been introduced to these two films. I feel a bit more educated with regards to having seeing them as well as "Duel in the Sun." Nevertheless, I feel that films like "The Girl Can't Help It," "The Crowd," "Sullivan's Travels" and "The Naked Kiss" are frankly films that deserve to be forgotten.

Stay tuned for further reviews of films that Scorsese discusses, like Westerns, musicals, and gangster flicks.