The Best of SNL--Part 1

In honor of the 35th anniversary of "Saturday Night Live," one of the two greatest television shows in history, here is a comprehensive list of the greatest moments in SNL history.

25. Mr. Robinson's Neighborhood (1982)

Credited with making SNL popular again in the early 1980s and for a time carrying the show on his back, Eddie Murphy provided some of the show's best characters--Gumby, Buckwheat and his singalongs, and a black man attempting to expose racism in the workplace by disguising himself as a white man. Some of his best moments involved his turn as a "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood" spoof. Instead of a peaceful, WASPy suburban house, Mr. Robinson appears to be in the projects. The jolly, serene and inviting presence of Mr. Robinson succumbs to a loud, angry, and a bit stereotypical anger as he is disrupted. "Who is it?" he shouts. Mr. T once appeared as his neighbor, and Mr. Robinson was not able to put up as forceful a resistance.

24. Betty White--"Thank you for being a friend" (2010)

With all due respect to the other famous SNL Digital Shorts--"Dick in a Box, "Jizz in My Pants," "Natalie Portman Rap," etc. it was the quasi-tribute to Betty White with her iconic "Thank you for being a friend" song from "Golden Girls" that made me laugh the hardest. Starting very conventionally and cheerfully, host Betty White (who was brought to the show to satisfy the request of a large Facebook fan club) was guided to a chair by Adam Samberg, the creator of the digital shorts. Wishing to express their thanks to her for all she's given, the cast sang "Thank You for Being a Friend," and White chuckled wholeheartedly...until she insisted that she preferred her version better. Pulling a ski mask over her face, she began a rather harsh heavy medal version of the song, with serious hints at BDSM and blood everywhere. "Happy Mother's Day," she said, "mother fuckers."

23. Lord and Lady Douchebag (1979)

Set in the Salisbury Manor in 1730, Lord Salisbury (played by Harry Shearer, a writer for the show who later became a contributor to Christopher Guest's comedic films as well as providing multiple voice characters for "The Simpsons") was hosting a dinner party, with guests including Lord Worcestershire (Jim Downey) and Earl of Sandwich (Bill Murray). The butler (Garrett Morris) announced the newest guests--"Lord and Lady Douchebag!" with host Buck Henry and Gilda Radner as the the lord and lady respectively. Shearer went to great them. "Well, well, well," he says. "I was just asking Sandwich, where the devil are those Douchebags?" Lord Douchebag would be happy to explain what kind of a project he had been working on, but perhaps after his host had finished eating. Murray's character Sandwich was happy to see the couple as well, as he greated him in a buddy fashion of "Douchebagggg!"

"Don't tell me for the first time in memory we're going to have a House of Parliament for the first time without a Douchebag," he says. The puns just kept continuing. This was the last skit of the last episode of the last season featuring members of the original cast.

22. "Star Wars" auditions (1997)

With impersonations of Barbara Streisand from Anna Gasteyer and Richard Dreyfuss from Darrell Hammond, it was really host Kevin Spacey carrying the skit on his back, with hysterical impersonations of Christopher Walken auditioning for Han Solo, Walter Matthau for Obi-Wan Kenobi, and an irritated Jack Lemmon for Chewbacca. Spacey has a talent for a rare amount of impersonations, as evidenced by his interview on "Inside the Actor's Studio" and this terrific skit.

21. Oops! I Crapped My Pants (1998)

The fake commercials have long-been a staple sketch for SNL, among the best being the hyperbolic cereal commercial featuring Phil Hartman and the calm but ridiculous fashion in which a bank promises to provide whatever change amount a customer wishes. One of the best is "Oops! I Crapped My Pants." Starting as expected with happy characters in normal yet complicated everyday situations, a grandmother decided her bowel movements had prohibited her from playing tennis with her family. An older man, presumably the grandfather, insisted that the younger ones go and play while he talks with the grandma. "You're still having control problems, aren't ya?" he asked. He introduced her to a little secret--Opps! I Crapped My Pants: diapers for older adults. "Oops! I Crapped My Pants,"

"I've heard of those," she says. "Do they really work?" Of course they do, and to prove it, the older gentleman demonstrated by pouring a pitcher of ice tea, representing a gallon of feces, into the diapers. It concluded with a thankful Grandma saying, "Thanks, Oops! I Crapped My Pants!"

20. Stay the Course--the Great Debate of 88 (1988)

Perhaps SNL's best employments of humor has been through its political satire, cementing in American pop-culture the public's perception of Gerald Ford (Chevy Chase) as a clumsy fool; Ronald Reagan (Phil Hartman) as a kind, sweet, harmless old man in public and yet a fierce hawk in private meetings; Bill Clinton (Darrell Hammond) as a horndog; and George W. Bush (Will Farell) as America's number one idiot (until Sarah Palin via Tina Fey came along). In 1988, an election year that moments like the Pledge of Allegiance debate and Michael Dukakis's ridiculous ride in a tank. SNL nonetheless had fun. Dana Carvey, in one of his thousands of impersonations, was George Bush, running for election after two terms of Reagan, and Jon Lovitz as Dukakis, the "inspiring" candidate from Massachusetss. Carvey portrayed Bush as seriously lacking the Hollywood acting of his boss, and desperate in his Peggy Noonan lines of "staying the course" and a "thousand lights." The length of time it took to utter these lines did not completely fill the amount of time the moderators had given him, so he repeated them, further stressing each word, further motioning his hands, as if he really, really wanted a thousand points of life. Finally satisfied, the moderators turned to his opponent. "I can't believe I'm losing to this guy," was Dukakis's response.

19. The Chris Farley Show (1993)

I hate to cheat and clump skits together, but I will with this one. "The Chris Farley Show" featured Chris Farley as the antithesis of himself, in this case a shy, speechless young interviewer terribly nervous in the presence of his interviewees, such as Jeff Daniels, Martin Scorsese, and Paul McCartney. After listing his guest's accomplishments, he would stumble, ask them if they recalled certain moments (like when McCartney was in the Beatles), or other stupid questions (like if the scene in "The Last Temptation of Christ" where Jesus gets angry at the money collectors in the synagogue was Scorsese's idea). He further digressed, and then stuttered that whatever moment, relevant or not, "was awesome."

18. Bass O-Matic (1976)

Dan Aykroyd was the salesman, in rapid, lightening-speed, of the Super Bass O-Matic 76. Finally, through this salesman, we were offered a means of consuming the whole fish, from head to tail and with all the bones still intact. Laraine Newman took a sip (of hopefully something besides liquid bass) and exclaims, "Wow! That's terrific bass!"

17. Happy Fun Ball (1990)

The king, in my opinion, of SNL's fake commercials, Happy Fun Ball was the most fun little ball sweeping the nation, and with a price of only $14.95! But what appeared to be only a harmless little ball was also described by narrator Phil Hartman as containing a number of warnings--that pregnant women, the elderly, and children should avoid exposure to the Happy Fun Ball, that it contains a dangerous liquid that should not be looked at, the toy should not be bounced on concrete, and a whole host of others. Incidentally, it is also "being dropped by our warplanes on Iraq." Finally, do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

16. The Blues Brothers "Soul Man" (1978)


Admittedly not a funny moment, it was still priceless. Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi were the Blues Brothers, not only one of the best musical guests but also spawning the only exceptional SNL movie two years later. This film's only competition, however, from SNL material has been movies such as "It's Pat," "Coneheads," and "Night at the Roxbury."

15. "Jane, you ignorant slut!" (1978)

Many will probably place Chevy Chase, with his sardonic tone and iconic "I'm Chevy Chase, and you're not" line, or Norm Macdonald (who Chase said was the only one who replicated the humor of the original) at the top of the list for the "Weekend Update" sketches. My favorite moment, though, was when Chase had left the show, he was replaced by two co-anchors, Jane Curtain and Dan Aykroyd. The sketch would usually end or climax with a heated, but not over the top, debate between the two regarding a variety of current issues. Curtain usually provided a rational opinion and argument, though she at least once described her opponent as a disgusting pig. Aykroyd, in turn, in a line that has come to be a legendary one, harshly replied, "Jane, you ignorant slut!"


More best SNL moments are on the way!

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It Cannot Be Taken Away, Ever

In an interview with Jamie Graham of Total Film magazine, Daniel Day-Lewis discussed his early love for the cinema. Day-Lewis talked about "This Sporting Life," "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning," and "Kes." He also talked about "Taxi Driver."

"'Taxi Driver' was huge," he said. "That was sort of my awakening to the possibilities in America, which had never occurred to me--that I would be part of American cinema."

According to Day-Lewis, he and his friends saw "Taxi Driver" about five or six times and were completely mesmerized by the film, and of the work of its star, Robert De Niro. "You know, I've admired him from that moment ever since. He's one of the great actors. Not just of our time, but of all time."

Since Day-Lewis first saw De Niro, the two have become very similar. Both are world renowned stars and acting heavy weights, known for their painstaking methods to achieve a performance. Sometimes it may seem a bit weird, like De Niro ordering clothes from Al Capone's tailor when portraying the infamous gangster in "The Untouchables," or Day-Lewis walking around New York City dressed in 19th century attire while filming "The Age of Innocence." The two also are the few to have won two Oscars. Both are also two of Martin Scorsese's favorite actors.

Graham's next question was a thoughtless one, a question of groupthink proportions: "[De Niro] now churns out three or four films a year and doesn't exhibit the commitment of old. As someone who looks up to him, what do you think of him phoning in performances?"

Day-Lewis did not buy it. Here is his response verbatim: "I've actually got a lot of pleasure from some of his performances in the last few years. A lot. I love him as a comedian; he makes me laugh a lot. I actually watched "Analyze This" again recently with my boys and it made me laugh. I just loved it. I loved it that he could take the piss out of himself to that extent. I really am not that judgmental, and I find it quite upsetting when people re-assess his work in the light of his choices in the last few years. You cannot take away from what he has given to the cinema. It cannot be taken away, ever."

Need anymore be written?

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Shutter Island

Martin Scorsese's "The Departed" began with the usual notes: the Rolling Stone's cool "Gimme Shelter," a favorite of Scorsese's, for it has also appeared in his "Goodfellas" and "Casino." The lyrics, about a coming storm, could certainly be seen as allegorical, but they would be more fitting here, in his "Shutter Island," because much of the film takes place during violent rain. How, though, could the Rolling Stones' music fit in this period piece set in the 1950s, a psychological thriller and mystery.

Instead, the opening notes are Ingram Marshall's "Fog Tropes." The notes are complicated but quiet, and fit not only with the ship approaching the island but also with the melancholic, dark and gloomy atmosphere of this movie. Wisely, Scorsese has opted for a soundtrack that lacks an original score but instead is one of modern classical music. Move over George Harrison, Eric Clapton and the Ronettes--here come Max Richter, John Cage, and Krzysztof Penderecki.

Scrosese's films have famously dealt with everything from gangsters, rock 'n' roll, and Jesus Christ. Here, his theme and mood is more closely aligned with "The Aviator" than it is with "The Departed" (save for the paranoia aspect). Both were made for visceral experiences in psychology, and both are spectacular. With the "Aviator," there are so many aspects of Hughes's story--his love life with many woman (and possibly men), his brief role in politics, and his giant empire. Instead, Scorsese started with Hughes as a filmmaker, and the film evolved into a story about Hughes as a psychological subject. In "Shutter Island," a similar route is chosen: it starts as a rather conventional thriller and mystery, then goes through a metamorphosis into psychological study. Psychology is an under-appreciated component of many films and never seems to get its fair share of discussion (such as the groupthink aspect of "12 Angry Men").

Leonardo DiCaprio (Howard Hughes in Scorsese's "The Aviator" and also the lead in his "Gangs of New York" and "The Departed" and probably many more to come) is Teddy Daniels, a U.S. Marshall sent to Shutter Island off the coast of Boston to investigate the recent escape of a patient. He is there with his partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), and becomes aware that everything is not as it seems. The island hosts a hospital for the criminally insane, and one of their patients, or as Teddy repeatedly calls, "prisoners," has escaped, "as if she completely vanished." The man in charge, a sympathetic and progressive psychologist (Ben Kingsley), is not providing much help, and things are not getting better, especially as a tempest of a storm is coming in. Teddy himself seems to have recovered, but not completely, from the death of his wife, and his temper is easily sparked.

The primary flaw of the film is its conclusion, which is fairly simple to guess almost immediately and not clever or original. Indeed, it even seems to hurt the film slightly above being just a simple annoyance. But it is the details that matter and which are so attractive, with a crescendo of intensity and a perfectionist's direction. There is a hint of Cold War paranoia, possible Nazi allegories and the ethics of lobotomies. There is rain--constant rain--fire, rats, disfigured faces, loud music reminiscent of the old Hollywood era, with whispers and shouts in the dark. The intensity level is so high and there are hardly any moments of rest. When it is not raining, it is snowing, but surely nothing is more peaceful than it was before. There are obvious influences here, such as Hitchcock's "Psycho" and "Vertigo," Kubrick's "The Shining," and to a lesser extent Demme's "The Silence of the Lambs" and Michael Powell's "Peeping Tom." (Perhaps it would be an annoying reminder to point out that the late Powell's wife is Thelma Schoonmaker, Scorsese's frequent editor.) This level of Scorsese being influenced is quite striking, simply because it is usually Scorsese who does the influencing (like on the works of Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino), not the one who is influenced. Regardless, being influenced is hardly ever a bad thing, and the influences are appreciated.

And unlike some directors who have recently had their actors play make-believe in front of green screens, Scorsese always brings out the best in his performers, particularly DiCaprio, who has been better and better in each Scorsese film. His other actors--Ruffalo, Kingsley, Michelle Williams, Max von Sydow, Emily Mortimer, Patricia Clarkson, Jackie Earle Haley, Elias Koteas, Ted Levine and John Carroll Lynch--are all fantastic, as well.

This is a film in which the ending--that sometimes make or break moment--was not so satisfying to me, but Scorsese's craftsmanship is so perfect as it always is that I seldom thought of the ending. Instead, I remembered everything I liked about it--its thrills, its noir approach and its effect. With a director as terrific as Scorsese, who really cares about the endings? There is no buyer's remorse here.

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Dying as Fast as the Compact Disc

I had a professor who reminded me of Pauline Kael. My professor had a profound sense of authority and audacity to her, and she could instantly command respect as well as admiration (incidentally, she was the same professor I mentioned in my review of "Every Little Step"). I deeply admired her intellect, just as I deeply admire Kael's (may she rest in peace). In 2001, when Pauline Kael died, I was a freshman in high school, just starting my true love affair with the movies and having no idea who she was. I had grown up with Siskel and Ebert, and even then I never listened to them or read their reviews, and I only slightly remember the death of Gene Siskel, but I knew that "Siskel and Ebert give it two thumbs up" really meant something.

With Kael's death, many have since argued that film criticism is dead, or at least it's barely on life support. Many simultaneously claim that the collapse was brought on actually by Siskel and Ebert themselves with their simplistic little thumbs, effectively "dumbing down" film criticism. Some have argued that Ben Lyons was the final insult.

I asked on the Internet Movie Database if film criticism is really dying. One individual wrote a response: criticism is dying, in all cases, and the significance of a film's successful outcome, due to journalistic criticism, is getting smaller, due to the fact that "NOBODY gives a sh*it" (individual's words).

The individual further argued that it would be difficult for any of us to remember a time when somebody said, "If that critic thinks it's a bad record of a bad movie, then I'm skipping it." Nobody cares anymore about "what 'he,' 'she,' or 'they' of 'that' magazine (for example) say about anything. And we should be thankful that the power of the review is dying. In the 70s or 80s, if a movie managed to get a bad rating, by a media-darling of 'bigger significance,' distributors would in some cases drop the ball on the project. Because of that, some ares in the States, or some countries even, never got a chance to see a specific movie (for example)--just because of what ONE SINGLE person thought. It's a new age and era, and even though the reviewer will live on, his power and significance is undoubtedly dying as fast as the Compact Disc."

Quite a pessimistic assessment.

On a side note, my question was not so much whether or not film criticism is as potent as it used to be, but whether or not it was as worthy to read as it used to be. My curiosity was not based on the lack of influence from the film critics these days, but by the so-called "death" in film criticism quality.

Kael once said that if you wanted to actually write what you thought, you had to find the right magazine. She knew these people, she said, and they were not as stupid as what they were writing. Thankfully, the internet has provided a vehicle in which many can engage in dialogue on the cinema. It seems pointless to debate the "death" of movie criticism, but perhaps the commenter was accurate: maybe it is a good thing that the voice of one is trumped by the voice of many. I don't know; I tend to side with the argument that "a person is smart, people are dumb."

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On Violence in Movies

Last year, as his "Inglourious Basterds" was setting itself up for at least one Oscar win for the following March, Quentin Tarantino was asked to discuss his favorite twenty films since 1992 (the year in which his first film, "Reservoir Dogs," was released). The films varied from Korean drama/thrillers like Park Chan-wook's "Joint Security Area" to Paul Thomas Anderson's brilliant "Boogie Nights" to Trey Parker and Matt Stone's masterpiece "Team America: World Police." His favorite film was the 2000 Japanese film "Battle Royale," directed by Kinji Fukasaku. It was a movie Tarantino wished he had made.

The movie, based on a novel by Koshun Takami, takes place in a future Japan in which violence and rebellious youths have provoked the government to make laws requiring students to be gathered up and sent to an island in which they will participate in a competition to eliminate one another until there is only one left. The last survivor wins the game; the losers are dead. Both the book and the movie have generated a fair share of criticism for their violent content.

Fukasaku's film is epic and operatic, horrifying and yet beautiful, as these Japanese students struggle for survival to. What I appreciated the most in this film was the symbolism. Having difficulty attempting to figure out the allegories behind the film, I discovered one through a review (though I have not been able to find it again to give it proper citation) from a viewer who teaches in Japan. He discussed the unfortunate reality that Japanese youths face enormous pressure to succeed, especially in their education, and this is what sometimes inspires cheating at worst and uncreative teaching at best. Having spent close to a year teaching in South Korea, in which I have become acutely aware of this Asian youth competition and the strict and at times unethical expectations of students, I deeply appreciated Fukasaku's film and its allegory. I will concede though that Korean and Japanese students are different in some aspects. Scott Aubrey's essay on the two groups discusses the differences: Korean students tend to speak English in class regardless of grammar mistakes in an effort to communicate their ideas, while Japanese students tend to avoid speaking English unless they are perfectly confident they will deliver a perfect sentence. Aubrey also describes the level of patriotism between the two, as Koreans are incredibly proud of their enormous accomplishments in the face of so much tragedy, whereas Japan, after centuries of being the "aggressor," has now embraced pacifism and its students lack the nationalism of their Korean counterparts. This is a bit of digression, isn't it? Regardless, the metaphor found by this viewer was profound to me and elevated my experience of the film.

I couldn't help but notice, though, that Tarantino probably did not have the same reaction. For a man who has crafted his films with dialogue as witty and quick as Ben Hecht's, with a style and tone as entertaining as Sergio Leone's, and influences such as blaxploitation and Martin Scorsese, Tarantino has never seemed interested with societal themes. His other films on his list included ultra-violet movies like Japan's "Audition" and Korea's "Oldboy," and so it can be concluded that what attracted Tarantino to "Battle Royale" was its story, characters, and especially its violence.

Many find Tarantino to be obsessed with violence. His "Kill Bill," influenced by Japanese cinema, was criticized for being too violent. "Kill Bill" is a bit difficult to defend (I didn't care for it anyway, so defend I shall not), but his finer films like "Reservoir Dogs," "Pulp Fiction," and "Jackie Brown" have notably not shied away from violent characters or situations, but have been Greek-like in their portrayal of violence. The infamous ear scene in "Reservoir Dogs," for example, was not seen, as Tarantino's camera shifted to the left, away from the imagery. Not too dissimilar from "Oedipus," no?

The violence of "Battle Royale," though, is one aspect of the film I found difficult to forgive. Martin Scorsese defended violence in his films in an interview with NPR in 2002 for his movie "Gangs of New York." Scorsese claimed that violence is justified in films if it is honest. The violence of "Battle Royale" is, similar to countless Japanese films, hyperbolic. What is unusual, however, is that the violence is directed towards children. Gene Siskel said in his review of "Aliens" that one of the cheapest effects employed in films is to show a child in peril. Siskel would be absolutely disgusted by this film, because the violence is practically exclusive to teenagers, and unlike many Hollywood films in which older, adult actors play teenagers, these are genuine fifteen-year-olds playing these characters. Violence against children, in movies or not, has never been attractive to me, and these teenage characters are frightened, confused, and the vast, vast majority of them are killed in a terrible way. The first two executions in particular are such awful images and if they deserve some defense, it cannot be found from this reviewer. Tarantino will forever be more of an authority figure on motion pictures, and so it would be interesting to hear his thoughts on this.

Until then, it strikes the question of whether or not violence is always necessary in films, or if the world's filmmakers, like Tarantino, are obsessed with images of violence. If Scorsese is right that violence is necessary in movies if it is honest, then both American and Japanese filmmakers do not always fall in line with that, especially the makers of "Battle Royale."

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Crossing the Line

At the beginning of Daniel Gordon's documentary, "Crossing the Line," James Dresnok is "doing very good," but he's a little angry. Why he is angry is explained later, but the point is that Mr. Dresnok is a blue-eyed good ol' Southern boy, who happens to be living in North Korea.

Dresnok explains that he has never regretted coming to North Korea. His particular statements are what make his story and this film so fascinating. North Korea is universally acknowledged to be the last testament of the Cold War, completely isolated from the world and sheltered to the point of chronic alienation. Propaganda is propaganda (and Gordon and his crew do an extremely effective job at largely avoiding a propagandist vernacular and tone), and the Western world has come to fear North Korea, its nuclear arsenal, and its leader, believed by the West to be erratic and dangerous, possibly unstable. How could an American be living in North Korea? Has he been brainwashed? Is he being held against his will? No regrets? The latter appears so, and Dresnok will explain why. Mr. Dresnok is going to tell a story he has never told anyone.

James Joseph Dresnok has been living in North Korea twice as long as he lived in America. He has a sweet Southern twang, and is a large fellow, simultaneously frightening and harmless. He is described by the narrator Christian Slater (who is constantly matter-of-fact and neutral in his narration) as being of a broken home, abandoned parents, and developing a rebellious attitude, always wanting to run away. He is heartbroken in describing his first wife who fell in love with another man while he was stationed in Germany. He again left for the army and was stationed at the DMZ, a place Bill Clinton described as the scariest place on the planet. Having been to the DMZ myself, his statement is mostly accurate, though I would not use the word scary so much as surreal. After seriously disrespecting the orders of his superiors, he said "to hell with this," and in daylight ran across the mine field and was captured by North Korean soldiers. The recounts of his defection are described by Dresnock, U.S., and even North Korean soldiers (one of whom wanted to kill him because both of his parents had been killed by the Americans).

North Korea is scary enough now, so imagine what it would have been like for an American four decades ago. While South Korea is still one of the most homogeneous nations in the world, it is climbing towards one million foreigners in its land; the same cannot be said about their neighbors to the North, and North Koreans probably would have had even greater hatred and suspicion of Americans than today.

Dresnok soon met a fellow defector, and eventually there were a total of four. One of them was named Charles Jenkins. They all became scared, confused, and ready to retreat to the Soviet Union, whose embassy turned them back over to the North Koreans. Dresnok became determined to understand Korean culture and language and become one of them. The four were initially viewed skeptically by the North Koreans, but they, especially Dresnok, eventually became celebrities when the government instructed them to appear as American villains in a 1978 propaganda film. Incidentally, while South Korea's cinema has reached a global audience in an incredibly short period of time, North Korea claims to have given to a global audience the world's most "wonderful" movies. I challenge you to find someone who has seen a single North Korean film.

At the time of the filming, Dresnok was the last defector in North Korea. Two had died, and Jenkins and his wife, a Japanese woman who had been captured by North Korea, escaped to Japan. He was arrested and served thirty days in prison. He released a book describing his misery in Pyongyang, and claimed that Dresnok would beat him if he did not fully comply with the government's wishes. Dresnok claims he is an absolute liar, and Dresnok's emotions shift from reflective to empathetic to sad to proud (as almost any man his age would); it is here, in describing Jenkins—his actions and his words—where Dresnok gets really, really angry. As for Jenkins, he is still alive, living in Japan, and several years ago he returned briefly to the United States to visit his ninety-one-year-old mother before returning to Japan. Dresnok also has a family. His second wife was an Eastern European woman, who birthed him two handsome boys, and although it is not mentioned in the documentary, they are constantly striking awe and flirtation in Korean women, though one of them at least does not want to marry a Korean woman. Dresnok's third and current wife is the biracial daughter of a black parent (again, this is not mentioned in the documentary). Their very young son, Dresnok's third, has curly hair and darker skin. All three of his children are attractive, and Dresnok appears totally blissful in Pyongyang, a country where people are starving to death (at least the government recently executed the scapegoat behind their failed currency redenomination). Dresnok at least is perfectly aware that North Koreans are starving, and he is deeply moved that he still gets rice rations from the government.

Documentarians are often praised for their bravery. These filmmakers are incredibly brave, having filmed in North Korea for three different documentaries (one on the country's soccer team and another on athletes preparing for the Arirang Festival). They are also risking the possibility of facing accusations that they are giving undeserved attention to a defector, communist and anti-American traitor. Sympathy is sympathy and empathy is empathy. Do both exist here? It's in the eye of the beholder, but I found both, though I suppose I'm a little weary of being called a communist.

Movies are usually seen through prisms and experiences. Here's mine: I have lived in South Korea for about seven months. I have become much more interested in North Korea than I was in the United States, but not because South Koreans are interested in North Korea (most of them are clearly not). I have been to the DMZ, as mentioned, and tours to a city called Kaesong, or Gaesong, have been suspended by the South after North Korean soldiers shot and killed a South Korean tourist. The North and South are currently negotiating terms to open up the tours again. Relations between the two are currently at their usual worst, but if the tours were to reopen, I would consider traveling to Kaesong in a second. When I watched this film, it was about a week after a South Korean vessel suffered an explosion and thereby sank it, causing the deaths of nearly fifty South Korean navy men. As of now, it is not clear if North Korea was responsible. If conflicts do heat up again, Mr. Dresnok and I are geographically speaking not too far apart, and we will be first-row witnesses to the tempest.

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Let the Right One In

If you watched the recent Academy Awards, you probably saw Taylor Lautner and Kristen Stewart of the "Twilight" series introduce a tribute to the horror genre, a genre repeatedly ignored by the Oscars for whatever reason. It could be that the genre is ignored because in many ways these horror stories branch off from the fantasy genre, and everyone is quite aware of the handicaps of fantasy films at award ceremonies.

I don't recall if there was a moment in the montage that featured this Swedish film, "Let the Right One In," though there were moments from "Edward Scissorhands" and "Beetlejuice," hardly horror films by any stretch of the imagination. Regardless, what good would it do if "Let the Right One In" was included? As I recently stated, if the Oscars wish to honor the genre, perhaps they could actually give these films a couple of rewards.

What better way to start off a review than with a rant? Yes, the Oscars have nothing to do with this movie (particularly so since the film was not nominated in any category--maybe there could be a token category for horror films like the Best Animated Feature award). I am not an expert on Swedish cinema, but based on films that I have seen, like Ingmar Bergman's "The Seventh Seal" and "The Virgin Spring," and based on its position next to the melancholic and pessimistic Finland (a nation "depressed and proud of it," as Morley Safer said), it seems fitting that this very acclaimed film came from such a country.

This is a very gloomy film, from its snowy beginning to its violent climax. It is frightening, far more than most recent horror films, but not gratuitous. There is an urge not to look away, even at its gloomiest. It possess spectacular cinematography--of snowy forests that are simultaneously dark and bright--without simply pleading to be viewed and offering nothing much in return. And to bring back Mr. Lautner and Ms. Stewart, "Let the Right One In" is often called "'Twilight' for grown-ups." I have never seen either of the "Twilight" films, but I would be willing to bet money on whether or not it is worth my time to watch them instead of "Let the Right One In."

The main character is a boy named Oskar (Kare Hedebrant), who is bullied his classmates; he's even called a "good piggy" by the jerks. Oskar does not utilize a mirror at home like Travis Bickle, but he does work on his intimidation fantasies on a tree. It is here when he is outside practicing that he meets a young girl (Lina Leandersson).

The young girl, Eli, is a vampire. Vampires are by definition quite hungry, so she requires the help from an older man (Per Ragnar), who spends some evenings murdering people to collect blood for Eli. When he is taken out of the picture, she relies on herself. She cries when she kills a man and drinks his blood.

Oskar does not realize at first that his new friend, whom he talks to frequently and who never wears a jacket despite how cold it is, is a vampire. He eventually asks her if she wants to "go steady," which must be a peculiar question for a vampire. She's not a girl, she tells him. To Oskar, of course, this means that Eli is a boy, but he loves her anyway.

The film, similar to "Paranormal Activity" released the same year, becomes increasingly unsettling. Sometimes it goes into territory it needs not enter, like when a group of angry CGI cats attack a vampire. This sequence looks incredibly dated--have the Swedes just now discovered CGI? Fortunately, the attack of CGI cats is only brief. That character who must suffer from the cats' malevolence eventually faces a situation, or rather fate, which is expected, but for it to run its course it seems to take about twenty minutes. The character believes she has been "infected" with something by the girl, Eli.

This is a brilliantly crafted movie. It deserves comparisons to "Nosferatu" and the better "Dracula" films, perhaps even to "The Exorcist." Ignored, like so many, at the Oscars, it is nevertheless far more memorable a film than blue aliens or an ignorant hangover.

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Encounters at the End of the World

In 2005, "March of the Penguins" had outgrossed all of the Best Picture nominees for the Oscars--"Brokeback Mountain," "Crash," "Capote," "Good Night, and Good Luck," and "Munich." The next year, "Happy Feat" won the Best Animated Film award. There is a man--not a penguin--interviewed in the beginning of Werner Herzog's "Encounters at the End of the World." Several moments later, the audience is introduced to a driver of 67,000 pound trucks. He is an idealist not concerned with money, or safety for that matter, as is evidenced when he discusses his time in the Peace Corps. Later there is a plumber who is part Apache and part royal family of the Incas. Another traveled through Africa in a truck and barely escaped several times.

Herzog makes it clear that this is not another film about penguins. There are penguins here, obviously, since it takes place in Antarctica. There is a sad moment when a penguin rushes towards the Arctic oblivion, and the humans are commanded not to interfere. There is no explanation known to humans why some penguins do this. Regardless, it happens, and the penguin is certain to die.

But Herzog is more concerned about those watching, studying, and appreciating the penguins and other aspects of Antarctica. This is a documentary about people living here--what brought them there and why they stay. They are people who, at the time of the filming, were living in an environment where for five months there is a lack of night, and at times looks like an ugly mining town. The weather they operate in is freezing, but the sea lions are certainly less frightening than the bears of "Grizzly Man." The people there are living on ice, a dynamic, living entity, as described by one of them.

This is a beautiful documentary, partly because of the natural elements Herzog and his team have captured on film--the seals which make Pink Floyd-like sounds, and the serenity of the ice is majestic. Herzog shows us the usual beauty of Antarctica, but again, this is a documentary about people, and Herzog narrating comments little on the visuals of the land, and instead the experiences and stories and episodes of the people. Some of the researches here, for example, reserve their excitement in discovering three new species (they celebrate later), and some watch B-science fiction films. The newcomers have to wear white buckets on their heads to simulate the lack of visibility during snow storms for survival school.

The filming crew finds a linguist who notes the irony of being "a linguist on a continent with no language." The young man goes on for a quite a while about the extinction of languages, which must be paraphrased by Herzog. Later, an interviewee (who also is a survivor of the Iron Curtain) cannot articulately put together his thoughts like the linguist can. As it becomes apparent that he does not enjoy remembering his haunting memories, Herzog assures him that he does not have to talk about them. Just as in "Grizzly Man," Herzog treats his subjects appropriately and professionally, even if he finds them a bit odd (save for a pogo stick enthusiast searching for Guinness records, who is interviewed away from Antarctica and does not receive much appreciation from Herzog).

Extinction is a theme that is constant here. Herzog criticizes those who do not address the extinction of languages across the globe. He notes that the crew is pessimistic about global warming and aware that humans will not be around forever. One human creation that does seem permanent is Shackleton's cabin, which still stands just as it was before, nearly a hundred years ago, and resembles an "extinct supermarket." To suggest that Herzog often has a gloomy outlook of the world would not be an original statement.

There are penguins in this movie. In fact, the triangular relationship of some penguins described in the film would have been much more enjoyable than either "Happy Feet" or "March of the Penguins." This is a very-well made film. Actually, I have yet to see a bad Herzog film, and hope that no such thing exists.

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The Balcony is Closed...Sort Of

"At the Movies," the show where Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel formally and passionately argued about movies, has recently been canceled. Siskel and Ebert were American treasures. While there is some merit to accusing the two of lowering the standard of film criticism by simplifying things with "thumbs up" or "thumbs down," the two often admitted that they were not there to offer serious, academic film criticism. They were operating in the television medium, which, for better or worse, required a rapid and succinct review. But what often happened was truly fantastic. It is correct that the two more often than not agreed rather than disagreed, but it was when they disagreed that it was most rewarding.

Roger Ebert became the youngest professional film critic in America when the Chicago Sun-Times hired him in 1968 as their film critic. His primary rival eventually became a younger Gene Siskel of the Chicago Tribune. According to interviews, the two did not particularly like each other at the start, and even when they became allies and friends they were still ultimately rivals, frequently trying to finish first with an interview or review. Siskel and Ebert formed "Sneak Previews" in 1975, which later became "At the Movies." Siskel and Ebert were remarkably different, not only in appearance--the small, rather large Ebert against the tall and balding Siskel--but in tastes, as Siskel claimed he was more analytical while Ebert favored more of an emotional response to moviewatching (nothing wrong with a bit of both). Siskel preferred to spend time in Chicago with his family, while Ebert relished attending overseas film festivals. (Siskel argued the films would be coming to Chicago anyway.) But they were both funny and admirable.

Thus, there was a method to their sparring, but they did, ultimately, adore each other. Ebert has not hid that he misses the person he has called his soul mate--Siskel died in 1999 of brain cancer complications.

Was Richard Roeper a bad replacement for Siskel? No. One did get the sense that he was not as excited to do his movie-homework as the other two were, and the rapport that Siskel and Ebert had was never matched by Ebert and Roeper, but he is a skilled writer and debater, and he deserves accolades for walking away from Disney when they wanted to make some "changes" to the show. Those changes, incidentally, brought Ben Mankiewicz from Turner Classic Movies and Ben Lyons of E! Entertainment to the arena. I have little, if anything, against Mankiewicz, the grandson of Herman Mankiewicz and the grandnephew of Joseph Mankiewicz, but I was annoyed after reading a comment from him found at eFilmCritic, in which he says that Mike Leigh's "Happy-Go-Lucky" is "not a feel-good comedy but rather a comedy that literally makes us fell good." So in other words, as the author of eFilmCritic points out, it's a feel-good comedy.

Anyway, that remark pales compared to Ben Lyons. I don't typically try to get on any resentment bandwagon, and there are numerous words devoted to destroying Mr. Lyons, from eFilmCritic, to Stop Ben Lyons!, and even Roger Ebert (the LA Times wrote an article on Lyons called "Dumbing Down The Film Critic"), but sometimes it's simply too hard not to. Case in point, during their review of the wonderful documentary "Every Little Step," Lyons complained that he did not like the film because it often took place in a dark theatre, ignoring, as his co-host pointed out, that a theatre is where auditions take place. Anyway, Mankiewicz and Lyons were both fired and replaced by Michael Phillips of the Chicago Tribune and A.O. Scott of the New York Times.

The reason, of course, that the "Bens" replaced Ebert and Roeper was because Ebert began to have cancer complications himself. Part of his jaw is gone, as is his wonderful voice, but he blissfully told his friend Leonard Maltin that he still has the written word. 

With all due respect to Philips and Scott, two of America's best critics, the magic of Siskel and Ebert is gone, and probably will not come back. Perhaps there will be another Siskel and Ebert. Regardless, it won't be quite as fun or funny. In many respects, the balcony is closed.

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Alice in Wonderland

Todd Gilchrist recently wrote an interesting piece about the filmmakers who have influenced Tim Burton. It is not difficult to see the obvious similarities between Burton's work and that of Robert Wiene, Fritz Lang, Roger Corman, Ray Harryhausen, Terrence Fischer and Walt Disney, all mentioned in Gilchrist's article. The homages Burton paid to each of those filmmakers were really simple; obvious to film lover's but not blatant plagiarism. In essence they were appropriate and fitting, and helped to establish a Burton look highly admired.

In his newest film, "Alice in Wonderland," however, there is little of that previously found influence, despite how ripe his material was for it. It is not too inconceivable perhaps to envision what the film would have looked like with Burton's previous ways of making films. There could have been an Expressionism-style set, just as he did with "Batman Returns," or Corman silliness, just as there was in "Beetlejuice." (Wouldn't it have been more enjoyable to see Alan Rickman in a costume, able to project so much of that famous persona of many of his characters with that face, instead of being hidden behind graphics that appeared to have been stolen from a children's show?) There might have been a stop-motion climax of the Jabberwocky instead of hackneyed use of CGI.

Tim Burton has been in good company, with filmmakers like George Lucas, Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson salivating over CGI effects. Who can truly blame Burton? With the encouragement and perhaps pressure he must have felt when James Cameron's "Avatar" made so much money all over the world, it was probably much easier to shelve the older ways in favor of a CGI orgy.

In this adaptation, Alice (Mia Wasikowska) is pressured to marry a young man she is not interested in the slightest, so she rushes away from. Predictably, she falls down a hole and returns to Wonderland, a place she has completely forgotten. Her old friends (whom she has forgotten) are happy to see her, for the Red Queen has taken things over, and they need a champion to set things right.

On an acting note, Burton has as usual assembled a fine cast who all appropriately fit the parts: Stephen Fry as the Cheshire Cat, Alan Rickman as the Caterpillar, Christopher Lee as the Jabberwocky, Michael Gough as the Do-Do Bird, Anne Hathaway as the White Queen, Michael Sheen as the White Rabbit, Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter, and Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen. Depp is his usual fun to watch. Particularly noteworthy is his approach to the character, and he explained that his inspiration to have the Mad Hatter's hair be orange came from the fact that the term "mad as a hatter" came from mercury poisoning from the hats of the 19th century, though for some reason he's so mad that his accent arbitrarily changes so often that it's maddening, if you will. Bonham Carter, though, really does shine here as the villain. Her head so ingeniously enlarged, and she really has understood how to perfectly combine the silliness and the terror of the character's tantrums. Finally, Lee, who has found his renaissance in the cinema thanks to Burton, has said that he is simply too old to travel to New Zealand if he is asked to return as Saruman in "The Hobbit," though he would like to voice the role of Smaug the dragon. If he does not get his wish, then he would have at least achieved it here as the Jabberwocky, though his voice is heard only briefly.

The sense of imagination I found in the Disney "Alice" and in previous Burton films was mostly missing here. For one, Burton has stated that he never particularly enjoyed the previous adaptations and so this called for a new story. So, in a style similar to "Hook," Alice has forgotten all about Wonderland and must learn about its wonders in new ways. That is fine, theoretically, but as a friend of mine stated, "Alice couldn't remember anything about Wonderland, and dammit, neither could I!"

Another complaint is that Burton has shifted away from his wonderful sets and marvelously simplistic stop-motion effects in favor of these bad CGI effects. By the end of the film, Alice now has a sword (so does the Mad Hatter), and she and the rest of the actors have to do their best to make believe with green screens. And finally, 3-D glasses are not the most comfortable glasses to wear, but sometimes (like in "Coraline") the movie is so good and the 3-D is done so well that it is justifiable. Here, this is not the case. One of the things that really made Burton's previous films work is that the designs of the films really elevated the stories, instead of simply forming a distraction. With "Alice in Wonderland," the latter prevails.

There is a fascinating article in the New York Times by Melanie Bayley called "Algebra in Wonderland." Bayley writes about the mathematical symbolism in Carroll's "Alice" stories. One example is the Queen of Hearts (or Red Queen in this movie) is often keen on ordering an execution by way of ax (a pun, according to Bayley, on the word "axes," the plural of axis of a graph). The point I'd like to make is that Carroll's stories apparently are ripe with symbolism, philosophy, and thought, little of which is evident here.

This does not make the movie awful, and to use the simplistic language of the newer "At the Movies," would say "rent it." But if one is looking for that true sense of wonder and awe found in Burton's previous films, one might be disappointed. To put it another way, hopefully this concludes Burton's trilogy--"Planet of the Apes," "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," and "Alice in Wonderland"--of films that are not particularly bad but not particularly satisfying either. Though, to be fair, in the time that he made those films, he also made "Big Fish" and "The Corpse Bride," much finer films. I do hope his next tale will be more wonderful. Please, Mr. Burton, please help rid movie-making of this unhealthy addiction. A return to the "Burton look" would help.

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