Scarecrow

In Scarecrow, the 1973 comedy-drama directed by Jerry Schatzberg that tied for the Grand Prix du Festival International du Film at the Cannes Film Festival, audiences are witness to a masterclass in acting from its two stars: Gene Hackman and Al Pacino, just as both were beginning to skyrocket. Hackman had just won the Oscar for The French Connection, and Pacino was in between the first two Godfather films. Those other films are more renowned today, but their performances here might be their most underappreciated work. 

There is a lot of physical work here right from the get-go by Hackman and Pacino, especially as the latter does some jumping jacks and acts like a monkey; the former at one point puts on a strip show in a bar to the applause of the others. It's all practically vaudevillian. Fitting neatly into the New Hollywood era of films like Midnight Cowboy, Easy Rider, and Five Easy Pieces, Hackman plays a man of ambition but bad impulses named Max; Pacino plays a wanderer named Francis (who's nicknamed "Lion"). They meet on the road waiting to hitchhike, and, despite some resistance from Max, decide to team up on Max's odyssey to Pittsburgh, where he hopes to open his own car wash. Why it has to be all the way in Pittsburgh, he won't say. 

Max does not need a narrator to describe him—he sums himself up succinctly yet accurately. According to him, he's the meanest son of a bitch alive—he doesn't trust anybody, and he doesn't love anybody. He's also a bit of a bully, "very practical but dumb." One of the few outsider observations that could be made about him is that he makes one bad decision after another and never stops to realize when he's gone too far, all the while refusing to admit the problems he finds himself in are often self-inflicted. In short, he blames everyone but himself, and he is vulnerable but overly masculine; much of this comes across in subtle looks Hackman gives. 

Lion is the polar opposite, but opposites often attract, don't they? He's boyish in the best ways but irresponsible in the worst. A former sailor, he requests a stop in Detroit so he can see his wife and child, whom he has abandoned. He hopes to present his son a lamp as a gift, which is an odd gift for a young child. These details are important—the state of Lion's hat, for example, says an awful lot about him and his socioeconomic status. It's not like the costume choices do the heavy lifting, but they augment what the two actors are trying to say about these two struggling men they're portraying. 

What is Scarecrow really about? One could argue that it spares the didacticism of counter-culture road films in favor of a simple story of male friendship. Max is aggressive, while Francis is sensitive. This dichotomy drives much of the emotional reaction of the film. There's no competition from each other; by the end of the film, it is more than obvious that they really need each other. 

The great acting, however, compensates for the film's flaws, namely how it kind of rambles, especially in the second half, before it ends with a gut punch. While one might interpret the film's meandering structure as reflecting the rootlessness of its protagonists, it ultimately feels more like a flaw than a feature, undermining the impact of these two performances. I wondered whether the two nicknames in the film (Scarecrow and Lion) had anything to do with The Wizard of Oz, yet I could not come up with any solid conclusion about such symbolism. 

On a sadder, final note, it must be said that Scarecrow serves as a potent reminder of the exceptional talent of Gene Hackman. His death in February at the age of 95 was a tragic loss for cinema.

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Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone

"Your sins are terrible, and it is just that you suffer."

Francis Ford Coppola always considered The Godfather Part III, the third feature in his trilogy based on Mario Puzo's famous novel, now celebrating its thirtieth anniversary, to be an epilogue. Hence the "coda", which is apparently what Coppola and Puzo wanted to name the film. Despite Paramount Studios rejecting their idea and ordering the film to (logically) be called The Godfather Part III (after The Godfather and The Godfather Part II), Coppola has now revisited this famously mediocre conclusion in a director's cut titled Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. 

That title is important, or so we're told. Coda, according to the dictionary, means the concluding passage of a piece or movement, typically forming an addition to the basic structure. Craig Elvy at Screenrant argues that in one simple name change, Coppola has fixed the biggest problem with his 1990 film. According to Elvy, "When audiences hear 'The Godfather Part III,' they expect a cinematic epic on par with the 1970s classics, but the third effort was never intended or written to deliver the same experience. By billing itself as 'The Godfather Part III,' viewers are destined for disappointment even before the opening credits." In other words, naming the film "Coda" (which translates to "tail", or the ending of a song, in Italian) as Coppola and Puzo intended allows audiences to understand what kind of final film they were attempting to present. 

I disagree. Audiences are smart, far smarter than Hollywood usually gives them credit for, and yet it's doubtful that audiences would have understood the difference between the final film as an epilogue and the final film as a piece of cinematic artwork with intended equal footing as the previous two films. Those who saw it were disappointed in 1990, and its title had nothing to do with it. Thus, what worked in Part III also works in Coda, but what didn't work in Part III still doesn't work in Coda. The elements that don't work are well-known by now: the absence of Robert Duvall (due to salary disagreements with the studio) as Tom Hagan, the adopted son of Vito Corleone and family consigliere; a convoluted plot involving a conspiracy regarding the death of the Pope and a papal banking scandal; and the perhaps nepotistic casting of Sophia Coppola as Michael's daughter.

While the consensus over the years is that the reaction to the film itself may have been a little too unfair, Sophia Coppola's performance still divides viewers. Julia Roberts had been cast in the role but then dropped out due to scheduling conflicts. Winona Ryder took over but then dropped out due to nervous exhaustion (though she would be directed by Coppola two years later in Bram Stoker's Dracula). Running out of options, Coppola cast his daughter. It's true that she was a little out of her league with giants in the scenes, but in this new director's cut, I wouldn't call the performance bad. It's probably the most naturalistic performance in the film, which can come as a relief given that many of the older, experienced stars overdo it from time to time. Sophia Coppola has recently said that while the reactions had embarrassed her, it didn't destroy her. This is our gain, for she won an Academy Award fourteen years later for the screenplay for Lost in Translation, joining her father, grandfather (Godfather composer Carmine Coppola) and cousin Nicolas Coppola (better known as Nicolas Cage) as Oscar winners.

Like the two films before it, this one starts with a party in which every problem the Godfather will need to deal with is essentially laid before him. Al Pacino returns as Michael Corleone, the Godfather, who now attempts to be the man he promised Kay he would become all those years ago: legitimate. The casinos have been sold, and there is nothing illicit about his empire, or so he tells the archbishop (played by Donal Donnelly). Michael knows that the archbishop, as head of the Vatican bank, has accumulated hundreds of millions of dollars in debt. Michael's offer is to purchase $600 million worth of shares in Immobiliare, making him the largest shareholder. But the primary mess beyond these financial situations Michael has to deal with involves his nephew, Vincent Mancini (the son of Michael's brother Sonny, played here by Andy Garcia). Like his father before him, Vincent is a boyishly charming yet unpredictably violent hothead. He feuds with Joey Zasa (Joe Mantegna), who has taken control of the Corleone family business in New York City. Despite Michael's distrust of Zasa, he scolds Vincent for not seeking peace. Peace with Zasa is not something Vincent wants, so Vincent takes a big bite into Zasa's ear. 

That still is not the end of Michael's problems. His son, Anthony (Franc D'Ambrosio) wants not to pursue a career in law, but in music. He's supported by his mother, Kay (Diane Keaton), who has long since separated from Michael. Kay fears that now that Michael is so respectable, he's even more dangerous than he has ever been. Even though she hasn't seen him in eight years, when she meets him again at the opening party scene, it's easy to see how much she despises him. She looks wonderful, though, he tells her as he quickly eats cake and doesn't make much eye contact. 

While it may not be as unforgettable as the two films that preceded it, The Godfather Part III is not without its distinctive features, namely the thrilling helicopter attack scene, the ambush during a street parade, and Michael's famous line: "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in." However, that iconic line would be so much better if we had more of the calm acting Pacino became famous for in the 1970s. While his work in Part III is more subdued than his acting in Scarface, it still is the Pacino of the 80s, 90s, and beyond. In other words, he screams a lot, and the film suffers when he does.

Much of what's disappointing about the film is not so much Sophia Coppola's acting but the film's script. Despite some memorable dialogue, there are problems with how it presents these characters we've known for so long and the situations they're in. It's right to focus on Michael's obsession with redemption, but the film tries too hard to come full circle with everything. Coppola and Puzo also try to give Connie (Michael's sister, played in all three films by Coppola's sister, Talia Shire) something more to do than in the first film (in which she is only there to be a victim of domestic violence) and the second film (in which she's only there to...not really do anything). But changing her from passive to active, as she backs Vincent's moves to be more aggressive when dealing with the family's enemies, has mixed results. So, too, do many of the scenes in which Michael and Kay try to bury the hatchet and move on; they often come across as delightful yet dull. And the Vatican plot the family finds themselves in is interesting, but Coppola and Puzo do not tie the two together in a convincing way.

Despite the disappointment that the film is famous for, it wasn't the disaster some think it is. The film earned $137 million worldwide, finishing second in its opening weekend behind only Home Alone. It wasn't much of a critical failure, either. While Coda has an impressive 91 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, The Godfather Part III still received a rating of 68 percent and seven Oscar nominations, including Best Picture, making the trilogy one of only two to have all three of its films nominated for Best Picture (the other being the Lord of the Rings trilogy). One of those nominations went to Garcia, who was nominated for Best Supporting Actor. One of his competitors for that award was Pacino, who was nominated for his role as Big Boy Caprice in Dick Tracy, a performance that is superior to his work in The Godfather Part III. They both lost to Joe Pesci for Goodfellas. 

I didn't revisit the theatrical release version of The Godfather Part III before watching Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. Why would I? One negative consequence of that, though, is that because I hadn't seen Part III in more than fifteen years, it was remarkably difficult to figure out what has been changed by Coppola. The very final scene is definitely different, and most people who see both, even if there has been a big gap between the viewings, will probably notice. The opening is quite different, too; part of that I knew immediately, and part of that I learned later. 

But ultimately, even though a few minutes have been shaved off, some scenes have been rearranged, and the opening and ending are different, it still feels the same. Or, as Owen Gleiberman terrifically put it: "It's the same damn movie." That's a good thing or a bad thing, depending on your perspective. I fell in the "it's-not-great-but-it's-not-awful" camp who modestly defended The Godfather Part III, but Coda largely left me unable or unwilling to enthusiastically champion it as a shining masterpiece, as I think some had expected it would become after this director's cut. In essence, it's still the least memorable of the three films. 

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Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

In 1969, Hollywood legend Judy Garland died of an accidental barbiturate overdose. With her death and with Midnight Cowboy soon becoming the first X-rated film to win Best Picture, it was the end of the so-called Golden Age of Hollywood and the birth of a new, less innocent era. A new, edgier actor named Al Pacino, who appears in this film as a Hollywood agent, made his debut that same year. And Sharon Tate, the actress and model who was married to Roman Polanski, was murdered (along with her unborn baby and guests) in her home by the Charles Manson gang.

This is the setting for the newest film written and directed by Quentin Tarantino, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. It is quite unlike his previous films. Controversial and a little goofy, sure, but fantastically acted and more or less engaging.

Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt are the two main stars here, and they are the best part. DiCaprio is Rick Dalton, a fictitious actor going through a bit of a midlife crisis as he realizes he might have peaked and his acting talent might actually be minimal. He's got a slick leather jacket and a cool necklace, but he's a mess, constantly drinking, smoking, and married to the idea that he's a has-been. Pitt is Cliff Booth, his stunt double who these days essentially makes his living by driving Dalton around and taking care of his other errands. While they live in different economic worlds, they rely on each other and have tremendous loyalty. Their stories essentially split into two as Dalton goes to film a guest appearance on a pilot as the heavy opposite real-life James Stacey, who is played here by Timothy Olyphant. In this sequence, which some might find superfluous, DiCaprio screams, weeps, and seems to be having as much fun as he ever has had as an actor.

While Rick is busy filming, his old buddy Cliff is roaming around the streets of Hollywood, where he runs across a young cohort of followers of the real-lie Charles Manson, who appears briefly here stumbling on Polanski's property. (Manson is played by Australian actor Damon Herriman.) This real-life event--the murders at the hands of the Manson Gang--looms large over the entire story, though the film itself is essentially Tarantino's love letter to the movie business.

One undeniably positive aspect of Once Upon A Time in Hollywood is the cast. DiCaprio and Pitt are fantastic together. They both essentially came of cinematic age around the same time, and it's nice that they work so well together. Accents are not DiCaprio's strong suit, but it doesn't matter. His work here is among his finest. Robbie hits all the right notes as Tate, although there has been considerable criticism about her lack of screen time and how much she is given to do. The appearances of veterans like Pacino, Bruce Dern, and Kurt Russell are also enjoyable. But the breakout star is Mike Moh, who portrays Bruce Lee. Lee is rather braggadocios on set, and Cliff, who finally gets some work as a stunt man on the set, is not impressed in the slightest. A fight breaks out between the two, and it's one of the best parts of the film. (It should be noted, however, that Lee's daughter has strongly objected to the way her father was portrayed.)

Other conflicts appear throughout, particularly in what is likely its most notable (and perhaps controversial) scene. It shoots out of nowhere and feels like Tarantino being Tarantino but for all the wrong reasons. But it is Tanatino, and it's also a fairy tale, one that drags on too long. It's his first post-Weinstein film, and part of the deal he negotiated with Sony was to have final cut over the finished product. That was unfortunate, because a lot of what's included has no place being there. We've seen a lot of this stuff before from this director; do we really need to see it all again?

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The Funniest AFI Moments

This Saturday, TNT will present the American Film Institute's Lifetime Achievement Award to Mel Brooks, a man who certainly deserves it. For more than fifty years, he has made us practically cry laughing with films like "The Producers" in 1968 (along with the Broadway version and 2005 film version), "Young Frankenstein," "Blazing Saddles," "Spaceballs," and others. Do you like the old show "Get Smart"? Brooks was a co-creator. In fact, he has won an Oscar, an Emmy, a Tony and a Grammy, making him one of the few individuals to win all four. The AFI Lifetime Achievement Award is, according to them, the highest honor an American in film can get. Fortunately, the show is often quite funny, and knowing the long list of co-workers and famous fans of Brooks, we can be sure that Saturday night's show will be good fun. For a brief history of such humor at the AFI awards, here are some of their funniest moments.    

Steve Martin, Tom Hanks, 2002

Steve Martin, perhaps the funniest man alive, opened the show expressing just a bit of faux-jealousy towards Hanks during the latter's "mid-life achievement award." Martin delivers the lines in that dry, sarcastic tone that he does best. "How did Tom come so far so quickly? Well, nepotism."    

Billy Crystal, Robert De Niro, 2003 

Billy Crystal, Robert De Niro's co-star from "Analyze This," doesn't exactly deliver a knee-slapper (but Robin Williams did during his hysterical roast that night of Martin Scorsese), but it gets the show off to a nice start. He lampoons De Niro's famous work ethic, compares his early look to that of the Monkees, and does a nice impression of De Niro's inability to make conversation (something Edward Norton and Leonardo DiCaprio also point out).  

Jim Carrey, Meryl Streep, 2004

Unfortunately, the AFI, like the rest of Hollywood, does not honor as many women as it does men, and this is inexcusable. (Only seven out of the forty honorees have been women.) But in 2004, they honored arguably the greatest artist alive, Meryl Streep, or, as Jim Carrey claimed, the three nominees in the category of Best Actress Ever. Carrey's schtick is over the top, but that's to be expected, and if you are generally amused by him, then you will love his opening, especially when he gives Streep "advice" that "less is more," then goes into imitations of De Niro and Jack Nicholson, both in attendance.
   

William Shatner, George Lucas, 2005

You'll notice a bit of puzzlement from "Star Wars" alumni Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford as William Shatner (from Lucas' rival/inspiration "Star Trek") comes forward to open the show with mock confusion. "'Star Trek' changed everything," he says. "And aren't these conventions wonderful?" What he does next with a band of Stormtroopers is so perfect, I think it's best to simply watch. 

Mike Myers, Sean Connery 2006

Mike Myers, after noting that he practically owes his career to Sir Sean Connery, is hysterical, particularly when he compares some of Connery's Bond girlfriends (like Pussy Galore) with Myers' first girlfriend, "Closedlegs Finklestein." Unfortunately, though, after the laughs from Myers speech, we have to sit through two hours of bad Connery impressions (though Eddie Izzard's is pretty good). But fortunately, it ends with Connery dancing and giving a terrific speech.    

Robin Williams, Al Pacino 2007

Any AFI show with Robin Williams is a joy, and after a terrific montage of Pacino's great work at the beginning of the show (which, as far as I can tell, is not available on Youtube), Williams, Pacino's co-star from the under-appreciated "Insomnia," notes that the AFI "could've given you this award in 1975, but that would have been a little early" and that after incorrectly claiming Pacino won an Oscar for "Raging Bull," "if you put Robert De Niro in a dryer, you get Al Pacino!" He then leads the audience in one of Pacino's most famous movie lines.   

Betty White, Morgan Freeman, 2011

Betty White sings to Morgan Freeman. I don't think I need to write anything else.  

The showing will be at 9 pm (EST) on TNT with an encore showing on TCM on July 24.  Until then, it's always Springtime for Hitler.    

Okay, one more....

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