Use a Reel Mower!

It's summer time and so begins the lazy, hazy, crazy (and friggan humid) days of summer and the cacophony that is everyone in the neighborhood mowing their lawns. But I have a secret for you: real men and women use reel mowers. What exactly are reel mowers? Ask your father (or grandfather) and he'll tell you. They are, essentially, old-fashioned lawnmowers, or, in today's vernacular, eco-friendly lawnmowers. That pic to the left is my very own pride and joy. Now, why would anyone want to give up their loud, dangerous, expensive, polluting, waste-of-space power lawnmower these days? Here are three simple answers:

1. Save on gas. The average American spends anywhere from $100 to $200 a month (or more than eight percent of their income) on gasoline, and in this economy, you could probably use all the savings you can get. According to the EPA, lawnmowers are responsible for the same amount of emissions as 11 new cars and also 17 million gallons of fuel being spilled while Americans refuel their lawnmowers.

Gasoline prices remain high, and they've increased even higher thanks to the crisis in Iraq. And even if there were no crisis in Iraq, prices would still go up. As researcher Fereidun Fesharaki put it, "The future is one of an unstoppable force--demand--versus an immovable object--supply limitations."

2. Save the planet. Some good news: India has set an ambitious goal of planting 2 billion trees, and deforestation has fallen 70% in Brazil. Germany has set a record of generating 75% of its electricity from renewable energy. Texas, of all places, leads the nation in wind power generation. And, Kentucky, the state with the worst pollution in the nation, is beginning to cut its coal use.

But our planet is still in peril. Global warming has become so bad that rising sea levels in the Pacific have washed the remains of Japanese soldiers from World War II onto the island shores. And yet there are still Americans who offer the most bizarre responses. "Why did the dinosaurs go extinct?" is one question a congressman actually asked. Speaker Boehner simply said that he was "not qualified" to discuss the subject because he wasn't a scientist. (This is a common response among politicians, who conveniently happen to be experts on everything else.) Here's how one scientist responded to that answer: "What if we asked: 'Senator, do you advocate drinking toxic sludge?...would the response still be 'I don't know, I'm not a scientist'?" President Obama put it a bit better: "When President Kennedy...set us on a course for the moon, there were a number of people who made a serious case that it wouldn't be worth it...but nobody ignored the science. I don't remember anybody saying that the moon wasn't there, or that is was made of cheese." (Incidentally, the EPA administrators of the Nixon, Reagan, and both Bush administrations support regulating CO2 emissions.)

And yet even John Podesta, one of Obama's senior advisers on climate, has warned that their efforts simply aren't enough to prevent the worst effects of climate change. Brad Plumer at Vox puts this succinctly and pessimistically: "The idea that the world can stay below two 2 degrees Celsius looks increasingly delusional."

While we're making progress, there is much, much more to be done. As Thomas Friedman wrote in his book "Hot, Flat, and Crowded," cleaning up our planet is not supposed to be fun and easy. There is nothing easy about this. We are way beyond the point where we can just change our light bulbs and feel better about ourselves. Is mowing the lawn with a reel mower easy and convenient? Of course not. Tiny twigs constantly and annoyingly halt my mowing. Will it eliminate the problem? No, but it's one more step we can take to help.

3. Exercise It's no secret that America has a severe health crisis, with more than a third of American adults suffering from obesity. What better way to shed some pounds walking? Walking has numerous benefits, including aiding digestion, improving blood pressure and lowering the risk of coronary heart disease, serving as a slight antidepressant, and many more. As Hippocrates said, "walking is man's best medicine." And what better way to walk than while pushing a reel push mower?

But what's that? You don't want to walk with a push reel mower and instead stay seated on your nice, comfy ride mower? Well, I have some bad news for you: A recent study has found that too much sitting raises the risk of cancer. The study found that spending the majority of one's day sedentary--whether at an office, in a car, or in front of a TV--creates a 24 percent increase of getting colon cancer. It's even higher for uterine cancer--a 32 percent increase!

The reasons are obvious. Use a reel mower--you'll help save your wallet, the planet, and your life. Now you can't beat that.

Here's a decent video on reel mower maintenance:

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Lawrence of Arabia

"Lawrence's endurance seemed so great to the local people at Jerablus that they could not believe in his death, for 'he could outride, outwalk, outshoot, and outlast the best of them.'

[Shaykh Hamoudi, the chief local foreman at Carchemish, said to an interviewer] 'Tell them in England what I say. Of manhood the man; in freedom free; a mind without equal; I can see no flaw in him.'"
-"A Prince for Our Disorder," John E. Mack

As expected, Maurice Jarre's exciting theme sets the tone immediately. We see T.E. Lawrence, and he is about to go for a ride--so are we, frankly. This is how "Lawrence of Arabia," the great British epic, begins. Forgive me for the "ride" sentence, not only for its corniness, but for seemingly approving of the bizarre adventurous sentiments, one of the few legitimate arguments against the film. Yes, few films are faultless, but "Lawrence of Arabia" is arguably the best film Great Britain has given the world.

We're soon introduced to Lawrence the character, and he is quite an eccentric one, extinguishing matches with his bare fingers and possessing a "funny sense of fun," according to the bureau man, played by Claude Raines, whose opinion it is to send Lawrence to Arabia, where Bedouin tribes have attacked the Turks at Medina. And from there, we go to the desert, a big sea of sand accompanied by Jarre's iconic score. Lawrence befriends a Bedouin who serves as a guide; that is, until he is mercilessly shot by a rival Arab. This Arab is named Sherif Ali, and he is played by Omar Sharif, who would go on to star in Lean's "Doctor Zhivago." From here we see more of the film's romantic embrace of the desert; Lawrence decides to return to the desert to rescue a man who has fallen off his camel, but Sherif Ali warns him that they will both die, for "it is written." Lawrence shouts back that nothing is written. Lawrence appears to believe that he is the master of his fate and the captain of his soul; to Sherif Ali, he is a blasphemer. But Lawrence pulls it off. "Nothing is written," he repeats, before succumbing to exhaustion and falling to a carpet to sleep.

Before I continue, I have to first simultaneously defend and acclaim Peter O'Toole and David Lean. Both are at the top of their game, but unfortunately, not everyone agrees with me. David Thompson's "The New Biographical Dictionary of Film" is not so kind to O'Toole, claiming that O'Toole played the character with "desperate intensity." Thompson may be unflattering towards O'Toole, but he is vicious toward Lean. Thompson accuses Lean of suffering from "the Selznick syndrome," and that "Lawrence of Arabia" is the only Lean epic where the spectacle is "sufficient to mask the hollow rhetoric of the scripts." Lean slowly became "the prisoner of big pictures, a great eye striving to show off a large mind." Those are serious allegations. Thompson is likely accurate that Lean's films are best appreciated if one can tolerate the weakness in character development and especially dialogue. Is the script hollow? Yes, especially the dreadful scene where Lawrence first gains the attention of Prince Faisal (Alec Guinness, a player in many Lean films). Over the panic of a superior military officer (Anthony Quayle) and the barks of Sherif Ali (with a tremendous amount of overacting in this scene), Lawrence somehow gains favor by comparing the desert to the ocean, and it is here where Thompson is accurate in his description of O'Toole's desperate intensity. The screenplay isn't awful but it's not exactly Shakespeare. All I can say is there is nothing wrong with spectacle; "Gone With the Wind" may be a guilty pleasure for some, but to paraphrase Benthem, the quantity of pleasure being equal, spectacles like "Lawrence of Arabia"can be as good as "12 Angry Men."

Is there a lot of overacting? Some folks on Reddit seem to think so, as does the blogger behind "1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die." But other epics could also be criticized for bad acting and emphasizing style over substance. "Seven Samurai" by Akira Kurosawa (a director so rarely criticized) comes to mind. You might be hard-pressed to find worse acting in such a respected movie than "Seven Samurai," and, for that matter, virtually all of Kurosawa's films. Does this sole element make "Seven Samurai" or "Throne of Blood" or "Ran" bad films? Of course not. Viewers must observe films holistically. (To be fair to Mr. Thompson, he doesn't appear to care for Kurosawa either.)

I don't mean to pick on its screenplay, but there is one final note I want to address: Lawrence's odd simplicity. As he establishes himself as a leader in the Arab fight against the Turks, Lawrence claims that he loves the desert because it's clean. With all due respect to my current host country, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, this is not the case anymore. The Jarre theme--its light, romantic crescendo--quickly vanishes from one's head when one sees an omnipresent sight of Coke cans, Snickers wrappers, and plastic bags (which are killing camels at alarming rates). While Jordan (where the film took place and was shot) is still, for the most part, one of the great beauties of the world, I wonder if "Lawrence of Arabia" gave me premature images of such a wonderful, clean ocean of a desert (and I do hope Saudis--particularly the youth--start taking better care of their country).

"Lawrence of Arabia" is great fun. At three-and-a-half hours, it can often test one's limits of patience, but, at least for me, the only scenes that dragged are the final thirty minutes. Flawed? Certainly (see above). A masterpiece? Definitely. It's a beautiful film that you owe yourself to see.

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Out of the Past

"It is a mistake to think that the past is dead."
-Will Durant

Cigarettes and fedoras are staples of film noir, with hardly a moment going by featuring a lack of smoking. Arguably no man (save for Humphrey Bogart) is responsible for this more than Robert Mitchum. "Out of the Past" was one of Mitchum's first successes (and probably the one with the most cigarettes). Film noir is the epitome of surrealism, best exemplified by the far-fetched dialogue (and gratuitous cigarette smoke) so prevalent in its films. Even the simplest--and perhaps silliest--of lines is beautifully yet toughly executed by Mitchum.

"Something the matter?" someone asks.

"Maybe not," is his terse reply. I can't think of many actors who could deliver a line like that.

Robert Mitchum was probably the most uniquely handsome Hollywood figure aside from Marlon Brando. Here he plays Jeff Bailey, "a detective," he dismissively calls himself. Like many noir films, there's a fairly complicated plot, beginning with Bailey's past finding him away from his private eye life where he owns a gasoline station. Martin Amis once remarked that the past was another country. That's sort of how it feels to the viewer, augmented by those dark shadows. The shadows only become omnipresent once Bailey is pulled away from his rural gasoline station and back into urban jungles. Whit Sterling, played by Kirk Douglas, is our villain, and he summons Bailey for a meeting. Douglas' screen persona equals Mitchum's, and the two duel with a tense game of tennis rhetoric. Mitchum was one of those rare actors who could exude vulnerability and machoism simultaneously--he has a line where he mentions a character being a "leaf that blows me from one gutter to another," and while I have no idea what that actually means, it sounds quite cool coming from him. And Douglas is one of the few actors who can demonstrate hospitality masking his real power.

This is arguably the most beautifully shot of the genre. With that being said, frankly, "Out of the Past" is not quite as good as "Chinatown," "Double Indemnity," "The Maltese Falcon," or "Kiss Me Deadly." But when folks think of film noir, this film often pops into their head. Why shouldn't it? Its influence continues. I couldn't help but notice an obvious connection between this film and HBO's terrific "True Detective." A perfect example of neo-noir, the machoism of Woody Harrelson's character and the cigarette smoke and demeanor of Matthew McConaughey's has its roots in "Out of the Past." Incidentally, both "Out of the Past" and "True Detective" are exhibited in a world of characters concerned about and haunted by the past. In a somewhat famous study about the happiness of older people, researchers found that older participants in the study tended to remember the positive pictures rather than the negative ones. I wondered if the same conclusions could be drawn if the participants were shown their own pictures of their own past. My point is that I believe our memory has a unique ability to remember the best and forget the worst. Currently, my own thoughts of a dreadful vacation six months ago have slowly evolved into more positive perceptions. But this cannot be so of Rust, Marty and Jeff Bailey. The past is a strange, haunted foreign country that should be avoided.

When people think of film noir, the image that likely pops into their heads is Mitchum, cigarette in mouth and fedora on his head, moving about in the shadows. After Mitchum knocks out a guy, he finds the briefcase he's been after, but then picks up the guy's lighter and uses it. Classic Mitchum. He "talks big," as another character says. Talking big in a big, dark movie. Classic Mitchum.

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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.

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A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese's Personal Journey

Produced 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.

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Notes on the Oscars

It was the best of shows, it was the worst of the shows. What exactly does that mean? With regards to the second clause, I mean this sincerely: It was probably the worst (or at least the most boring) Academy Awards ceremony I have ever seen. Granted, I've only seen eleven (or more accurately, ten and a half, as I was boarding a plane halfway through the 2011 Oscars. If you can't remember exactly what happened at that year's ceremony, think Anne Hatheway and James Franco; and if there was ever a disastrous show to miss, that was it). But this most recent show was pathetically, terribly unfunny. I require laughter during the Oscars, and hosts of the past, particularly Steve Martin and, to a lesser extent, Billy Crystal, have really succeeded. Someone who also succeeded was Ellen Degeneres, the hysterical host from 2007. Her sweet jabs and humble demeanor were terrific back then; this time, there wasn't a single moment that provoked laughter from me--not even a Dick Cheneyesque smirk.

Ellen's running gag about ordering pizza for celebrities (what a tremendous and awe-inspiring work of comedy it was) was essentially the "Oprah-Uma" of the show. It was dreadful to watch Ellen hand out some plates and ask, "Who wants pizza?" (When watching the Jimmy Kimmel post-Oscars show, especially the absurdist comedy of cats called "Ameowadeus," it's a wonder why Kimmel wasn't picked instead.) The best moments didn't involve Ellen or pizza; they were simply one-liners: Bill Murray's unscripted tribute to his recently deceased friend Harold Ramis, and Kevin Spacey presenting himself as a certain Machiavellian Southern politician. Appearing after Darlene Love gave probably one of the most awesome acceptance speeches in history, loudly singing "I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free," Spacey, with that Frank Underwood drawl, claimed, "And I sing because I'm so happy to be out of Washington and here with all my Hollywood friends," to the audience's great approval.

It should be noted that this was a year in which the speeches were surprisingly interesting to listen to. and not a single one of them was cut off). Matthew McConaughey gave a fine speech, thanking God (a rarity at the Oscars) and proudly claiming that it is a "scientific fact that gratitude reciprocates." Chris Mooney at Mother Jones backs him up: "What's the payoff of feeling grateful, of 'paying it forward,' and of helping out those who help you? The research suggests more hope and optimism, a better ability to manage stress, a tendency to exercise more and even sleeping better." Despite that and the fact that he ended his speech by uttering his famous "alright, alright, alright" line from "Dazed and Confused," the New Yorker gave his speech a C. After annoying (to say the least) many with his sophomoric speeches at other shows, Jared Leto got it right this time in a heartfelt speech paying tribute to everyone from his mother to the protesters in Venezuela and Ukraine. Lupita Nyong'o's speech, in which she not only humbly recognized that her joy was because of someone else's pain but also where she firmly declared that no child's dreams are invalid, was delightful. So, too, was Cate Blanchett, winning for "Blue Jasmine," when she criticized "those of us in the industry who are foolishly clinging to the idea that female films, with women in the center, are niche experiments. They are not. Audiences want to see them, and in fact, they earn money." Her shouting that "the world is round, people!" could barely be heard over the applause.

There were other moments that might qualify for being decent. Amy, Meryl and Lupita danced, so well and spontaneous that one almost wonders if it was rehearsed ahead of time. John Travolta infamously (and bizarrely) pronounced Idina Menzel as "Adele Dazeem" (to which Menzel went to Twitter and thanked "Jorn Tromolto"), and now you can go to Slate to "Travoltify" your name. (For the record, I'm Craig Keezy.) For a while, it seemed everyone--including me (a bit)--picked on Hollywood legend Kim Novak, until we were shamed by the Siren's powerful defense:

"So let's say--just as a hypothetical for-instance--that you are an 81-year-old star whose last movie was in 1991 and who hasn't been to the Oscars in many a long year...As the evening approaches, the anxiety sets in. Harsh lights, you think. High-definition cameras. And a public that remembers you chiefly as the ice goddess whose beauty once drove James Stewart to the brink of madness. And even back then, when you were 25 years old, you worried constantly that no matter how you looked, it wasn't good enough. So a few weeks before the ceremony, you go to a doctor, and he says, 'Relax, honey. I have just the thing to make you fresh and dewy for the cameras.' And you go to the Oscars, so nervous you clutch your fellow presenter's hand. And the next day, you wake up to a bunch of cheap goddamn shots about your face. Nice system we got here, isn't it."  

Anyway, with such a dismal performance by Degeneres, the pathetically dull and pointless musical performances, and the fact that the flip-side of getting all but three predictions correct is that it made for a fairly boring show, the 2014 Academy Awards likely will not be fondly remembered. It was mostly the worst of shows.


Finally, poor Leo.

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The Best Films of the (Previous) Year

Hey there, cats and kittens. The Oscars are upon us, and while most critics (especially the ones who actually get paid to write reviews--and who live in countries where cinema isn't illegal) already released their top ten lists of the best films of 2013, as you can see, I'm a bit late. Regardless, here are the best films of the (previous) year.

10. The Past (Le Passe)
Not unlike his Oscar-winner from 2011, the Iranian film "A Separation," Asghar Farhadi's French film is a tale of quiet characters, all loudly angry at one another. Berencie Bejo (whom American audiences might recognize from "A Knight's Tale" and "The Artist"), Tahar Rahim (from "A Prophet") and Ali Mosaffa are all fantastic, as is young actress Pauline Burlet. (Have you ever had to tell your mother that you did something awful and feared the reaction and punishment? That should give you just a slight hint of a critical scene between her and Bejo.) Just like in "A Separation," Farhadi has shown us that he is (and I mean this sincerely) the new master of suspense. The suspense featured in his previous film is even more pronounced and prevalent here. Watch the final scene, where not a single note of music exists, and tell me you weren't (forgive me for using such a hackneyed expression) on the edge of your seat.

9. Nebraska
There are many things I think of when I think about Alexander Payne's "Nebraska." I think of how, while it is not as good as his masterpiece from 2002 ("About Schmidt"), it is even more entertaining than his films in between the two ("Sideways" and "The Descendants"). I think of, in particular, the idiosyncrasies of the American Midwest; those who know them will adore this film even more. Payne somehow perfectly captures the realistic surrealism of it all, and how better to do it than in black and white? It gives it a certain timelessness to it, what several critics have called a new take on American Gothic imagery, much like Peter Bagdonovich's "The Last Picture Show." Bruce Dern is fantastic here, practically helpless, yet often cruel when pressed by his son, played by Will Forte, who only several years ago was a "Saturday Night Live" cast member and who now appears to have successfully shifted to dramas. I think of Bob Odenkirk, who will soon be the star of his own show, "Better Call Saul," a spin-off of "Breaking Bad." I think of June Squibb, the actress who is practically a new hit star despite being 84 years old. I think of what Quentin Tarantino described as "Dernsies," "a reason for an excuse to film the shot in the first place." There are many Dernsies in this fine film.

8. 12 Years a Slave
As I wrote in January, "12 Years a Slave" is a movie that features a "total deficit of empathy and compassion." Like many of the films on this list, it is a critical movie, one that challenges its audience members to reconsider how they might have been (implicitly) told to think of race relations during the Antebellum period. Katie Van Syckle of Rolling Stone magazine wrote it better: There have been a handful of movies about slavery, but "a movie that makes movie-goers look, and look again, and then a little more, at the gruesome realities of plantation life--the alcohol-soaked sweat of lecherous masters, the raw skin of seeping lash wounds, the oppressive, inescapable terror of nameless captivity--feels like a first." She quotes Brad Pitt, a producer and supporting actor in the film, as arguing that "it took a Brit" to ask painful questions that Americans were avoiding.

That Brit is Steve McQueen. He has only directed three full-length films. One of them ("Hunger") was a decent and fairly impressive debut, another ("Shame") was overrated. The third is exceptional. All three starred Michael Fassbender in incredible performances. So far, there has been no bad or even subpar acting from this immensely talented individual. I look forward to seeing more of his work, along with the work of the other newer and/or younger performers in the film, like Paul Dano (who was also quite good in "Prisoners"), Benedict Cumberbatch (who was also in "Star Trek Into Darkness," "The Hobbit" and "August: Osage County") and Lupita Nyong'o, who deserves the Oscar for her performance. But I really look forward to seeing the future projects of McQueen and Fassbender, who are perhaps a modern day Scorsese/De Niro team.

7. American Hustle
"American Hustle" features the best cast of the year and compared to a disturbing "12 Years A Slave" and an intense "Gravity," this is the most fun of the Best Picture nominations. This isn't to say that there aren't any problems with this film.  Indeed, there are almost too many. The film's ending is a bit lame, and one scene (I won't say which) is practically ruined with a quick solution that still has left me puzzled. But Russell is one of those rare directors who is able to get perfection from his actors.  This is two-in-a-row from Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Lawrence and Robert De Niro; Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner have never been better. Russell's story-telling style and techniques are clearly borrowed from Scorsese and Quentin Tarantino, but he still creates a story that is uniquely his own, with an Oscar-nominated screenplay along with Eric Warren Singer.

6. This Is the End
"This Is the End" is by far the funniest film of 2013 (with Scorsese--of all people--giving us the second funniest with "The Wolf of Wall Street"). I think I laughed from start to finish. (With all due respect to our cousins across the Atlantic, see this one instead of the disappointing "The World's End.") The actors, among them Seth Rogen, James Franco, and Jonah Hill, and others theorize about the mayhem and apocalypse outside their wealthy home but are interrupted over arguments over who gets the last chocolate bar. The exorcism scene is certainly one of the funniest in recent memory.

   

5. The Hunt (Jagten)
You may recall Mads Mikkelsen's awesome performances in "Casino Royale" and NBC's "Hannibal." Here, he returns to his native Denmark in Thomas Vinterberg's "The Hunt" and he's just as good, or perhaps even better, than in the American and British productions. He has been handsomely rewarded, winning the 2012 Cannes Film Award for Best Actor. "The Hunt" is also Denmark's nominee for Best Foreign Film (and for some bizarre reason will likely lose to the Felliniesque-wannabe film "The Great Beauty" from Italy). In "The Hunt," we are witness to a witch hunt started by children--think of the banality of evil but personified by a young girl. Mikkelsen is Lucas, a respected member of a small community and a worker at a local kindergarten. When he is accused of something terrible, the entire town turns against him. The story relies on Lucas trying to prove he's innocent, but what's really unforgettable about the film is Mikkelsen's performance, particularly the scenes near the conclusion, where he's essentially ungeziefer in this Kafkaesque story. You owe it to yourself to see it simply for the performances.     

4. Lee Daniels' The Butler
Consider this: If "Lee Daniels' The Butler" had been released in November or December, would it be totally ignored by the Oscars?  Hell. No.  But the Oscars have a terribly short memory, and they should be scolded for that. Forest Whitaker and Oprah Winfrey were robbed of nominations, to say the least. This is a movie that, along with "12 Years a Slave" and many others on this list, recognizes the important place of criticality in film. It does so softly, walking a fine line between appreciating the civil rights efforts of American presidents but also openly attacking the segregationist and apartheid policies that many of them supported or at least tolerated. But it's not simply a story about presidential and civil rights history. It's about a hardworking man who struggles to relate to his son. It's an incredible movie that deserves more recognition.

3. Fruitvale Station
I'd be willing to bet that this isn't the first review that observed an obvious similarity between Michael B. Jordan and Denzel Washington. Jordan, as Oscar Grant, gives a terrific performance. In one moment, Jordan effortlessly switches between a focused intensity and a persona that begs for sympathy. Grant's story is a true one, adapted for the screen by director Ryan Coogler in his feature-length film debut. It would usually be appropriate to write here a "spoiler alert," but not this time. For one, the film's opening moments show us what happened to Oscar, caught on cellphone camera. Second, the controversy remains today, as the officer convicted in the case received a punishment of less than a year in jail.  The point is not what happens at the end, but the journey there.

The journey shows us Oscar Grant the human being. He is a father, son, husband, a man struggling to find employment and take care of his problems. It is virtually impossible not to see the similarities between this story and the George Zimmerman trial, especially considering that the verdict was announced the week of the film's premiere. In this film, Grant is not perfect. The character is a womanizer and has been in prison before and sells drugs. But this reminded me not only of the Trayvon Martin story but Spike Lee's defense of his brilliant 1989 "Do the Right Thing." In response to criticism about the so-called racism of the movie, Lee noted that white audiences usually focus on the destruction of the white character's property, ignoring the fact that in the film's climax, a black character has been shot and killed. I would not be surprised if many audience members of "Fruitvale Station" also focus on the flaws of Oscar Grant and his situation, ignoring the fact that he was murdered. It's a film you owe yourself to see and discuss.

2. Side Effects
First of all, I recognize that I'm certainly in the minority here. Steven Sodenbergh's "Side Effects" was released early in the year and barely got any notice; instead, much of the attention went to Sodenbergh's "Behind the Candelabra," the Liberace biographical film starring Michael Douglas and Matt Damon. Out of about 150 top ten lists, "Side Effects" is only on three. But "Side Effects" is a smart, brave, almost mesmerizing thriller. It's a movie that takes aim at the "doctor-as-god" complex of modern medicine but refuses to be its cheerleader. Sodenbergh knows the audience is too smart to simply accept this as a message movie. It's more. It's a Hitchcockian thriller, scary and fun. More importantly, it is thought-provoking, particularly to those who have suffered from chronic illness and pain.


And the best film of the year is...................



1. Wadjda
(Before I begin, let me first make a point that the Academy should be deeply ashamed of itself for not nominating such an incredible movie.)

"Wadjda," from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia of all places, is one of those films that left me excited, even weeks after seeing it. The kind of movie that I want to tell all my family members and friends that they need to see. I truly believe that this movie will be viewed as part of the vehicle that brought change to Saudi Arabia. Having lived here for the past three years, I can tell you that, yes, there is change happening here. It may be painfully slow, and it may be change that happened in Western countries a hundred or more years ago (!), but it is happening. Part of what is most interesting is that part of the change is actually evidenced by the common people, especially women. Consider Manal al-Sherif's forceful call to "rein in the Saudi religious police":

"Last October, a woman in Qassim, considered Saudi Arabia's most conservative region, lashed out at a member of the religious police who demanded that she cover her entire face (she was wearing a veil that left her eyes exposed). "Don't provoke me!" the woman retorted. "Do you think we don't know our own religion? We know our religion, and covered up before you even existed. The veil is not forced upon a woman!" A 42-second video of her response blew up on Saudi social media. Using the hashtag #DontProvoke, people tweeted messages of support, criticizing the officer for berating a modestly dressed woman, and for doing so in front of her children. The public outpouring was a rarity in a country where, when it comes to confrontations between a men and women, it is generally accepted that women are to blame."   

Both the director and star of the film are Saudi women (Haifaa al-Mansour and Waad Mohammed respectfully). Mohammed's performance as Wadjda, a young girl who wants to ride a bike in a country that frowns upon it, to say the least, might remind some of the famous Italian neo-realism film "The Bicycle Thieves." But another comparison is to Keisha Castle-Hughes' performance in "Whale Rider" from 2002. Both feature excellent performances from young woman playing characters willing to push the envelope. I loved every bit of it.

Honorable Mentions: August: Osage County, Saving Mr. Banks, Europa Report, The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, The Wolf of Wall Street, The Angel's Share, Blood Brother, Mud

And now, the Oscars...

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Mitt

On October 3, 2012, the day of Governor Mitt Romney's triumphant defeat of President Barack Obama in the first presidential debate before the election, I wrote a forceful (to the say the least) article on why I thought Obama should be re-elected over Romney. It was mostly an editorial on reasons I thought Obama was more or less effective as our leader--healthcare, economic stimulus, taking out Bin Laden, LGBT issues, etc. were all covered. The article practically skipped any mention of his opponent, save for the final paragraph. Calling him a "weak opponent," I issued the usual charges: Romney is a flip-flopper. Romney is "severely conservative," as he put it. Romney is bad for the country. "It's not his far-right conservatism, his omnipresence of position changes, or the dire state of our economy and standing in the world should he become president that frighten me," I wrote. "It's his character."

Romney, at that time, disgusted me. His 47 percent comment, addressed here in Gregory Whiteley's new documentary about Romney's campaigns for president, was one of the most blood-boiling comments I had heard from a presidential nominee. I regret questioning Romney's character, and one part of the article I also regret is in reference to Romney's car elevators. The revelation, first revealed in a Politico article from May 12, 2012, opened with this: "At Mitt Romney's proposed beach house, the cars will have their own separate elevator." In the documentary "Mitt," we see a behind-the-scenes moment with Romney and his family, who complain about then-Senator (and now Secretary of State) John Kerry criticizing the Romney family's car garages. "That was because of my wife's MS," one of his sons tells Mitt to say, "you A-hole."

A simple Google search did not show results suggesting Mitt Romney had in fact installed the garages for his wife, Ann, due to her multiple sclerosis. But there's no reason not to believe the defense. The point is that if the defense is true, then criticizing assistance for those with disabilities is further evidence that we're living in hyperpartisan times and that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. And so Whiteley's documentary does not aspire to be combative, like Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11," or thoroughly thought provoking, like Errol Morris' "The Fog of War." The aim of this movie is simply to show you the behind-the-scenes of both of Romney's campaign, and perhaps for you even to like one of the most unlikable candidates for president in recent memory. In regards to the second goal, it's actually effective.

How lucky Whiteley was when the Romney family approved of the making of a documentary about his first campaign for president back in 2006; surely he could not have imagined that this would in fact be a six year journey, an intimate portrait unlike that of any other candidate in 2008 or 2012. We are reminded of the fascinating race that was 2008; the Democrats, with their history-making candidates, and the Republicans, awkwardly trying to show the country they weren't George W. Bush. At the time, you will recall, the nomination seemed to be Rudy Giuliani's for the taking (Rudy Giuliani?), and John McCain, who initially started as Giuliani's main opponent, kept sinking and sinking and sinking. Romney stood as sort of the most credible conservative alternative, yet conservatives were very suspicious (and rightfully so) of Romney due to his frequent flip-flops. Romney, aware of this perception, tells his advisers and family members that he is the "flipping Mormon." Watch McCain's sucker punch, seen in the documentary, to Romney, mockingly calling him "the candidate of change."

But also consider Romney's response. He tells McCain that the "I know more about foreign policy than you do" argument is flawed. Romney was right. The first presidential debate between McCain and Obama focused on foreign policy, and yet not only did Obama actually beat McCain, but McCain lost the election, largely because of the Iraq War and the economy. The point I'm trying to make is that Romney is seen frequently in this documentary as a very astute candidate. He humbly calls himself a flawed one, one who doesn't really fit the Republican mold, and yet time after time in this film he is right. 

One time he was wrong however, is the actual election night, which is where our film opens. He doesn't have the president's number. Why would he need it? To concede, of course, and yet he hasn't even written a concession speech. Think of previous failed candidates--Mondale, Dukakis, Dole--they all knew, as everyone did, that they were going to lose. Romney, on the other hand, apparently really thought he was going to win, and who can blame him? After all, he probably was listing to the wrong pundits. (Next time he should read the greatest book on presidential elections, "The Keys to the White House.") One particular scene that I enjoyed was the very final one. I won't reveal it, only to say that it answered a question I'm sure many have had about losing presidential nominees: where do they go when they lose? In this scene, Mitt and Ann Romney seem content, about as content as someone can be who lost two consecutive presidential elections. But they're alive, as are the beautiful members of their family. Life goes on. The long day closes. 

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The Best Things Said About the Late, Great Philip Seymour Hoffman

On Sunday, we lost one of our finest actors, Philip Seymour Hoffman. There is no doubt there has been an outpouring of thought on the web about his terrific work and how sad it is that there will no be more of it (other than the completed or almost completed works of his to be released in the future). I could devote an article to my thoughts on his tremendous career, but it would be better instead to include the writings of those who are far better writers than me. Here are some of them:

David Thomson, the New Republic
Philip Seymour Hoffman did not look like an actor. That was the most alarming and promising thing about him, and now that he is dead, aged 46, in his apartment in New York, of an apparent drug overdose, so many things about him fall into place--if it is a story, instead of a helpless tragedy. He was overweight; he was unkempt; he was blond--which is really not common in actors; he had the quality of seeming blurred sometimes, as if there was such turmoil inside him that he had been unable to settle on a fixed appearance, or a simple presentation of self. It's one thing to say that he was a very good actor, or a brilliant, or a genius; it's probably far more important to realize how contemptuous he was of those labels and how thoroughly he lived with their inadequacy. Actors are meant to take care of themselves. That is part of the code of being good-looking, an identifiable type or brand, endlessly castable and bankable. Hoffman had never given the least indication of following that code. For several years, it was a matter of wonder what he might do as he grew older after the astonishing luck or rightness of "Capote," "Syndecdoche, New York," "The Ides of March," or whatever you might think of.

Derek Thompson, the Atlantic
Daniel Day-Lewis, the most decorated male actor of his time, has astonished as America's most famous president and most ruthless fictional oil titan. But he excels at playing  superlatives--at commanding the aristocratic awe of characters who are bigger than life. Day-Lewis playing a game of pick-up basketball in a romantic comedy isn't a movie scene. It's a discarded SNL skit. It's a bad joke. He would never do it, and nobody would ever want to see it. Hoffman was different. He could put himself up and play larger than life, but his specialty was to find the quiet dignity in life-sized characters--losers, outcasts, and human marginalia.

Wael Khairy, robertebert.com
I remember the first film that made me recognize the great actor in Philip Seymour Hoffman. It was his magnificent turn in "25th Hour"; from then on, his career spiraled into that of a legend. In fact, when you look back at his career, you can tell he was bound to reach legendary status. With "Punch Drunk Love", "25th Hour", "Empire Falls", "The Savages", "Capote", "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead", "Charlie Wilson's War", "Doubt", "Synecdoche, New York", and "The Master" all released within a decade, I think it's safe to say he was to the noughties what De Niro, Pacino, and Dustin Hoffman were to the '70s.

Forrest Wickman, Slate
"Twister" was little more than a feature-length excuse for animating CGI tornadoes, and Philip Seymour Hoffman was cast in the relatively thankless role of the radio man. And yet he managed to turn this small supporting role into a character memorable enough that fans have cut highlight reels of just his performance.

Total Film
It might be called "Charlie Wilson's War," but this is Philip Seymour Hoffman's film. He steals it from under the feet of the titular Tom Hanks, with his foul-mouthed CIA agent being the most memorable element of the film. He was Oscar-nominated for it, and rightly so.

His director, Mike Nichols, said of Hoffman, "Last year, he did three films--'The Savages', 'Charlie Wilson's War' and 'Before the Devil Knows You're Dead'--and in each one he was a distinct and entirely different human. It's that humanity that is so striking--when you watch Phil work, his entire constitution seems to change. He may look like Phil, but there's something different in his eyes. And that means he's reconstituted himself from within, willfully rearranging his molecules to become another human being."

A.O. Scott, the New York Times
Lancaster Dodd sacrifices his intelligence on the altar of his ego. Truman Capote risks his integrity and betrays his friends in pursuit of his literary ambitions, his motives a volatile mixture of compassion and morbid curiosity. The schoolteacher in "25th Hour" and the lonely predator in "Happiness" are both indelibly creepy. The frustrated academic of "The Savages" is merely (if also splendidly) misanthropic, and the grumpy theater artist of "Synecdoche, New York" may be merely (if also baroquely) frustrated. The priest of "Doubt" and the would-be criminal of "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead" are potentially much worse.

These are not antiheroes in the cable television, charismatic bad-boy sense of the term. They are, in many cases (and there are more, going all the way back to "The Talented Mr. Ripley" and even the 1992 "Scent of a Woman"), thoroughly awful people: pathetic, repellent, undeserving of sympathy. Mr. Hoffman rescued them from contempt precisely by refusing any easy route to redemption. He did not care if we liked any of these sad specimens. The point was to make us believe them and to recognize in them--in him--a truth about ourselves that we might otherwise have preferred to avoid. He had a rare ability to illuminate the varieties of human ugliness. No one ever did it so beautifully.

Andrew O'Hehir, Salon
For want of a better word, Phil Hoffman was incandescent. Once you'd seen him, even in a small role in a movie destined for oblivion, you never forgot him. In another era he might have been a classic Hollywood character actor, playing villains and sidekicks and cuckolded husbands by the dozen. Scratch that--he might just as well have been a star. If he didn't have the bland, perfect good looks or impressive musculature required of today's romantic leading men, you could say the same about Edward G. Robinson, Humphrey Bogart or Jack Nicholson. It's too early to say these things, of course, but he may well be remembered as long as they are.



Rest in peace...

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Her

"There is no formula for generating love. It cannot be copied."
-Alan Watts

I must first admit that I put that quote there after reading Joel Stein's terrific article in Time about Spike Jonze and his new film "Her." The article--which incidentally tells us that the people whose opinions Jonze values include Woody Allen, Louis CK, and Bob Dylan (and Kanye West and George W. Bush)--describes the Watts connection like this: "[Jonze and I] talk about the philosopher Alan Watts, whose notion that a false belief in permanence--say, trying to be the same person you were the day before--causes pain is a key tenet of the film. It is, of course, an incredibly lonely notion, that we don't even have a yesterday self to relate to." The main character of "Her" is Theodore, played by Joaquin Phoenix, a lonely man going through a painful divorce. He works as a letter writer for people who have difficulty expressing their feelings; he's quite good at it. Theodore is not social but he is incredibly likable, deserving, his dear friend Amy (Amy Adams) says, of great happiness. But happiness he has not. He cannot be the person he was yesterday, happy and in love.

His loneliness cannot be understated. He commands his ipod (or whatever the equivalent is in the future) to play a melancholy song and decides he'd rather not hear it. "Play a different melancholy song," he says. To help him escape such misery, he purchase an operating system, one which comes equipped with a personality, sweet voice, incredible intelligence, and organizing skills. She can go through his hundreds of emails in a second and recommend deleting unnecessary ones; how I wish I had something like this. The OS is named Samantha and is voiced by Scarlett Johansson in one of the year's most least appreciated performances. Too little praise has been sent her way for fulfilling such a difficult role so wonderfully. In the film, she has to demonstrate a character going through doubt, jealousy, lust and love, and do so while not being able to demonstrate it physically. Additionally, as a friend told me, she does not even have some kind of animated character to embody her voice. She has nothing to assist her. Even Hal 9000 had the easy task of providing just a flat, emotionless speech; Johansson as Samantha, not so. Oddly enough, this might be Johansson's best performance. (She was also terrific in this past year's "Don Jon.") Along with "American Hustle" and "Blue Jasmine," this movie features one of the finest group of performances in a movie from 2013. The roles are perfectly cast. Phoenix is exceptional as always. Considering that he has given us an incredibly diverse plate of performances in films like "Gladiator," "Quills," "Signs," "Walk the Line," and "I'm Still Here," I'm sure he didn't hesitate for a second to be in a movie where he reluctantly performs erotic phone sex involving an imaginary dead cat. Compare his performance in "Her" to his performance in "The Master" the year before and no explanation is needed.        

Most viewers will likely relate to the film in one way or another. Loneliness and melancholy are cultural universals, I assume. Phoenix's Theodore is the perfect vessel to embody those emotions. Theodore and Samantha become flirtatious and romantically involved. Not to give too much away (and if you're sensitive to even the slightest hint of a spoiler, then I recommend looking away), but remember that scene in "Taxi Driver," where the camera pans away as Travis is being painfully rejected over a payphone? A slightly similar event happens here, only it involves a bit of romance between Samantha and Theodore. Painful? Not really. Awkward? Probably. Watching on the screen two people making love can be awkward; so, too, is watching a person make love to an inanimate object. The movie is also fairly satirical. There are obvious allegories to the modern-day obsession with technology, and it pokes fun at various things in our society, from foul-mouthed video games to postmodern documentaries (and both appear to be getting far worse in the future).    

I think most viewers' longest lasting memories of "Her" will be its acting, but there are other features that need to be discussed positively. It features the most interesting use of colors in a movie probably since "Dick Tracy." In terms of originality, this is the most creative film of the year. It is also a most thought-provoking one. One cannot help but think about what the point is of an operating system of this kind--to help us humans practice the handling of emotions, or perhaps to keep us company? Can someone really fall in love with something not real, and vice versa? Does Theodore's relationship with Samantha make him one of the lonely people? It's complicated. But thought, visuals, and performances can only take you so far. Unfortunately, half way in, the film starts to lose steam.  The previous films by Jonze--"Being John Malkovich," "Adaptation," "Where the Wild Things Are"--demonstrate that the trajectory of his movies appears to be downward.  The movie, nevertheless, is intriguing and at many times delightful. You ought to see it.  

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