fantasy

Ultimate Value of All Things

Gary Lucas — Sun, 05 May 2024 18:05:07 +0000

Ultimate Value of All Things Gary Lucas May 5, 2024 - 14:05

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FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH: I love to go and see films on weekday afternoons in actual cinemas. Very few people are in attendance, a mix of hardcore cineastes and pensioners. I like to get there early, stake out a good seat, and hunker down with buttered popcorn and a cold drink (usually a coke, although Film Forum offers an exceptionally delicious egg cream which they whip up from scratch). Once the lights go down and we are altogether in the communal womb-like darkness, I tend during the trailers to drift into a semi-twilight state--the crash after my cold drink's initial sugar rush--before rousing myself into sharper focus just in time for the opening credits. Which is why I enjoyed Italian director Alice Rohrwacher's magic realist opus La Chimera so much. It pretty much inhabits the same drowsy semi-conscious dream state I normally experience before the film du jour starts--and sustains that mood for nearly three meandering and delightful hours, eventually building to a Very Big Bang I won't reveal here. Suffice to say that the film is sheer visual and narrative poetry, in part reminiscent of the gauzy descriptive wordscapes of late Nabokov (Ada and Look at the Harlequins come to mind), which float in and out of the reader/viewer's consciousness, insistently begging the questions "What exactly is a Dream / And what exactly is a Joke?" (pace Syd Barrett's "Jugband Blues").

Ostensibly a comedic tale of a band of impoverished ragazzi tomb raiders (tombaroli), sifting under the top soil of Tuscany necropoli for ancient Etruscan artifacts, the film is also a profoundly serious inquiry into the Ultimate Value of All Things both corporeal and spiritual. The band sells their unholy pickings for a pittance to a shadowy sharpie, an imperious boss woman who forges documents of fake provenance to better auction the loot off for millions of euros to international museum curators who most likely know better and look the other way. The film leisurely ambles its way through the gorgeous land and seascapes of '80s Tuscany using a variety of different film and video stocks to suggest different mystical psychological and psycho-geographic states. From scene to scene, in a strategy of offhand misdirection and inference, shards of the characters' history--fragments of memory and desire--are gradually revealed like so many pieces of broken amphorae, while real ghosts hover around the proceedings above and below ground.

Soon-to-be-superstar protagonist Josh O'Connor (The Crown) portrays a mumbling, shambolic former British archeologist named Arthur, first seen sprawling in a train compartment wearing a dirty white linen suit which grows grubbier as the film proceeds--gone to seed and fresh out of jail for (it's implied) past grave robbing, and seemingly now on a permanent bummer due to his current impecunious position and the simultaneous disappearance of his Italian girlfriend. He's on the skids but still possesses, to the delight of that old gang of his, a near-preternatural gift for divining ripe and ready grave sites. There are strong performances from Isabella Rossellini as the village matriarch Flora, the mother of Arthur's grand lost love, and in a Fellini-esque touch, Brazilian actress Carol Duarte portrays Italia, a Gelsomina-like Holy Innocent who falls for Arthur and vice versa, and later admonishes him and his gang of tombaroli when she stumbles on them trying to cart off their booty: "These are not meant for human eyes!" Or ears, as Arthur has given her a little jingling bell seemingly dating back to 800 years BCE. which once delighted and now repulses her as she realizes what the lovable gang has been up to. There is a lot of effective music on the soundtrack (including Kraftwerk's "Space Lab"), as well as commentary on the proceedings sung as Tuscan folk ballads live in the film by members of the gang (who seem to be freelance commedia dell 'arte players when they are not raiding tombs).

It's definitely, a film that bears repeated viewing, I highly recommend!

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Mulling Over Wakanda for Weeks and Weeks

Brandon Judell — Wed, 14 Dec 2022 19:59:43 +0000

Mulling Over Wakanda for Weeks and Weeks Brandon Judell December 14, 2022 - 14:59

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Just before I started writing this review, over a month ago, the exceedingly nice folks at Disney—and they are quite nice—gently requested that critics invited to advance screenings of Black Panther: Wakanda Forever "refrain from revealing spoilers, cameos, character developments and detailed story points in your coverage."

Admittedly, this is a bit hard to do when reviewing any film, let alone with this Panther. In fact, I agree in principle with the studio's intentions. That's why I recommend reading just the intros and finales of write-ups of films you haven]t yet seen, especially those in The New York Times. The Times' middle paragraphs you'll quickly discover are often blessedly worth sidestepping.

Well, anyway back then, on the very day the New York Post reported that Meghan Markle was being "slammed for attempting a British accent on her podcast," I took a second to check out how other critics were dealing with the parameters set by Disney for reviewing.

Let me just note that The Washington Post's daring yet delightful Ann Hornaday did not refrain. Well, truthfully, she didn't reveal the cameo appearances so neither will I. I can, however, tell you who's not in the film: none of the Kardashians, neither Mr. T. Chalamet nor Mr. H. Styles, no Lizzo, and neither Gayle King nor Oprah. I also didn't spot a Schwarzenegger, a Morgan Freeman, a Charlie Sheen, or any of the Harlem Globe Trotters, but I did think I glimpsed Jim Parsons briefly in a crowd scene but realized later "he" was just a kernel of buttered popped corn fused to my glasses.

Ms. Hornaday also didn't mention "character development." That might be because there's only a mere smattering of the latter. No doubt all abustle to hand her critique in on time, she just understandably might've missed the transmogrifications. (Hint: Look for someone putting on a mask and another going all hue-y.)

Ah, but Hornaday did blatantly cold-shoulder the rules by supplying a plot synopsis, which you'll realize after you see Panther 2—and no doubt most of you have already taken in this sequel that has currently grossed $767.8 million worldwide. Her take, though wee, is quite thorough, but without being as convoluted as the actual screenplay.

Spoiler ahead: Wakanda has gobs and gobs of the metal vibranium, which the "colonizing" countries (e.g. the United States, France) want to control to weaponize even more than they have already. Wakanda won't have it, but suddenly blue people show up and . . . .

Did I reveal anything?

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Shaped By Water

Dusty Wright — Thu, 30 Nov 2017 03:03:18 +0000

Shaped By Water Dusty Wright November 29, 2017 - 22:03

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PHoto courtesy of Fox Searchlight

The Shape of Water (Fox Searchlight)

After the credits rolled, I wrote in my notes: "an epic and magical adult fairytale drama for the ages." This beauty and the beast fable is set in Maryland in 1963 during the height of the Cold War as well as culture wars against civil, homosexual and women's rights, and reinforces what we already know about that time period. Director/co-writer Guillermo del Toro is not afraid to let us peer backwards to see the world today, to see the world through his lens and view the real monsters that roam our planet. He paints his world in a by-gone era patina that is both warm and familiar -- the spot-on period sets with the cars, and clothes and shabby apartments, the films and TV shows -- as well as the dark and paranoid. It was a time in America's history just before the barriers of the man vs "monster" ethos would to be confronted, whether it was the threat of the Soviet Union's communism and global domination, or the fear of African-Americans, the handicap, gays or women wielding a voice in our society; sadly these issues exist today. Even the creature's design is reminiscent of the original Creature From the Black Lagoon (Universal, 1954). But, having said all of that, it is more than just an homage to a bygone era.

His "Amazon Creature" aka "Asset" (Doug Jones) is befriended by the mute cleaning woman Elisa (Sally Hawkins). Neither sees a monster in each other, only the true monster of the God-fearing and bully CIA operative psychopath (Michael Shannon). Mr. Shannon plays it pitch perfect. His dead-eyed interactions with his family underscore his disdain for that side of his "normal" life even if it means he can afford a new Cadillac and a piece of his American pie. He prefers torturing enemies of the state and making sure no Commie bastards gain any more advantages over the US of A. The movie also stars Octavia Spencer as Elisa's empathetic co-worker/silent language interpreter/friend, Richard Jenkins as her lonely artist/neighbor/friend, and Michael Stuhlbarg as the empathetic scientist/Soviet double agent. All three are excellent in their supporting roles.

Make no mistake, Mr. del Toro knows his way around fables that make you think. His Hellboy films perfectly captured comic book artist Mike Mignola's apocalyptic universe and those two films continue to dazzle a new subset of fans who may have missed them the first time around. (A reboot is in the making.) It's no coincidence that Mr. Jones played the telepathic "Mer-Man" Abe Sapien in those films. He also wrote and directed the wildly entertaining Pacific Rim, an homage to Japanese monster movies of the '60s and '70s that is more than just the good guys vs. monsters movie.

The Shape of Water won The Golden Lion Winner for Best Picture at the Venice International Film Festival, and it's easy to see why. And I will not be surprised to see a "best film" nomination for Mr. del Toro and "best actress" nomination for Ms. Hawkins at the 2018 Oscars. Rare that a movie can suspend the natural order of the adult universe to allow one to peer into our past and wallow in our once child-like innocence and/or terror, something we all need to tap into from time to time. It helps to look back so we/humanity can hopefully move forward.

George Clooney Pouts for 2 Hours and 10 Minutes

Brandon Judell — Fri, 22 May 2015 12:05:27 +0000

George Clooney Pouts for 2 Hours and 10 Minutes Brandon Judell May 22, 2015 - 08:05

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Warning: The plot of Brad (Ratatouille) Bird's Tomorrowland is an incomprehensible muddle. A Wachowski screenplay reimagined by William Burroughs would be easier to follow. I'm only telling you this out of kindness so you won't feel like a complete mental lummox when, as this action offering for pre-teen girls ever so slowly ends after 130 minutes, you realize you don't know what the fuck happened.

(That Lost's Damon Lindelof is co-writer is no surprise. Hiring Lindelof to scribe a children's film is like asking Nietzsche to write a gluten-free cookbook.)

Otherwise, Tomorrowland is highly enjoyable. Well, that's true except for the opening when George Clooney and his sidekick talk directly to the camera and you sort of want to cringe. You'll understand why they do so at the end of the pic, which just reminded me the whole picture is a flashback. Other than with Sunset Boulevard, who needs flashbacks? Anyway, these ineptly constructed scenes were possibly added afterwards when it was realized test audiences had no idea what they were viewing.

Anyway, you won't be able to fault the acting. Clooney, who plays Frank Walker, a former boy genius who's only aged but not matured, gives as fine a performance as he has given on any talk show recently (e.g. Letterman). He pouts, he cries, he's sardonic, and he's lovely to look at.

Britt Robertson (Under the Dome, Ask Me Anything) is completely engaging as Casey Newton, the film's heroine. Yes, she's utterly believable as a teen genius who just might be able to save the world. Thankfully, she doesn't have to laugh. If you watch Robertson on online interviews, this applaud-worthy thespian has the most annoying guffaw this side of Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

However, it's 15-year-old Raffey Cassidy, a Brit, as Athena who steals every scene she's in. [Beware! Slight spoiler in following sentence.] As a robot posing as a girl with super fighting and running powers plus an inability to laugh and age, she's never less than charming.

Moving on, the story this trio is in begins with Mark as a child entering a contest at the 1964 World's Fair. Due to Athena's intervention, he is given a special badge that gets him on a ride to the future, a remarkable world stunningly visualized that just exudes hope.

Jump to the present, Mark is now a middle-aged misanthrope living in isolation. His negative outlook at life has been caused by his being kicked out of the future by Nix (Hugh Laurie), the film's closet villain, and by having his heart broken by Athena.

Meanwhile, miles away from Mark's secluded residence, Athena gives a badge to Casey, which allows her to experience the coming times. Her trip lasts, however, only a few minutes, and, of course, Casey thirsts for a return trip.

Well, during the following two hours, Athena and Casey must fight two ornery robots, after which Casey and Mark must battle a whole posse of even more ornery robots, and this is all very entertaining. Imagine Tarantino directing The Wizard of Oz. Will Dorothy/Casey be able to conquer evil and get home to her dad in one sound piece by dinnertime after kicking the bejesus out of the nasties?

Thinking about it, your kids might enjoy the heck out of this whole enterprise, and they won't even realize there are holes in Tomorrowland's logic because their reality can transform the implausible to plausible. And don't forget the healing powers of buttered popcorn, a big Coke, and a huge screen in a darkened hall.

Gore Vidal noted in Screening History that "my first and most vivid movie-going phase was from 1932 to 1939--from seven to fourteen. Films watched before puberty are still the most vivid . . . . For a time after The Mummy, I wanted to become an archaeologist."

So what can America's offspring garner from Bird's vision? That our world is going down the toilet. That girls can be stronger and brighter than non-girls. That you got to feed the positive dragon and starve the negative one. And that it's cheaper to make your popcorn at home and sneak it in under your jacket.

Trollhunter: Or Giant Scandinavian Ogres on the Loose

Brandon Judell — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 16:28:17 +0000

Trollhunter: Or Giant Scandinavian Ogres on the Loose Brandon Judell January 4, 2012 - 11:28

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Some folks actually are of the opinion that Norway's good-natured entry into the handheld-camera, campy, horror-flick genre is a quality movie. In fact, two members of the critics group I'm in voted for Trollhunter as Best Foreign Film of 2011. Blame it on hot flashes or that the duo hadn't gotten around to viewing A Separation, The Skin I Live In, or any other film with subtitles during the past twelve months.

This debut feature by Andre Ovredal chronicles the adventures of three university film students who are attempting to make a documentary about a mysterious bear poacher. They learn to their joy and later to their chagrin that this bearded, taciturn gent, Hans (Otto Jespersen), is actually a trollhunter who's working for a secretive arm of the Norwegian government.

Trolls, at least according to Ovredal's screenplay, are gigantic, odorous creatures who devour rocks, have a fetish for charcoal, and are endowed with a deadly dislike for Christians. (Take that, Pat Robertson!) These ogres are also suffering from an inability to synthesize Vitamin D. So how do you kill them? With sunlight, genuine or artificial.

For more information, let's turn to a moment of clarifying dialog.

Thomas (one of the students): "How many types of trolls are there?"

Hans: "You have two main groups: mountain trolls and woodland trolls. The subgroups include Ringlefinch, Tosserlad, Rimetosser, Mountain Kings. The Harding out west."

Thomas: "But that troll we saw.... Do they all have three heads?"

For that reply, go rent the DVD, now available from Magnolia Home Entertainment in all of its B-movie glory. But don't be prepared to scream your head off in fear. Expect to giggle. The trolls here all are the spitting image of Muppets with a hyperthyroid problem. In fact, imagine a Sweetums doll after three wash cycles.

What's intriguing about this whole venture is that the Norwegian government is depicted as a miniature U.S. knockoff. These officials situated amongst their country's fjords withhold pertinent information from their citizens, disguise defense spending as electrical projects, and do away quietly with troublingly inquisitive taxpayers.

Ah, well, a democracy is a democracy no matter where you trek. - Brandon Judell

March Hares, Hatters and 3D Glasses: Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland

Robert Cochrane — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 16:47:24 +0000

March Hares, Hatters and 3D Glasses: Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland Robert Cochrane April 6, 2010 - 12:47

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Alice Through The Looking Glass

It wasn't a matter of if, but when Johnny Depp would adopt the guise of the Mad Hatter. It was a role that had long lain in wait for him. Lewis Carroll's sublime text has been given the full Tim Burton treatment. The unreality made real provides a seamless and Gothic, visual deception. Computer animation has erased all the cracks and joints we used to notice in the days of older celluloid fantasy -- the strings, the painted backdrops, the clunky animation. Burton's audience is instantly transported into a world that they know can't possibly exist, but which their eyes are forced into passive acceptance of. Although this is a Disney Studios feature, Burton makes no concession to the house style. Here is a dark location, a perfectly realized nightmare in which anything can, and does, occur.

His visualizations are breathtaking, and details such as the frog courtiers, monkey servants, and foot-warming pigs are just perfect, as is everything else on display, including the voices on loan. The March Hare (Paul Whitehouse) is truly deranged as a rickety, moth-eaten bundle of nervous mania, the Cheshire Cat (Stephen Fry) slinks, floats, and smiles with tremendously smiley and spineless aplomb, whilst the White Rabbit (Michael Sheen) scampers diffidently around with the ferocious white mouse in a dress, marvelously squeaked by Barbara Windsor. Alan Rickman is a joy as the permanently addled Blue Caterpillar, and Matt Lucas makes a delightful morphed double impact as the chaotic Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Alice is nineteen, a glacial minx combination of Ophelia and Juliet, a tampering with the original text that works. It would be hard to imagine her in full angelic band and pink bow, because the setting is so macabre and loopy.

Mia Waskowska has the divine glacial sensuality of a young Tilda Swinton. Her Alice is a maverick maiden who wants to take on the world in her own terms. It is a kooky portrayal, and lends Alice an implicit, distant sexiness, but then Carroll had rendered her strangely so in the original. Burton has merely advanced upon what always lurked between the lines of the original text, rendering it palatable by increasing her years. Green-eyed and red-haired, Depp bumbles and rambles impressively -- think Vivienne Westwood on acid masquerading as Alastair Sim in Scrooge. Rarely has an actor been so capable of vanishing into his roles; only Alec Guinness was so effectively invisible within the parts he played. To the Mad Hatter, normally a cardboard-cutout nut, Depp gives a refined sensibility, making him a character harboring a depth of feeling none who have portrayed him previously have bothered to explore. Depp doesn't sanitize his lack of sanity, but reveals him from within, as tortured and humane. Hatters were rendered mad by the mercury they used in their trade. Depp's character flits from pathos to whimsy, and changes accent with equal rapidity as a means of portraying his career induced, altered state.

Helena Bonham Carter manifests a deliciously demented dwarf Bette Davis reprising her days as Queen Elizabeth, the virgin queen. A tiny monster with a forehead of girth, her feelings extend no further than herself; her different kind of selfish madness is a perfect foil to Depp's lunacy. She is suitably supported throughout by Crispin Glover as her creepy sidekick and sycophant, Stayne. Her otherworldly nemesis and sister, the White Queen, who is vapidly ethereal to the point of annoyance and insincerity, is made floatingly real by Anne Hathaway. By the end we have Alice in armor a la Joan of Arc slaying the Jabberwocky, a moment that owes much to the Harry Potter good-versus-evil kind of finale. Alice's sad farewell to the Mad Hatter creates a brief moment in the cinema when tears silently trickle behind 3D shades. The experience is visually enhanced by the glasses, but nothing leaps from the screen to make the audience scream. As a viewing experience it represents a flawless, seamless joy.

There are moments to anger the purists, but it is an extraordinary work, based on an older one of genius. It seems churlish to be overtly critical of something so enjoyable. Make the effort to catch it where it belongs, in the cinema.