Orange County is the kind of good-natured movie that is impossible to dislike. Within five minutes of its running time, it had me comfortably settled in, and kept me mostly smiling, occasonally chuckling for most of its running time. And it had me laughing out loud at least once. Not a very impressive gag rate, but like I said, hard to dislike.
Shaun Brumder is a bright high school kid who is pretty content growing up to be the archetypical Californian surfer dude when one of his friends dies in a surfing accident. His death leaves Shaun in an introspective mood, which is when he finds a copy of Marcus Skinner's book "Straitjacket" buried in the sand. He reads that book 52 times, and it kindles his passion to become a writer.
Aside: Something like this happened to me with Jonathan Livingston Seagull. A friend of mine gave it to me and told me I'd like it. I opened it one Sunday morning and it changed my life. I did a doctorate because I wanted to teach eventually, and that was because of that book. My thesis is dedicated: To Jonathan Livingston Seagull, who taught me to fly.
Shaun applies to Stanford, wanting to study under Skinner, but gets turned down coz his school counselor accidentally sent in the wrong transcript. After an attempt to win over one of the trustees ends up as a comedy of errors, Shaun decides to make a trip to Stanford and give it a shot. He is accompanied by his girlfriend Ashley and his perpetually stoned brother Lance. What happens there forms the rest of the story.
The performances of the two leads - Colin Hanks and Schulyer Fisk - is pretty decent. Both actors are at ease before the camera and with each other. Given their pedigree (Hanks is the son of two-time Oscar winner Tom Hanks; Fisk is the daughter of one of this this year's strongest Oscar contenders, Sissy Spacek), it would probably be unfair to begin comapring them with their parents yet, but I'd say they have the potential to go far. Ditto for Jake Kasdan (son of Lawrence Kasdan).
But all said and done, the best performance is that of Jack Black, who plays Lance. He was a riot in High Fidelity, and did even better in Shallow Hal, but neither of those performances even comes close to his incendiary comic turn in this one. Playing a man who probably stays sober for about one and a half minutes every day and has a knack of screwing up virtually everything he lays hands on, he had me hooked the minute he appeared on screen.
The really big laugh comes in a scene where Lance breaks into the admissions office at Stanford and is caught by the secretary. For reasons best understood only by her, the secretary decides to have sex with him right there, in the office. Maybe secretaries in admissions offices don't have much of a social life, who knows? Anyway, in the post-coital afterglow, they light up a joint (Lance obviously is never without one) and Lance carelessly throws it in the trash. Considering that this is an office and the trash is mostly paper, the results are, well, predictable. All of this is mildly funny, but I guess what gave it that extra edge was the sight of Jack Black waddling out of the burning building in his underwear stoned out of his mind.
Another scene I liked a lot was the penultimate scene, wherein Shaun buries the book back in the sand as he found it, hoping some other kid would find it. It reminded me of a nice little book called "Slow Waltz on Cedar Bend" by Robert James Waller that I read a long time ago. It didn't have the magic of "Bridges of Madison County", but I liked it all the same. The best part of that experience was how I got the book. A friend of mine gave it to me, and told me she was given it by a couple she knew well. They had bought the book, loved it, and decided to start a chain read. They passed it on to her with instructions to pass it on to someone she thought would like it, and give that person the same instructions. I have no idea where that book is now, but I'd like to think it's not languishing in some bookshelf somewhere but is still being passed on.
ps: This is my hundredth post, by the way. Frankly, I didn't think it would get this far. But it's been fun doing it, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it.
Showing posts with label Hollywood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hollywood. Show all posts
Friday, August 03, 2007
Freeze Frame #61, #62: O Brother, Where Art Thou?
In the beginning of O Brother Where Art Thou?, a title card informs us that it was inspired by Homer's Odyssey. When I saw that, I didn't know whether to believe it - Fargo started out saying it was based on a true story whereas it actually was not. At the end of this quirky, often funny movie, I came to the conclusion that it did have a bit of Odyssey in it, both in form and in spirit. (I also learnt later that the Coens claimed never to have read Odyssey, which isn't surprising either.)
For instance, the hero's name is Ulysses, his wife's name is Penny (short for Penelope, no doubt), a blind prophet bookends the movie... I could go on about the sirens and the Cyclops and everything, but that's not what makes it an adaptation in my view. Homer's "Odyssey" is not so much an epic with a single theme but a series of older stories strung together on a basic plot about one man trying to get back home. Sirens, Cyclops, Calypso... it's really just one damn thing after another. As a result, you could read any part of Odyssey without really knowing what came before or hence, and still enjoy it.
Set in Mississippi during the Great Depression, O Brother Where Art Thou? offers a similar experience as it follows three prisoners, led by Ulysses Everett McGill, as they escape from a penal farm and go in search of a treasure that Ulysses had apparently stashed away before his arrest. On the way, they have all sorts of adventures as they go across the state of Mississippi. They pick up a blues singer named Robert Johnson who has apparently sold his soul to the Devil in return for blues prowess, record a hit song with him as the Soggy Bottom Boys. Then they meet a bank robber named Robery "Babyface" Nelson (there was a real character by that name during that era, I think) and rob a bank. Then... Since we realize very early on that this is not a plot-driven story, our payoff is not in where it eventually leads, but simply in what happens next. This is just a series of great scenes, and that's what makes it so much fun.
Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? is also a musical - mostly bluegrass. The two scenes that stood out for me both involve singing.
Aside: Robert Johnson, for instance, is a reference to a real Robert Johnson, one of the legends of the blues world. His life is shrouded in mystery. RJ is indeed reputed to have sold his soul to the devil in return for his incredible guitar prowess. He left behind only 29 songs ( 42 different takes ) which are one of the most precious legacies in blues history.
The first is a scene where the three convicts (played by George Clooney, John Turturro and Tim Blake Nelson) come upon a river where three beautiful women are singing and bathing. They sing Didn't leave nobody but the baby, and the men fall under their spell for a while. Well, so did I. To me, this scene defines the word "mesmerising."
The second is a scene right at the end where our heroes perform I'm a man of constant sorrow. The first performance, earlier on, was exhilarating. This one manages to retain that spirit despite the repetition, and add a triumphant note to it as well. This is Ulysses finally coming home. The obviously fake beards, and the way they keep pulling on it to emphasize that it's fake, is a particularly nice touch.
This is a movie rich in trivia for quizzing enthusiasts such as myself. However, instead of listing all that I know here, let me just give you a sample, an excerpt from Scott Renshaw's review of the movie:
For instance, the hero's name is Ulysses, his wife's name is Penny (short for Penelope, no doubt), a blind prophet bookends the movie... I could go on about the sirens and the Cyclops and everything, but that's not what makes it an adaptation in my view. Homer's "Odyssey" is not so much an epic with a single theme but a series of older stories strung together on a basic plot about one man trying to get back home. Sirens, Cyclops, Calypso... it's really just one damn thing after another. As a result, you could read any part of Odyssey without really knowing what came before or hence, and still enjoy it.
Set in Mississippi during the Great Depression, O Brother Where Art Thou? offers a similar experience as it follows three prisoners, led by Ulysses Everett McGill, as they escape from a penal farm and go in search of a treasure that Ulysses had apparently stashed away before his arrest. On the way, they have all sorts of adventures as they go across the state of Mississippi. They pick up a blues singer named Robert Johnson who has apparently sold his soul to the Devil in return for blues prowess, record a hit song with him as the Soggy Bottom Boys. Then they meet a bank robber named Robery "Babyface" Nelson (there was a real character by that name during that era, I think) and rob a bank. Then... Since we realize very early on that this is not a plot-driven story, our payoff is not in where it eventually leads, but simply in what happens next. This is just a series of great scenes, and that's what makes it so much fun.
Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? is also a musical - mostly bluegrass. The two scenes that stood out for me both involve singing.
Aside: Robert Johnson, for instance, is a reference to a real Robert Johnson, one of the legends of the blues world. His life is shrouded in mystery. RJ is indeed reputed to have sold his soul to the devil in return for his incredible guitar prowess. He left behind only 29 songs ( 42 different takes ) which are one of the most precious legacies in blues history.
The first is a scene where the three convicts (played by George Clooney, John Turturro and Tim Blake Nelson) come upon a river where three beautiful women are singing and bathing. They sing Didn't leave nobody but the baby, and the men fall under their spell for a while. Well, so did I. To me, this scene defines the word "mesmerising."
The second is a scene right at the end where our heroes perform I'm a man of constant sorrow. The first performance, earlier on, was exhilarating. This one manages to retain that spirit despite the repetition, and add a triumphant note to it as well. This is Ulysses finally coming home. The obviously fake beards, and the way they keep pulling on it to emphasize that it's fake, is a particularly nice touch.
This is a movie rich in trivia for quizzing enthusiasts such as myself. However, instead of listing all that I know here, let me just give you a sample, an excerpt from Scott Renshaw's review of the movie:
If you really want a sense of what the Coens are after in O Brother, Where Art Thou?, it helps to know the origin of the title. In Preston Sturges' Sullivan's Travels, a Depression-era filmmaker popular for his frivolous comedies decides to hit the road in America to research an important, significant film story -- a story he plans to call O Brother, Where Art Thou? Ultimately, he discovers that people love frivolous comedies, and that there's no shame in creating them. Forget epics of the common man; make them laugh, and you've got them right where you want them, and right where they want to be.
Freeze Frame #60: The Devil's Advocate
The principal function of everything and everyone in The Devil's Advocate is to give Al Pacino an opportunity to play the devil. That he does so with considerable style is among the few good reasons to watch this movie.
Al Pacino's greatest strengths are his eyes and his voice. When it comes to delivering a long monologue, there are few in the business who can match him. A showpiece comes in the middle of this movie, when his character speaks of a colleague called Eddie Barzoom who sems to be coming apart. The rant is more about how the world is being taken over by greed and corruption which, from the devil's point of view, is a good thing. It is intercut with a scene where Eddie is being mugged by a bunch of apparitions while he's jogging in the park.
As I've done before, I quote a snippet here for your reading pleasure:
The editing and background score in this scene quite effectively create a feeling of dread and impending doom. But all this is just percussion to Pacino's vocals. The man is in top form here, and this rant would rank among his most effective.
Al Pacino's greatest strengths are his eyes and his voice. When it comes to delivering a long monologue, there are few in the business who can match him. A showpiece comes in the middle of this movie, when his character speaks of a colleague called Eddie Barzoom who sems to be coming apart. The rant is more about how the world is being taken over by greed and corruption which, from the devil's point of view, is a good thing. It is intercut with a scene where Eddie is being mugged by a bunch of apparitions while he's jogging in the park.
As I've done before, I quote a snippet here for your reading pleasure:
John Milton: You sharpen the human appetite to the point where it can split atoms with its desire; you build egos the size of cathedrals; fiber-optically connect the world to every eager impulse; grease even the dullest dreams with these dollar-green, gold-plated fantasies, until every human becomes an aspiring emperor, becomes his own God... and where can you go from there? And as we're straddling from one deal to the next, who's got his eye on the planet, as the air thickens, the water sours, and even the bees' honey takes on the metallic taste of radioactivity? And it just keeps coming, faster and faster. There's no chance to think, to prepare; it's buy futures, sell futures, when there is no future.
The editing and background score in this scene quite effectively create a feeling of dread and impending doom. But all this is just percussion to Pacino's vocals. The man is in top form here, and this rant would rank among his most effective.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Freeze Frame #59: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
I had heard a lot about Butch and Sundance, so I expected to find a gripping Western like A Fistful of Dollars or High Noon. I was quite surprised to find that it wasn't anything like any of these movies. It was just about a couple of guys who liked to rob banks, and the fun was in watching them, not in the story. They were like Superman and Batman, only they were on the other side of the law, and they got killed in the end.
The scene I remember most vividly is one where Butch and Sundance are perched on a ledge atop a cliff. They're being pursued, and the only way ahead is to jump into the churning and angry waters below. The exchange at that point is as follows:
The scene I remember most vividly is one where Butch and Sundance are perched on a ledge atop a cliff. They're being pursued, and the only way ahead is to jump into the churning and angry waters below. The exchange at that point is as follows:
Butch Cassidy: Then you jump first.And they jump.
Sundance Kid: No, I said.
Butch Cassidy: What's the matter with you?
Sundance Kid: I can't swim.
Butch Cassidy: Are you crazy? The fall will probably kill you.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Music and Lyrics
Music and Lyrics is what I'd call an easy rom-com. The humor is low key, the laughs aren't forced, the movie's amiable and friendly, and you walk out feeling content. The only part where I laughed out loud was during the music video that played over the opening credits. But I did have a good time all the way through.
Much of its charm has to do with Hugh Grant, who has become one of the most dependable rom-com stars of our time. He still plays a mostly content underachiever, but the affected stutter that served him so well in Four Weddings and a Funeral (and not so well afterwards) has been replaced by a combination of easy confidence and wry, self-deprecating humor. Here he does pretty much all the heavy lifting while his co-star (Drew Barrymore) simply plays her part. The two of them look cute together (yeah, cute - can't find a better word for it) and manage to get the funny parts perfectly right.
Much of its charm has to do with Hugh Grant, who has become one of the most dependable rom-com stars of our time. He still plays a mostly content underachiever, but the affected stutter that served him so well in Four Weddings and a Funeral (and not so well afterwards) has been replaced by a combination of easy confidence and wry, self-deprecating humor. Here he does pretty much all the heavy lifting while his co-star (Drew Barrymore) simply plays her part. The two of them look cute together (yeah, cute - can't find a better word for it) and manage to get the funny parts perfectly right.
The plot, if you will: Alex Fletcher (Hugh Grant) is a musician who used to be part of an 80s group called Pop that enjoyed a brief run of success. His former bandmate has gone on to have a successful solo career while he has been reduced to playing the music man at amusement parks and fairs. His fanbase is mostly middle-aged women who used to love him back in the eighties. He now has a chance to revive his career by writing a song for Cora, a Britney-Christina-type singer. Trouble is, he has zero writing ability. Enter Sally Fisher (Drew Barrymore), a lit student who comes in to water his plants. You can make up the rest. You might be wrong on a few counts, but this is a rom-com - how does it matter?
The music is okay. Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore perform their own vocals, and are passable enough singers to make their roles credible.
The highlight, as I mentioned earlier, is the music video that plays over the opening and closing credits - typical 80s pop song, with a hip move that guarantees the necessity of replacement surgery. Grant is amazing in this video - it makes everything he does in the movie funnier, simply because your mind keeps replaying that scene whenever you see him. Barrymore is pretty much overshadowed in this movie; however, I have a soft spot for her so I'll just blame it on the writing. The girl who plays Cora is spot-on in her imitation of Britney and the like.
On the whole, this isnt like an amazing song that you'll list among your all-time favourites. But you'll enjoy listening to it while it's on.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Prestige
At one point, the narrator Cutter says of the audience that has just witnessed a magic trick being performed: "Now you're looking for the secret, but you won't find it. Because you don't really want to know."
The Prestige tells the story of two magicians obsessed with each other's downfall. But at a deeper level, it tells the story of two magicians who don't really want to know. They are so involved in the sleight of hand they are performing behind their back that they almost willfully refuse to see what lies before them.
They are also both obsessed with magic tricks. One is more concerned with the beauty of a trick, while the other is more concerned with the beauty of the performance. However, the business defines, in many ways, their world view. They both believe that there is a human hand behind the stage that knows what it's doing, even in life. Even in death, for that matter.
The central trick (or tricks) - the MacGuffin, as it were - is one that involves a magician disappearing from one part of the stage and appearing elsewhere almost instantaneously. Does the magician use a double? Or is there really a way of doing it? More importantly, does it matter?
The story is narrated in nonlinear fashion with three separate timelines (not as confusing as it sounds, though). Not to mention a labyrinthine third act that you wonder how much was planned and how much was improvisation. There is even some science fiction, in the person of Nikola Tesla.
The movie has an intriguing start and a riveting second act that has less to do with the tricks and more to do with these people. But where it could have finished beautifully and powerfully, it chose to place plot over character. In The Pretige, instead of seeing the man appear again, you saw the machine. Pity, that.
The Prestige tells the story of two magicians obsessed with each other's downfall. But at a deeper level, it tells the story of two magicians who don't really want to know. They are so involved in the sleight of hand they are performing behind their back that they almost willfully refuse to see what lies before them.
They are also both obsessed with magic tricks. One is more concerned with the beauty of a trick, while the other is more concerned with the beauty of the performance. However, the business defines, in many ways, their world view. They both believe that there is a human hand behind the stage that knows what it's doing, even in life. Even in death, for that matter.
The central trick (or tricks) - the MacGuffin, as it were - is one that involves a magician disappearing from one part of the stage and appearing elsewhere almost instantaneously. Does the magician use a double? Or is there really a way of doing it? More importantly, does it matter?
The story is narrated in nonlinear fashion with three separate timelines (not as confusing as it sounds, though). Not to mention a labyrinthine third act that you wonder how much was planned and how much was improvisation. There is even some science fiction, in the person of Nikola Tesla.
The movie has an intriguing start and a riveting second act that has less to do with the tricks and more to do with these people. But where it could have finished beautifully and powerfully, it chose to place plot over character. In The Pretige, instead of seeing the man appear again, you saw the machine. Pity, that.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Freeze Frame #56, #57: Goodfellas, Satya
You might wonder why I did not list both Goodfellas scenes together in my previous post. Let me explain.
Goodfellas and Satya are my favourite gangster movies of all time. They represent, in my opinion, the best of the genre in
An important supporting character in Goodfellas is Tommy DeVito, played by Joe Pesci with a sort of fearsome intensity that makes you squirm sometimes. He is given to sudden bouts of aggression, so much so that even his friends are on their guard with him. However, he seems to be rising quickly in the mob and, owing to his Italian-American lineage, he is the only one among the trio (the other two being Ray Liotta and Robert De Niro) to have a chance to become a "made man". Being a "made man" basically means that you are now a member of the inner circle of the mob and cannot be touched. Clearly a big thing. On the day that he is supposed to receive that honour, so to speak, he dresses up in his best suit and accompanies a couple of mob enforces to the house of a mob chieftan. However, as he steps in, realization dawns. He barely has time to say "Oh, no!" before one of them shoots him in the head. The entire build-up is so impeccable that the scene comes as a complete surprise. You realize later that he had it coming (he killed a "made man" not so long ago), but at that moment, it gives you a jolt.
That scene is also a turning point in the movie. Until then, you've seen how they have all the power and privilege they want. But after that, it's all downhill.
A parallel scene in Satya is the one where Bhiku Mhatre is killed. After much infighting and a lot of death, Bhiku has finally managed to oust his competitor and become the top dog. He is now in such a position that even Bhau, a veteran gangster-turned-politician and his mentor, seems to play by his rules. Just as he basks in his success, right in the middle of a Diwali celebration, Bhau suddenly turns and shoots him in the head when he is least expecting it. Manoj Bajpai gives such an electric performance as Bhiku that the story seems to revolve around him, although his assistant Satya is whom the movie is supposed to be about. His death, although inevitable in hindsight, is sudden and shocking. Much like Tommy DeVito, who basked in his invincibility up until he got shot in the head.
Freeze Frame #55: Goodfellas
Goodfellas tells the story of Henry Hill, an Irish-American growing up in Little Italy. It charts his history with the Mafia - fascination, involvement, ascent, incarceration and eventual descent into despair and betrayal. It is a story told with such energy and obvious skill. More than any other, this movie is why I worship Martin Scorsese.
The obvious comparison is with the other great gangster movie, The Godfather. Just about everyone who has watched both movies have a side to take. Despite occupying the same lerger canvas (i.e., the Mafia), the two movies are different as chalk and cheese. While The Godfather is moody, atmospheric and rests on an almost Samurai-like protocol, Goodfellas has a more contemporary feel, and crackles with energy in every frame. Each has its own strengths, and uses them wonderfully well. I love both movies, but if it came down to it, I'd pick Goodfellas as my favourite.
One of the interesting things about the movie is its visual strategy. In the first half, you get the feeling of being in a lot of open space, whereas towards the end, you feel kinda hemmed in. The editing becomes choppier as you go along, the external noises get louder, conveying, in some sense, the turmoil in the protagonist's mind. Little things that go a long way.
Aside: A similar strategy is adopted in Insomnia, where the protagonist's sleep-deprived state slowly reflects in the editing and camera movements.
A scene that perfectly conveys the sort of power and influence Henry Hill wields as part of the mob is the one where he takes his girlfriend out on a date. They go to a posh restaurant which would ordinarily be very difficultto get into. But Henry takes her through the back entrance, through the kitchen and eventually to a table that materializes right in front of the stage. The entire sequence is shot in one continuous movement and is so smooth that it conveys everything you need to know about the upside of being in the mob.
The obvious comparison is with the other great gangster movie, The Godfather. Just about everyone who has watched both movies have a side to take. Despite occupying the same lerger canvas (i.e., the Mafia), the two movies are different as chalk and cheese. While The Godfather is moody, atmospheric and rests on an almost Samurai-like protocol, Goodfellas has a more contemporary feel, and crackles with energy in every frame. Each has its own strengths, and uses them wonderfully well. I love both movies, but if it came down to it, I'd pick Goodfellas as my favourite.
One of the interesting things about the movie is its visual strategy. In the first half, you get the feeling of being in a lot of open space, whereas towards the end, you feel kinda hemmed in. The editing becomes choppier as you go along, the external noises get louder, conveying, in some sense, the turmoil in the protagonist's mind. Little things that go a long way.
Aside: A similar strategy is adopted in Insomnia, where the protagonist's sleep-deprived state slowly reflects in the editing and camera movements.
A scene that perfectly conveys the sort of power and influence Henry Hill wields as part of the mob is the one where he takes his girlfriend out on a date. They go to a posh restaurant which would ordinarily be very difficultto get into. But Henry takes her through the back entrance, through the kitchen and eventually to a table that materializes right in front of the stage. The entire sequence is shot in one continuous movement and is so smooth that it conveys everything you need to know about the upside of being in the mob.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Freeze Frame #50: Lilo and Stitch
The thing about animated features is, even if the little details are new, the basic plot structure is cast in stone and rarely does any movie dare to violate it. Lilo and Stitch is no different in this regard.
The plot involves an intergalactic federation sentencing a self-prclaimed evil genius to life imprisonment for having genetically engineered a new species with superhuman strength and a penchant for mischief.
The creature is sentenced to exile, but escapes to earth and lands in Hawaii. Out there, it gets adopted by a little girl named Lilo who thinks it's a cute breed of dog and names it Stitch. Lilo's parents died when she was young, and her sister Nani has her hands full trying to take care of her. The social service worker (the curiously named Cobra Bubbles) in charge of her case thinks it would be better if Lilo were to be put in a foster home. "It is clear to me that you need Lilo more than Lilo needs you," he tells Nani at one point. With Stitch's destructive tendencies adding to the confusion, nothing seems to be going right for this little broken family. And then you have Stitch's intergalactic pursuers, including the scientist who created it.
Now, you know, for instance, that the little girl's love will transform the dangerous alien into a cuddly little thing. You know that some of the officious characters will have a change of heart at critical junctures. You know that for a short while, the girl will lose her patience with the alien, only to be reconciled with it during the final conflict. Like I said, it's all cast in stone. so the enjoyment usually comes from the little things.
In this case, the little things are reasonably good. The relationship between the sisters works well. ("I love you more as a sister than as a mom," Lilo tells Nani.) There's a supporting character, David, who has a thing for Nani, and the movie, while developing their relationship in the same cliche-worn manner that every movie of this type does, at least has the grace to underplay it. The dialogue is usually intelligent and edgy, and not too sappy. The scientist character makes good use of his accent - it's corny, but I love it. And there's a toad with a non-speaking part that, for some unknown reason, had me in splits.
But the particular little thing that made this movie so much more enjoyable for me was a surprise reference to The King. In an attempt to reform the foul beat, Lilo gives Stitch a role model: Elvis Presley. I was so surprised by that reference that I pretty much fell off my chair.
The plot, despite all the intergalactic nonsense, is typical Disney. And the whole family-is-important spiel isn't anything new either. Sure, it's reasonably funny, but then most of these animated features are. Even the pop culture references, while delightful, are usually predictable.
But what movie would think of making the girl teach the alien to be an Elvis impersonator? There's a touch of Douglas Adams in that idea, and for an intergalactic comedy, that's high praise.
The plot involves an intergalactic federation sentencing a self-prclaimed evil genius to life imprisonment for having genetically engineered a new species with superhuman strength and a penchant for mischief.
The creature is sentenced to exile, but escapes to earth and lands in Hawaii. Out there, it gets adopted by a little girl named Lilo who thinks it's a cute breed of dog and names it Stitch. Lilo's parents died when she was young, and her sister Nani has her hands full trying to take care of her. The social service worker (the curiously named Cobra Bubbles) in charge of her case thinks it would be better if Lilo were to be put in a foster home. "It is clear to me that you need Lilo more than Lilo needs you," he tells Nani at one point. With Stitch's destructive tendencies adding to the confusion, nothing seems to be going right for this little broken family. And then you have Stitch's intergalactic pursuers, including the scientist who created it.
Now, you know, for instance, that the little girl's love will transform the dangerous alien into a cuddly little thing. You know that some of the officious characters will have a change of heart at critical junctures. You know that for a short while, the girl will lose her patience with the alien, only to be reconciled with it during the final conflict. Like I said, it's all cast in stone. so the enjoyment usually comes from the little things.
In this case, the little things are reasonably good. The relationship between the sisters works well. ("I love you more as a sister than as a mom," Lilo tells Nani.) There's a supporting character, David, who has a thing for Nani, and the movie, while developing their relationship in the same cliche-worn manner that every movie of this type does, at least has the grace to underplay it. The dialogue is usually intelligent and edgy, and not too sappy. The scientist character makes good use of his accent - it's corny, but I love it. And there's a toad with a non-speaking part that, for some unknown reason, had me in splits.
But the particular little thing that made this movie so much more enjoyable for me was a surprise reference to The King. In an attempt to reform the foul beat, Lilo gives Stitch a role model: Elvis Presley. I was so surprised by that reference that I pretty much fell off my chair.
The plot, despite all the intergalactic nonsense, is typical Disney. And the whole family-is-important spiel isn't anything new either. Sure, it's reasonably funny, but then most of these animated features are. Even the pop culture references, while delightful, are usually predictable.
But what movie would think of making the girl teach the alien to be an Elvis impersonator? There's a touch of Douglas Adams in that idea, and for an intergalactic comedy, that's high praise.
Freeze Frame #49: Frida
Making movies about artists cannot be easy. The tougher the artist's paintings are to understand, the more difficult it is to depict what inspired it. And to be able to present a picture of both the artist and the person underneath... that is even more difficult. Well nigh impossible, I'd say. And yet, this is precisely what Frida accomplishes, and so beautifully does it accomplish it that few, if any, will come away unimpressed by it.
Frida Kalho was a carefree young schoolgirl when she got injured in an accident that nearly killed her. She lived through a lifetime of pain after that, but managed to achieve her ambition: to be her own person. She also managed to achieve recognition as an artist whose unique personal style has made her an iconic figure.
Her personal life is marked by a long-standing relationship with the famous muralist Diego Rivera. This is Rivera's third marriage, and when Frida uses this fact to argue that he doesn't seem to be the type who believes in marriage, he replies that he does believe in marriage, only he doesn't believe in fidelity. They do promise to be loyal to one another, though. And in many ways, they are loyal to each other, although the relationship is marred by numerous affairs and heartbreak. No matter what happens between them, they recognize the greatness of each other's talent, and in the end that is the strongest bond between them.
While a good portion of the movie concentrates on her personal life (there are very few scenes that actually show her at work), it never loses sight of her art. Frida's paintings were largely autobiographical, and director Janet Taymor breaks free from reality in a number of scenes to show how her life translated into her paintings. It is a very interesting visual strategy, and makes a huge difference to our understanding of Frida's life and work.
The moment that best represents this, for me, is the scene depicting Frida's accident. It ends with an overhead shot of her lying splayed on the floor of the bus, covered in gold dust, a pool of her own blood around her, a steel rod pierced through her abdomen. It is gruesome, yet undeniably artistic. That was Frida for you.
Frida Kalho was a carefree young schoolgirl when she got injured in an accident that nearly killed her. She lived through a lifetime of pain after that, but managed to achieve her ambition: to be her own person. She also managed to achieve recognition as an artist whose unique personal style has made her an iconic figure.
Her personal life is marked by a long-standing relationship with the famous muralist Diego Rivera. This is Rivera's third marriage, and when Frida uses this fact to argue that he doesn't seem to be the type who believes in marriage, he replies that he does believe in marriage, only he doesn't believe in fidelity. They do promise to be loyal to one another, though. And in many ways, they are loyal to each other, although the relationship is marred by numerous affairs and heartbreak. No matter what happens between them, they recognize the greatness of each other's talent, and in the end that is the strongest bond between them.
While a good portion of the movie concentrates on her personal life (there are very few scenes that actually show her at work), it never loses sight of her art. Frida's paintings were largely autobiographical, and director Janet Taymor breaks free from reality in a number of scenes to show how her life translated into her paintings. It is a very interesting visual strategy, and makes a huge difference to our understanding of Frida's life and work.
The moment that best represents this, for me, is the scene depicting Frida's accident. It ends with an overhead shot of her lying splayed on the floor of the bus, covered in gold dust, a pool of her own blood around her, a steel rod pierced through her abdomen. It is gruesome, yet undeniably artistic. That was Frida for you.
Freeze Frame #45, #46, #47, #48: Last Tango in Paris
A man and a woman meet regularly in an empty Paris apartment and have sex. They don't know each other's name, or anything about each other's lives: the man insists on it. In there, they don't need names, he says. They leave everything else behind and just bring to that apartment, some essence of themselves.
What he leaves behind is a shattered life: his wife has just committed suicide. His married life wasn't all that rosy either: his wife cheated on him, and he knew it too. In fact, there's even a strange kind of kinship between him and the other man. She, on the other hand, is a twenty-year old Parisienne who is about to get married. Her fiance is a filmmaker who is making some sort of documentary with her as the subject.
The idea is to meet regularly at the apartment for sex. And there's a lot of that, to be sure. But somewhere in between, a real relationship also creeps in. And the sort of compartmentalization they try to achieve doesn't work after a point. And in the end, when he accosts her and tries to start over with her in the real world, she shoots him.
There are things I understand about this movie, and things I don't. The Brando character, for instance. It's not like he is easy to understand or relate to, but after a point, you begin to get a feel for the way he thinks. He is basically a weak man, broken by life, particularly by his wife's betrayal and her subsequent suicide. In the apartment, he plays the dominant role, maybe as a way of compensating for that. But it's not just a gruff man you see there - he is capable of happiness and gentleness as well. For him, the gruffness is a form of defense, even against himself.
The woman, though, I couldn't quite make out. Both physically and emotionally, she's bared to the camera for most of the movie. But ironically, understanding this girl-woman is something I find a lot tougher than understanding the more closed, beneath-the-surface characterization of the man.
The two performances are fantastic. Brando seems to have a talent for playing characters who aren't too likeable, to put it mildly, but end up being legendary in cinema history. Maria Schneider's performance isn't as prominent, but it is a solid one nonetheless. Being both a little girl and a woman and wildly seesawing betwen those two ends can't be easy.
Four moments stand out in memory whenever I think of this movie. I shall talk about them here.
The first one comes just after Brando and Schneider have had sex for the first time. As they lie there, she rolls off, then clutches herself down there and curls up a bit. That moment will stand out forever in my mind as one of the most breathtakingly sexual moments ever filmed.
The second is a scene where the two of them mock-introduce themselves to each other with strange, animal sounds. There's something very playful and romantic and gentle about that scene. For me, that was the moment that signaled that this was no longer just a purely sex thing for the two of them.
The third is the scene where Brando has a long monologue addressed to his wife's corpse just before he breaks down. The intensity and pain he brings out in that scene is such that it is almost difficult to watch.
The fourth comes right at the end. After she shoots him, she sits alone, repeating the same few lines over and over again, ostensibly preparing herself for the questions the police would ask of her. The lines are: "I don't even know his name. He is a madman, he followed me on the street. He tried to rape me." Her eyes are impassive when she says most of those lines, but notice how there's a little measure of pain that creeps into her eyes when says, "I don't even know his name."
What he leaves behind is a shattered life: his wife has just committed suicide. His married life wasn't all that rosy either: his wife cheated on him, and he knew it too. In fact, there's even a strange kind of kinship between him and the other man. She, on the other hand, is a twenty-year old Parisienne who is about to get married. Her fiance is a filmmaker who is making some sort of documentary with her as the subject.
The idea is to meet regularly at the apartment for sex. And there's a lot of that, to be sure. But somewhere in between, a real relationship also creeps in. And the sort of compartmentalization they try to achieve doesn't work after a point. And in the end, when he accosts her and tries to start over with her in the real world, she shoots him.
There are things I understand about this movie, and things I don't. The Brando character, for instance. It's not like he is easy to understand or relate to, but after a point, you begin to get a feel for the way he thinks. He is basically a weak man, broken by life, particularly by his wife's betrayal and her subsequent suicide. In the apartment, he plays the dominant role, maybe as a way of compensating for that. But it's not just a gruff man you see there - he is capable of happiness and gentleness as well. For him, the gruffness is a form of defense, even against himself.
The woman, though, I couldn't quite make out. Both physically and emotionally, she's bared to the camera for most of the movie. But ironically, understanding this girl-woman is something I find a lot tougher than understanding the more closed, beneath-the-surface characterization of the man.
The two performances are fantastic. Brando seems to have a talent for playing characters who aren't too likeable, to put it mildly, but end up being legendary in cinema history. Maria Schneider's performance isn't as prominent, but it is a solid one nonetheless. Being both a little girl and a woman and wildly seesawing betwen those two ends can't be easy.
Four moments stand out in memory whenever I think of this movie. I shall talk about them here.
The first one comes just after Brando and Schneider have had sex for the first time. As they lie there, she rolls off, then clutches herself down there and curls up a bit. That moment will stand out forever in my mind as one of the most breathtakingly sexual moments ever filmed.
The second is a scene where the two of them mock-introduce themselves to each other with strange, animal sounds. There's something very playful and romantic and gentle about that scene. For me, that was the moment that signaled that this was no longer just a purely sex thing for the two of them.
The third is the scene where Brando has a long monologue addressed to his wife's corpse just before he breaks down. The intensity and pain he brings out in that scene is such that it is almost difficult to watch.
The fourth comes right at the end. After she shoots him, she sits alone, repeating the same few lines over and over again, ostensibly preparing herself for the questions the police would ask of her. The lines are: "I don't even know his name. He is a madman, he followed me on the street. He tried to rape me." Her eyes are impassive when she says most of those lines, but notice how there's a little measure of pain that creeps into her eyes when says, "I don't even know his name."
Freeze Frame #44: Heat
To me, Heat is essentially two scenes. One comes in the middle, the other at the end. Together, they represent what the movie is about.
The big one is the conversation between Neil McCauley (Robert De Niro) the thief and Joseph Hanna (Al Pacino) the cop over coffee at a diner. This is one of the significant moments in the history of cinema, simply because it is the only scene in which you see these two great Italian-American actors talking to each other. Simple as its cops-and-robbers plot is, this scene encapsulates all that is good about the movie.
Hanna has been tailing the thief for a while now. McCauley knows this. And Hanna knows that McCauley knows. In an earlier scene, Hanna and his colleagues are standing in a warehouse where McCauley and his colleagues were standing sometime ago and discussing something. They see no clues as to what was going on, and suddenly the cop gets it. He says, "You know what they're looking at? Us. We just got made." And sure enough, McCauley is seeing them through a telescopic lens from a distance.
One night, Hanna just flashes his lights and asks McCauley to pull over. Walks up to him and says, "What do you say I buy you a cup of coffee."
Over coffee, they discuss the nature of their jobs. Two professionals who need each other. McCauley would, in a purely practical sense (as Arundhati Roy would put it), prefer not to have a cop on his trail. And Hanna would, in a purely practical sense, prefer not to have a crime to solve/prevent. But in reality, what would these two men be without each other? It's yet another sigma field.
"All I am is what I'm going after," says Hanna at one point. McCauley is a lot less obvious about his need. He says, in fact, that he doesn't get attached to anything he can't walk out on in 30 seconds if the shit hits the fan.
And yet, in the closing moments of the movie, when McCauley lays there dying (Hanna has just chased him down and shot him), he puts out his hand, and Hanna comes over and holds it until McCauley dies.
Sometimes, as Charles Bukowski says, you have to kill a whole bunch of people before you realize that life is piss, the sparrow is eternal and that you've been wasting your time.
The big one is the conversation between Neil McCauley (Robert De Niro) the thief and Joseph Hanna (Al Pacino) the cop over coffee at a diner. This is one of the significant moments in the history of cinema, simply because it is the only scene in which you see these two great Italian-American actors talking to each other. Simple as its cops-and-robbers plot is, this scene encapsulates all that is good about the movie.
Hanna has been tailing the thief for a while now. McCauley knows this. And Hanna knows that McCauley knows. In an earlier scene, Hanna and his colleagues are standing in a warehouse where McCauley and his colleagues were standing sometime ago and discussing something. They see no clues as to what was going on, and suddenly the cop gets it. He says, "You know what they're looking at? Us. We just got made." And sure enough, McCauley is seeing them through a telescopic lens from a distance.
One night, Hanna just flashes his lights and asks McCauley to pull over. Walks up to him and says, "What do you say I buy you a cup of coffee."
Over coffee, they discuss the nature of their jobs. Two professionals who need each other. McCauley would, in a purely practical sense (as Arundhati Roy would put it), prefer not to have a cop on his trail. And Hanna would, in a purely practical sense, prefer not to have a crime to solve/prevent. But in reality, what would these two men be without each other? It's yet another sigma field.
"All I am is what I'm going after," says Hanna at one point. McCauley is a lot less obvious about his need. He says, in fact, that he doesn't get attached to anything he can't walk out on in 30 seconds if the shit hits the fan.
And yet, in the closing moments of the movie, when McCauley lays there dying (Hanna has just chased him down and shot him), he puts out his hand, and Hanna comes over and holds it until McCauley dies.
Sometimes, as Charles Bukowski says, you have to kill a whole bunch of people before you realize that life is piss, the sparrow is eternal and that you've been wasting your time.
Freeze Frame #42: Apocalypse Now
Most people remember Col. Kilgore's line: I love the smell of napalm in the morning. That scene stands out as my favourite, but the thing I remember most is not that line but the one following it. The entire exchange reads as follows:
Kilgore: Smell that? You smell that?Notice the blank, yet searching look in his eyes as he stares off into the distance while delivering that line. A better characterization of the carnage of war would be hard to find.
Lance: What?
Kilgore: Napalm, son. Nothing in the world smells like that.
[kneels]
Kilgore: I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like... victory. Someday this war's gonna end...
[Kilgore unhappily walks off]
Freeze Frame #41: The Untouchables
The opening scene in The Untouchables shows Al Capone giving a newspaper reporter an interview while he is getting a shave. At one point, the barber makes a mistake and nicks Capone, annoying the latter. It's a tense moment, for he knows (and we do, thanks to a title card in the beginning, in case we hadn't heard of Capone already) that this is a very dangerous man he's dealing with, and this little nick could cost him heavily. Then Capone smiles, tells him it's all right, and continues with the interview.
It's a small incident, and Capone would probably forget about it in a few minutes, but in that five second pause and the smile following it, he effectively conveys how he holds the power of life and death over people. In fact, the very next scene shows a small shop being blown apart by a bomb placed there by one of Capone's men.
Take away the surface gloss, the art direction and the period setting, and you'll find that The Untouchables is a very well-made masala movie. Robert De Niro's performance as Al Capone is a perfect example. He doesn't play him as a real gangster, and there's none of the searing intensity you'd find in, say Taxi Driver or Goodfellas. Frankly, if he had introduced himself with the lines, Saara shehar mujhe Loin ke naam se jaanta hai, it wouldn't have seemed out of place.
It's a small incident, and Capone would probably forget about it in a few minutes, but in that five second pause and the smile following it, he effectively conveys how he holds the power of life and death over people. In fact, the very next scene shows a small shop being blown apart by a bomb placed there by one of Capone's men.
Take away the surface gloss, the art direction and the period setting, and you'll find that The Untouchables is a very well-made masala movie. Robert De Niro's performance as Al Capone is a perfect example. He doesn't play him as a real gangster, and there's none of the searing intensity you'd find in, say Taxi Driver or Goodfellas. Frankly, if he had introduced himself with the lines, Saara shehar mujhe Loin ke naam se jaanta hai, it wouldn't have seemed out of place.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Freeze Frame #37: Kill Bill Vol. 2
The thing that stands out for me in all of Kill Bill is the dialogue. Not the spectacular geysers of blood in the first volume, or even the brilliant segment with Pei Mei in the second. Which is why I found it immensely satisfying when the final confrontation with Bill was mostly just the two of them talking. David Carradine gives what is probably the performance of his lifetime. I personally felt he deserved an Oscar nod for this one.
I loved the background music that played during Bill's farewell. And their parting exchange: "How do I look?" "You look ready." And, of course, the brilliant monologue about Superman.
But my favourite moment in that entire sequence comes when Bill explains that, having found her getting married to some nobody in the middle of nowhere, he overreacted. Beatrix listens to this and replies, incredulously, "You overreacted?" Fair question to ask, considering Bill & Co basically wiped out the entire marriage party.
But here's what struck me: she's leaning back in her chair when he's talking, and when he says that he overeacted, she straightens up. Not in one movement, as people usually would, but in steps. She straightens up a bit, then stops, then a bit more, then stops, then a bit more before she responds. It's a very deliberate movement.
The thing is, Tarantino basically slows things down in that whole sequence. With every other major character, the confrontation has involved some degree of violence, so you half expect a bloodbath in the end. Instead, you get dialogue, and lots of it. It's delayed gratification of the highest degree. The way she straightens up is a perfect example.
I loved the background music that played during Bill's farewell. And their parting exchange: "How do I look?" "You look ready." And, of course, the brilliant monologue about Superman.
But my favourite moment in that entire sequence comes when Bill explains that, having found her getting married to some nobody in the middle of nowhere, he overreacted. Beatrix listens to this and replies, incredulously, "You overreacted?" Fair question to ask, considering Bill & Co basically wiped out the entire marriage party.
But here's what struck me: she's leaning back in her chair when he's talking, and when he says that he overeacted, she straightens up. Not in one movement, as people usually would, but in steps. She straightens up a bit, then stops, then a bit more, then stops, then a bit more before she responds. It's a very deliberate movement.
The thing is, Tarantino basically slows things down in that whole sequence. With every other major character, the confrontation has involved some degree of violence, so you half expect a bloodbath in the end. Instead, you get dialogue, and lots of it. It's delayed gratification of the highest degree. The way she straightens up is a perfect example.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thank you for smoking
It looks like a penchant for humor runs in the family. Jason, son of Ivan Ghostbusters Reitman, makes his feature debut with Thank you for smoking, a satire aimed at lobbyists in general and tobacco lobbyists in particular. I haven't chuckled this often during a movie in a while.
What's interesting is how he trusts the audience to see the point. The movie is satire, but it doesn't push too hard. Aaron Eckhart makes tobacco lobbyist Nick Naylor into such a smart guy that you find yourself laughing along with him and admiring the way he spins himself out of trouble. A fair bit of the material plays almost as it would if it wasn't actually lampooning the subject.
The movie also has a key moment where it plays it straight. This comes right at the end and concerns Nick's son. You could see this coming a mile off, given how much warmth and chemistry Eckhart and Cameron Bright (who plays his son) bring to their parts. What's nice, however, is that even then, Reitman is content with just pausing long enough for us to get it, and doesn't actually descend into much preachy dialogue.
What's interesting is how he trusts the audience to see the point. The movie is satire, but it doesn't push too hard. Aaron Eckhart makes tobacco lobbyist Nick Naylor into such a smart guy that you find yourself laughing along with him and admiring the way he spins himself out of trouble. A fair bit of the material plays almost as it would if it wasn't actually lampooning the subject.
The movie also has a key moment where it plays it straight. This comes right at the end and concerns Nick's son. You could see this coming a mile off, given how much warmth and chemistry Eckhart and Cameron Bright (who plays his son) bring to their parts. What's nice, however, is that even then, Reitman is content with just pausing long enough for us to get it, and doesn't actually descend into much preachy dialogue.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Freeze Frame #36: Scent of a Woman
When you think about it, the tango scene in Scent of a Woman isn't really essential. You have a blind colonel and a young student having dinner at a posh restaurant. They come across a beautiful young woman who is waiting for her fiancé. And while they wait, the old colonel dances the tango with the young woman. The fiancé arrives, she goes off with him, end of story. She doesn't appear again, nor has her presence advanced the plot or added any unexpected dimensions to either of the major characters. That scene tells you more about the tango than about anyone in the movie.
However, if you ask someone what they remember about Scent of a Woman, their answer will be either this scene or Al Pacino's magnificent rant at the end. Sometimes, that is more than enough accomplishment. That moment has a beauty that transcends its context.
However, if you ask someone what they remember about Scent of a Woman, their answer will be either this scene or Al Pacino's magnificent rant at the end. Sometimes, that is more than enough accomplishment. That moment has a beauty that transcends its context.
Freeze Frame #32, #33, #34, #35: The Third Man
The Third Man is arguably one of the best British films ever made. Shot on location in the bombed out streets of Vienna, the movie evokes an atmosphere of dread, intrigue and post-war depression like very few movies have managed to do. From a visual standpoint, the movie ranks among the very best. No special effects, just an off-kilter way of viewing the world. So much about that movie remains vividly in memory long after watching it, that picking one's favourite scenes is a difficult task. Having said that, the four moments I quote below are on top of my list:
Right at the beginning, when Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) first comes to Harry Lime's place, a neighbour (or was it the caretaker?) informs him that Harry is dead, and says he doesn't know whether he went to heaven or hell. While saying it, he points upwards to heaven and downwards to hell. However, the shot is composed so that Holly is looking up a flight of stairs to this guy, and the guy is seen upside down, which means that the directions he points to are the exact reverse of what he intends. It's a simple device, but it does much to establish the world view that most characters in the movie have.
Although Orson Welles features prominently in the credits, his Harry Lime is almost a MacGuffin - much of the movie has to do with an investigation of the circumstances of his death, and the people connected to him. "We should've dug deeper than a grave," the British officer says at one point. By the third act, one has almost forgotten that he's listed in the credits when he appears suddenly, framed against a doorway, smiling that sardonic smile like only Orson Welles can. The impact of that shot is fantastic - again, an off-kilter composition, making him appear, both literally and figuratively, at an odd angle to the proceedings.
For most people, the ferris wheel scene with Orson Welles and Joseph Cotten is the high point. The tension in this scene, the dialogue that crackles with sardonic wit, the way it trusts the viewer to assemble the jigsaw without having to spell out what has really transpired until then... fantastic doesn't even begin to describe it.
Everyone, of course, remembers the cuckoo clock speech. Legend has it that this speech was of Welles' own devising - it is not in the Graham Greene novel, not did Greene write it in the script. I reproduce it here, simply for the sheer pleasure of quoting it:
The last scene is yet another of my favourites. After Harry Lime is well and truly buried, Holly hitches a ride with the officer to the railway station. Just then, he spies Anna (Alida Valli) walking down that road in his direction. He still has feelings for her, so he gets off and waits for her. She walks towards him, then past him, and slowly away. The book ends differently, on a happier note (for Holly at least). However, this ending is definitely more appropriate, given all that has happened. When I first saw this movie, I remember praying fervently for her to just keep walking and not go to him. I kept muttering "walkawaywalkawaywalkaway..." almost continuously. Thank goodness someone was listening!
Aside: Incidentally, one other movie where I muttered a similar prayer was Roman Holiday. As Gregory Peck walks away after meeting Audrey Hepburn for the last time, I kept praying that she shouldn't run after him, as she almost certainly would have in a lesser movie. A big reason why I love that movie is that he just keeps walking.
Right at the beginning, when Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) first comes to Harry Lime's place, a neighbour (or was it the caretaker?) informs him that Harry is dead, and says he doesn't know whether he went to heaven or hell. While saying it, he points upwards to heaven and downwards to hell. However, the shot is composed so that Holly is looking up a flight of stairs to this guy, and the guy is seen upside down, which means that the directions he points to are the exact reverse of what he intends. It's a simple device, but it does much to establish the world view that most characters in the movie have.
Although Orson Welles features prominently in the credits, his Harry Lime is almost a MacGuffin - much of the movie has to do with an investigation of the circumstances of his death, and the people connected to him. "We should've dug deeper than a grave," the British officer says at one point. By the third act, one has almost forgotten that he's listed in the credits when he appears suddenly, framed against a doorway, smiling that sardonic smile like only Orson Welles can. The impact of that shot is fantastic - again, an off-kilter composition, making him appear, both literally and figuratively, at an odd angle to the proceedings.
For most people, the ferris wheel scene with Orson Welles and Joseph Cotten is the high point. The tension in this scene, the dialogue that crackles with sardonic wit, the way it trusts the viewer to assemble the jigsaw without having to spell out what has really transpired until then... fantastic doesn't even begin to describe it.
Everyone, of course, remembers the cuckoo clock speech. Legend has it that this speech was of Welles' own devising - it is not in the Graham Greene novel, not did Greene write it in the script. I reproduce it here, simply for the sheer pleasure of quoting it:
Don't be so gloomy. After all it's not that awful. Like the fella says, in Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love - they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.
The last scene is yet another of my favourites. After Harry Lime is well and truly buried, Holly hitches a ride with the officer to the railway station. Just then, he spies Anna (Alida Valli) walking down that road in his direction. He still has feelings for her, so he gets off and waits for her. She walks towards him, then past him, and slowly away. The book ends differently, on a happier note (for Holly at least). However, this ending is definitely more appropriate, given all that has happened. When I first saw this movie, I remember praying fervently for her to just keep walking and not go to him. I kept muttering "walkawaywalkawaywalkaway..." almost continuously. Thank goodness someone was listening!
Aside: Incidentally, one other movie where I muttered a similar prayer was Roman Holiday. As Gregory Peck walks away after meeting Audrey Hepburn for the last time, I kept praying that she shouldn't run after him, as she almost certainly would have in a lesser movie. A big reason why I love that movie is that he just keeps walking.
Gangsters and Sigma Fields
Several months ago, during one of our crazy lunch discussions, one of my colleagues came up with the following line: "The Godfather is a sigma field, machaan."
Now, most people would be bewildered by this statement. However, the geeks that we all were at that table, it struck us as a brilliant analogy and has stayed with us ever since.
Aside: The guy who made this comment was Rajendran, the only human being I know who thinks that explaining the geometry of least squares regression makes girls go weak in the knees. That might serve to explain why he came up with this one.
For the uninitiated (which is, I assume, most people reading this blog), a sigma field is a collection S of subsets of a set X such that:
In earlier movies where we rooted for the bad guy, the law still had a part to play. Either it was portrayed as corrupt, or bumbling, or benignly admonishing, or something on those lines. In the ones with a moral, the bad guy you rooted for got killed in the end. But in The Godfather, the law enforcement is hardly seen on screen. The only one you remember is the corrupt cop who is in cahoots with a drug dealer and punched Michael in the face. Self-contained universe, like I said. Almost like Star Wars, except there are no people with snouts and three eyes on their head.
The long opening sequence has much to do with how this is accomplished: the first time you see Don Corleone, he is dispensing favours to a bunch of people on his daughter's wedding day. A few days after that, he meets with a drug dealer who wants his assistance and refuses on "ethical" grounds. The fact that his empire itself is built on the other side of the law is not dealt with at all at this point. You only see the power he wields, and how he uses it to do good, not how he got it in the first place. So, by the time he is shot by the drug dealer, he's gotten you to root for him and his son.
Now, most people would be bewildered by this statement. However, the geeks that we all were at that table, it struck us as a brilliant analogy and has stayed with us ever since.
Aside: The guy who made this comment was Rajendran, the only human being I know who thinks that explaining the geometry of least squares regression makes girls go weak in the knees. That might serve to explain why he came up with this one.
For the uninitiated (which is, I assume, most people reading this blog), a sigma field is a collection S of subsets of a set X such that:
- If the set E is a subset of X and a member of S, then so is X-E
- The union of countably many sets in S is also in S
- The null set as well as X belong to S
In earlier movies where we rooted for the bad guy, the law still had a part to play. Either it was portrayed as corrupt, or bumbling, or benignly admonishing, or something on those lines. In the ones with a moral, the bad guy you rooted for got killed in the end. But in The Godfather, the law enforcement is hardly seen on screen. The only one you remember is the corrupt cop who is in cahoots with a drug dealer and punched Michael in the face. Self-contained universe, like I said. Almost like Star Wars, except there are no people with snouts and three eyes on their head.
The long opening sequence has much to do with how this is accomplished: the first time you see Don Corleone, he is dispensing favours to a bunch of people on his daughter's wedding day. A few days after that, he meets with a drug dealer who wants his assistance and refuses on "ethical" grounds. The fact that his empire itself is built on the other side of the law is not dealt with at all at this point. You only see the power he wields, and how he uses it to do good, not how he got it in the first place. So, by the time he is shot by the drug dealer, he's gotten you to root for him and his son.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Freeze Frame #31: Independence Day
Okay, I know this is essentially a B-movie with lots of things going bang. However, it was an immensely entertaining one, with every single member of the cast cheerfully throwing themselves into the absurd scenarios the movie offered. For Will Smith, this was a star-making role - it showcased every bit of his charm and screen presence.
My favourite moment in the movie is the rousing Bill Pullman speech at the end, when the Americans prepare for their last stand against the aliens. Especially the bit where the tone of his voice rises in defiance as he says "We will not go quietly into the night!" Corny as it sounds, that part gives me the goosebumps. So sue me.
My favourite moment in the movie is the rousing Bill Pullman speech at the end, when the Americans prepare for their last stand against the aliens. Especially the bit where the tone of his voice rises in defiance as he says "We will not go quietly into the night!" Corny as it sounds, that part gives me the goosebumps. So sue me.
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