Goes for Errol Morris, and achieves Discovery Channel. Some interesting people here, though, that make up for any undeveloped subtextual commentary. Werner Herzog wouldn't eat his shoe over this one, but it was enjoyable enough to watch some of the interesting characters. The Louisiana crocodile wrangler ranks up there with the best of them, in my mind. Fascinating guy that the movie treats with some tenderness. A full documentary could be made about this guy quite easily.
Mike Leigh exposes this one slowly--almost lethargically, without the capitol "p" Plot that more industrially drove Secrets & Lies, for instance. It takes time and relaxed observation to really uncover this film. I confess that I was taxed a bit the first 40 minutes--my Hollywood-molded mind wanting more direction--not knowing where he was going--but knowing how much I love Leigh's work and trusting him as a director, I re-focused, and enjoyed the film.
While the adult relationship (or lack thereof) between Timothy Spall and Lesley Manville is the central focus, I found the goings on of the teenage set most interesting. Two neighbor girls couldn't be more different--one shy, tender, and feeling. She covers it up with self-righteous overreaction and stabs at her bemused mother who sees through her act. The other insecure and raising herself alone with one completely incapacitated parent, and the other uncaring and self absorbed. Her insecurities translate into confidence and sexual manipulation.
There are two teenage characters--the latter girl and a teenage boy--who both feel that they are in charge of the relationships they actively manipulate, but are surprised to find that, in fact, they are not in control at all. It's a fine point to put on the equation that a relationship is the interaction of two people, and dealing with the person means bringing their desires and disagreements into your life.
In fact, that's a microcosm of the bigger message of the movie--although I'm not claiming that Leigh had a capitol "m" Message (just like this is not a capitol "r" Review and now I'll stop using this capitol "a" Annoying way of speaking). The realization that people are not only alive in context to our relationship with them, but that our relationships are only alive when people are most fully and fundamentally themselves with you.
The characters find succor in truth and openness, when they seem to fear that finding that point might mean the end of their relationships. Sometimes it does, but it's hard not to say it's for the best. Those who continue to live the closed lives will forever be unhappy, distrusting and alone, even when sleeping next to somebody they share a house and children with.
What can I say? Complain about the crass commercialization of my wonderful childhood memories? Yeah, like I didn't have a million Jenner figures (sold to a kid at a garage sale when Lucas was still in denial about starting the first three movies. "These are way to underpriced." he said "Then you're getting a great deal" said I. He thought I was a bit crazy for letting things go below their collector's value, and kept running home to borrow more money from his mother to buy more. I hope he makes a mint). Complain about dumbing the story down for kids? I don't remember hating the Ewoks when that movie came out. Lucas claims that he's going to start making small budget indie films based on his experimental inspirations. Until then, you can look forward to Star Wars in 3D, the new Indiana Jones, and I would lay bets that episodes VII-IX are less than ten years away with a different director and writer.
I did see this with my two nieces and some friends of theirs, one who had never seen a SW movie. It just reminded me that the audience for these films is kids. They are simplistic morality tales designed to appeal to the playground hero in all of us. They've since met that perfect intersection of nostalgia and disposable income. Like my friend Michael said after seeing this film "I'm just so glad I can have Star Wars out of my life now and get on to other things."
A movie that is superficially about race. As it should be, since most race based bigotry is only superficially about race as well. Nobody hates black people because they're black. They hate black people because they are scared of them. This is a movie, spot on in this way, that is about fear and how race colors it.
I've often asked myself if I'm racist. I don't mean that in the Klan-mask, white-supremacist way, in which case I'm decidedly not and have great disdain for those who seek that route (and have great disdain for whatever flaw in their minds make them believe the twisted logic they contrive to justify those beliefs). I mean it in the way that we are all racist. That is, if I see a young black man walking down the street, do I feel more threatened than if I see a young white man walking down the street? What if the young black man is dressed in a suit? What if he's all urban baggy pants and sideways hat?
By that token, what if the white guy is a batshit crazy hick? Michael Moore had a very funny rant where he talked about how he crosses the street when he comes across white people. In my experience, I've been fucked with more by white guys than black guys, or asian guys, or latino guys combined. More chest puffing, name calling and macho shit come out of wayward white jocks in search of a battlefield than any other group, in my direct experience.
Isn't that what we should be talking about? Experience? My father was a big proponent of integration and bussing in Los Angeles during the '70s, where I was bussed myself to Palms Jr. High (ironically, before I was old enough--some bonehead in the LA School District thought it would be a good idea to bus 5th and 6th graders onto a Jr. High School campus. Not smart, that), and some members of his congregation were aghast--especially one man whose daughter had been attacked by a black kid in a classroom. That man, based on his instinct to protect his daughter, was decidedly against bussing. Was he racist?
Which of course, is the question at hand. Am I racist? Is it racist to have a knee-jerk reaction to somebody because of their skin color? I would say most people do this, and most people who are aware of it attempt to compensate--even overcompensate. This movie shows those compensations, breakdowns of the internal dialogue, and through a series of incredibly improbable coincidences brings the characters together to confront their own fears. My favorite character was probably the black producer of the television show, who really got it from all ends and was driven to extremes. As a teenage punk rawker I'd interact with rude people and wonder if they didn't like me because of my clothing, or if they just didn't like me. But, of course, I could change my appearance. I can only imagine what must go through a black person's mind when somebody is rude to them. Like when I was playing in a band with a guy who had his vintage Fender Twin Reverb (that he had painted bright blue) ripped off from a gig, and two weeks later a black guy came into the guitar shop I ran to sell it to me. "That's a stolen amp" I said. "Is it because I'm black that you're accusing me of stealing an amp?" he said. "I'm not accusing you of anything" I said. "But, that's a stolen amp." This guy, he claimed (and I believed him, for what it was worth) traded the amp for some photography gear. We worked it out to everyone's satisfaction without calling in the cops, but that reaction--whether he was being genuine or trying to use white guilt to manipulate me--must be something that pops into his mind everytime a roadblock is thrown up.
Racism also colors every day perceptions. I once sat out on my apartment's front stoop when I lived on Capitol Hill some years ago, on 23rd. I was smoking a cigarette, and two black teens walked by, very street looking. One of them said "Yo, man--can I have a cigarette?" I held my pack out, and he took one. "Yeah, my favorite." he said. I lit it and he walked away. I pondered that for awhile. My favorite--is this some hip-hop term of affection? Is he calling me out for doing him right? It was only later that my rational mind informed me, politely so as not to make me feel like too much of a rube, that he was talking about my brand. The dude liked Camels.
Which is why simplistic solutions to race problems are more problematic sometimes than what they attempt to address. The issue is layered and complex. Cultural history is deep and strongly remembered and not easily set aside, even if those who experience its fallout are ignorant of it. At the tip of Broadway here in Seattle, right at Harvard is a condo that used to be a gas station. When they were building the condo a few years ago, the area was fenced off and the fence was strung with boards painted by elementary school kids. One showed Opie and Garfield and said "THEY stopped fighting. Can YOU?" This used to crack us up every time we saw it, because it was sweet and direct and innocent. But then--and maybe readers of Garfield can fill me in here if I'm wrong--I don't think they did stop fighting. And I don't think we will anytime soon. Movies like this may not be the solution--in one way it's just another sign on the fence--but in the larger scheme of things attempting to talk about those layered emotions masking our fear might be a way to help more than another TV show that perpetuates stereotypes. Or, maybe it's preaching to the converted and I only enjoyed the film because I'm prone to think about these things naturally.
My favorite story about Lars von Trier was told by Paul Bettany on a talk show. He says that he flew to Europe where von Trier picked him up in person from the airport. On the way, they stopped at a quickie mart. "I have to stop and pick up some things" said von Trier. Inside, Bettany was surprised to find von Trier stacking up pornographic magazines. "Want some?" he asked. Bettany declined.
The director paid for his purchase, and they drove straight to the hotel where Bettany was to meet co-star Nicole Kidman. The two men entered Bettany's hotel room, von Trier still carrying his stack of magazines. A minute later, Kidman showed up, and von Trier said something to the effect of "Paul, this is Nicole. Nicole, this is Paul--he made me stop on the way from the airport and buy some pornography. I'll be right back." and then he left the room.
Bettany was thunderstruck, and started explaining to Kidman what had happened--that this was not his pornography, when they both heard a noise and turned to see von Trier on the balcony observing them.
I picture von Trier as a sadistic manipulator acting out his own insecurities by forcing emotion into other people through melodrama. Bettany's story showed that it was more than in the movies that von Trier does this, and the Five Obstructions reinforces that idea. Von Trier is petulant and pouty that his mentor could take this ridiculous limitations and turn them into compelling films.
But as the film goes, you realize that the petulance has a reason--the pouting has its own logic. It's not merely von Trier's professional jealousy urging him to challenge Jorgen Leth (although, it would seem, that's in their as well). He may be simply playing the part of the sadistic manipulator, but I actually think that's just a part of who he is. Like all of us, he's contradictory and complex. Large and full of multitudes.
Which makes the finished revisions on The Perfect Human so fascinating. All art, I would argue, thrives with restrictions. Every medium has its rules that regulate what you may or may not do--from as simple as the physics of light and color, to the constrains of a canvas, or a formal dogma about technique (but please, young artists, stop writing goddamned manifestos, and just do the work. That's all you need). Von Trier, who limits himself in somewhat idealistic and ridiculous ways (dogme 95, not flying), knows this, and provides some shelter to his mentor who, so it would seem, approaches life more directly. When asked to shoot in the a depressing place, Leth immediately thinks of the red light district in Bombay. I would wager that most people, when confronted with such a question, would not have first hand knowledge of such miserable places.
Most interesting to me was the transformation of confidence in Leth, although he's always a cool cat. But with each successive victory in his filming puffs his chest a bit larger, and he seems to almost be at ease with himself more. Because of this, and the previously mentioned sadistic manipulation, the last obstruction was totally appropriate. But just to attribute it to those two things would be only assigning it subtext, when the text of it is obvious and true: the whole film is a love letter from one filmmaker to another, and an unabashed appreciation for what a true artist can create when willing to be open to challenge.
Like all of you, I've seen it a million times. I was 12 when it came out--the perfect age for it. This viewing was to introduce my nieces and nephews to it. We did a double feature with Mystery Men, which I didn't watch all of (and thus am not reviewing at this point).
Some thoughts and points of interest:
First use of the now-cliched Nazi's interested in evil old-world supernatural powers, replete with moral ending where the Americans are left standing after the Germans (and evil French sympathizers) are burned by the wrathful god of the Torah (that'd be Old Testament, cross lovers).
2. First appearance of the enormously skilled Alfred Molina ("Throw me the idol. No time to argue. Throw me idol, I'll throw you the whip!").
3. Speilberg wasn't afraid to get a bit gruesome at times. I wonder if he would do the same today? Would the skin-melting be as graphic? Would the flying wing scene end with the splattered blood? Many action movies these days are based on the concept that the characters are stretch Armstrong, and won't break or bleed when beaten.
4. Karen Allen was really great in this film, and played the now-forgotten balancing act of a tough, independent woman who despite being rescued by Indy quite a few times, seems like she's gotten herself out of quite a few scrapes on her own. Owning a bar in Tibet? In character math Lara Croft = (Marion Ravenwood + Indiana Jones) * James Bond.
We are reminded often in this film--and pointedly--that the rich do not talk about being rich. The subtext is that the rich don't talk about being rich with each other, but especially they don't talk about being rich with those who are not rich.
I would imagine this arises from a past where the wealthy are taught not to lord their privilege over those of less. Today that's not so much a risk with bling and Escalades. But then, those aren't necessarily the truly rich. Always funny to learn that somebody is loaded, because often it's the only the un-wealthy who act as if they are loaded, as if the act itself would be enough to attract the money.
Which, in the case of these kids, it would have been, since all the interviewees were born into their fortunes. Not all seem to badly damaged--Ivanka Trump comes off as incredibly grounded and bright--but one or two are obviously bitter about their families, and probably terrified of losing their money.
But good for Jamie Johnson for questioning himself and getting his friends involved. His father, when suggesting a potential career for his son suggested collecting antique maps. I think Jamie made a smarter choice looking into being a documentarian.
Say what you will, I had fun. I don't mean loads and loads of fun, like reading the books. Not bracing cinematic fun, like other movies I have rated similarly high might have been. But fun nonetheless. Which, if you're a fan of the series, tells you which camp I'm in: the Sacrosanct Adam's Cult (SAC), or the Highly Flexible Apologists Cult (HFAC).
Of course, writer Tom Robbins said something to the effect that there really are two kinds of people in this world: People that think that there are two kinds of people in this world, and those that know better. But, for the sake of fandom microscopy, let's assume this generalization holds.
Those in the SAC hated this movie, because somebody other than Douglas Adams worked on it. Worse, they blame every diversion and unsuccessful path explored to some sort of malicious manhandling by the studio system, who were obviously eager to turn H2G2 into the next Star Wars, and who cares if they pounded into puny plot submission, totally ignoring the fans who should have been consulted like a giant hive mind?
Those in the HFAC don't mind some new input--after all, Adams failed over and again bringing his vision to the big screen, and every version of H2G2 (sans books) involved a committee of sorts. Bring on the changes! They might be influenced by Adams, after all, in any small way, and his wisdom is such that it transcends translation. As a matter of fact, we think we see his influence in the latest Altman film....
(There is a third cult, which quietly has operatives in both previously mentioned cults, and that is the sub-cult of Apple who say that Adams must have been a kind, wise and generously genius man because he used an Apple Macintosh. Although I am a long time mac user and fan, I can ably disassemble this argument by pointing out that another very vocal mac supporter and user is Rush Limbaugh).
As for the movie--well, I think the Dust Brothers (oh wait--wasn't it the Chemical Brothers that directed it?) did a fine job, and made some very smart choices. One of the smart choices was the extensive use of models, that helped the movie feel like a poem to Terry Gilliam. Also good were the big puppets, like the Vogons (wise is the Sci-Fi director who chooses to include Jim Henson's Creature Shop. Unwise is the director who uses them to build Ewoks).
Mostly, though, it was fun for me to see a version of this story I've loved so much over the years. It may not have been perfect, and it may not have been true to Adams in the minutia, but I say big deal. Hopefully it made enough money for the sequels to be filmed. After all, this isn't the definitive version, but simply one version.
After all, Adams was really all about the writing. The BBC radio shows, the BBC Television shows--they're all tons of fun, but nowhere do they match the wit, impossibly intelligent humor, and devious ideas of the books themselves. In my mind, Adams will always be a writer best.