Killing Them Softly

Andrew Dominik grabbed my attention quite forcefully with Chopper over a decade ago.  I was fairly obsessed with that film for a good long while and forced more than a few friends to sit through it.  Raucous, violent, upsetting and rather funny all at once, it heralded the emergence of a serious talent.  Then, 7 long years elapsed until his follow-up.  The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is an undeniable masterpiece, a stately epic detailing the psychologically sickening rise of hero worship in American pop culture.  Now we have been graced with his third feature, A cynical slap in the face to the very notion of the American dream.  Killing Them Softly serves as a malevolent refutation of our Country's political process, justice system and elected officials.

I've read a lot around the web and in print reviews about how this film is "too on the nose".  While I agree its intentions in regard to subtext are indisputably clear, I personally find the absence of coy subterfuge to be refreshing.  The single-minded purposefulness of the narrative gives the film great immediacy and presence.  Cloud Atlas and Life of Pi utilized a similarly up front approach, but where those films were proudly clothed in earnest humanism, Killing Them Softly deals in acidic political commentary.  It is trenchant in its outrage and disgust, but always honestly and with a point.

Setting the sordid tale in a post-Katrina New Orleans, seemingly abandoned by any law or government, is an excellent choice that mercilessly highlights the insalubrious state of our infrastructure.  Dominik's criminal microcosm of the 2008 financial meltdown is a blatant reflection of America as he sees it.  A corrupt land populated by naught but hit-men and whores, destitute addicts and doomed fall guys.  The machinations of its citizenry are petty, violent and pointless.  An endless succession of murderous consumption, motivated by greed and aimlessness.  The central conceit of the film seems to be that the civilized manner we as a country facilitate changes of power and mete out justice is merely a callous sham.  A convenient cover story to make our society's predatory, capitalist nature more palatable. 

Disheartening subject material to be sure, but Dominik digs into it with such gleeful abandon and experimental recklessness, it's hard not to have a grand time while contemplating it.  The film is alarmingly off kilter from its discordant opening credits to its shockingly blunt final lines of dialogue.  There's a great deal of innovation and imagination employed in the presentation of the film, which goes a long way toward making the admittedly familiar tale feel fresh.  It's also surprisingly intimate, giving us uncomfortable insight to the miserable and malicious lives its pitiable characters lead.

There isn't a bad (or indeed even mediocre) performance in the film, but Gandolfini and Pitt deserve special mention for what they bring to their roles.  Gandolfini is an abrasive surrogate for the modern Republican party, or perhaps simply for America itself.  A lurching behemoth drunk on past glory and incapable of moving forward.  He's a crass, despicable, self loathing monster.  He's got plenty he's angry about and no shortage of fingers to point for his innumerable woes.  The ultimate blockade to getting anything done, he plays marvelously off Pitt, especially when he snaps at him for being called out on his inefficacy. 

Pitt is essentially Obama.  The younger, handsomer, hungrier model of leader.  The up and comer who has a way of using comforting language to convince others to make choices that benefit him.  He has a plan to make the machine run in a smoother fashion, but absolutely no intention of revolutionizing the machine.  It's a tremendously charismatic performance and perfectly suited to his role.  Pitt continues to find fascinating ways of trading on his stardom to get unique films made and produce great work.  Yeah, we're cheering for him and in awe of how great he looks with that pompadour in that bitching leather jacket.  But then he drops that final speech on Richard Jenkins  and it becomes painfully clear who and what you've been supporting the whole film.

Killing Them Softly is a tremendous addition to the Andrew Dominik filmography.  Three great films in 12 years time works for me.  He's like Kubrick or P. T. Anderson in that his releases are events.  Something cinephiles in the know eagerly anticipate and joyfully relish.  I highly doubt it will be remembered come Awards season considering the equal opportunity skewering it gives both sides of the political aisle and hopeless attitude it has toward the possibility of change or redemption.  Maybe that's why I'm still smiling when I think on it though.  It's so brazen and fearless and sure of what it wants to say, I can't help but find that remarkably commendable.  Sometimes, a slap in the face is exactly what you need.

Life of Pi And Brave

                                                           
I've never been head over heels in love with Pixar like most.  For the life of me, I can't understand the legions of grown men who worship at the altar of these kiddie films.  Extremely well constructed and exquisitely animated kiddie films of course, but kiddie films nonetheless.  I suppose someone who unashamedly adores juvenile, brain dead action films like Fast Five or idiotic big budget monster romps like Wrath of the Titans shouldn't throw stones from his glass house.  In any case, I entertain no illusions about what appeals to me and why.  I usually enjoy the Pixar films well enough upon first viewing.  Yet outside of the occasional re-watch with my son (who at 11 has outgrown most of them), I've never felt compelled to revisit the likes of Wall-E or Finding Nemo.  I do think the Toy Story films are fantastic (especially the third), but I'm not exactly learning life lessons or looking at the world in a different light after watching them.  Their thematic range is inherently limited due to who they are designed to appeal to.  That us adults aren't pulling out our hair whilst enduring them is commendable, but not necessarily cause for ceaseless celebration.

Which brings me to Brave.  I wouldn't say I was pulling my hair out while watching this on VOD, but it's certainly an insipid melange of boiler plate storytelling and aggressively unfunny physical comedy.  The character arcs are predictable and unearned, the climax rushed and perfunctory.  The animation is striking and top notch I've been told, yet to me looked repetitively samey in terms of backgrounds and irritatingly bulbous in the character design.  I just can not abide that grotesque mockery of proportion modern animation is bewilderingly compelled to pass off as the human form.  Not to belabor the point, but I did not care for this film whatsoever.  It did nothing for me on any level and I'm mentioning it here merely to conform to my goal of documenting my impressions of all 2012 films I see.  Now, I will never deign to consider it again.

Life of Pi, on the other hand, was a profoundly moving experience I will treasure forever.  I hope to revisit it theatrically before its run ends and will certainly think fondly of it for the rest of my days.  I've always enjoyed what I've seen from Ang Lee.  Hell, I'm even a wary cheerleader for his deeply strange and singularly beautiful Hulk film.  Unlike Hulk, Life of Pi, suffers from nary a narrative drawback.  It's perfectly put together, with its introductory first third every bit as captivating and engrossing as its flashier, more dramatic shipwrecked-at-sea segments.  Lee builds the character of Pi meticulously, expertly navigating the tricky conceit of casting no less than three different actors to portray him throughout his life.  Thanks to the masterful direction and uniformly excellent performances, all 3 incarnations are likable and easy to relate to.  I was absolutely swept away by the story of this intensely spiritual young man.

I don't dwell on plot points or spoilers in my reviews, preferring to let my general impressions do the talking.  I implore any and all of my readers on the fence about this film, please give it a chance.  I felt much the same way about this I did with Cloud Atlas, and similarly, it would break my heart to imagine true film lovers missing this on the big screen.  The 3-D in Life of Pi is revelatory.   It sucks you wholly into its world, making you feel the isolation and the wonder of Pi on his journey.  The sound design is magnificent as well.  Even though I saw it in a theater I've been to many times, I was sure they had turned on previously unused speakers, so startling was the range and finesse of the sound field.  The visual palette is pure poetry, every scene melting dreamily into the next.  Lee uses some of the transitional experimentation's he toyed with in Hulk to much greater effect here.  It's remarkable to watch a genius director using state of the art technology and a sizable budget in the service of such a worthy story.  This is precisely what the goal of motion picture art should be.

There's so many sequences in this film that I will never forget.  The bone rattling intensity of the horrifying storms.   The relationship building with Richard Parker, a beautifully and believably realized Bengal tiger.  But the moment that had the strongest impact on me had nothing to do with 3-D, CGI or the brand spanking new Dolby Atmos sound experience.  There is a scene when the action cuts back to the fully grown Pi (brilliantly portrayed by Irrfan Khan) narrating a particularly powerful moment in his story to a journalist.  As he speaks, he openly weeps.  There is no shame in this for him.  No wiping away of the tears or averting of his eyes.  He is at peace with himself and fully able to express his feelings in the presence of another man, let alone a human.  Growing up in Western society with our ridiculously stringent interpretations of masculinity, I was moved to my core by this notion.

Life of Pi is a deluge of emotion, laughter and beauty.  It opened my eyes to the detrimental damage done by years of nihilistic cynicism and emotional constipation.  I'm not saying I'm ready to join 3 religions or change my diet or attempt any such forced transformation.  Just that I was given a welcome reminder to embrace the beauty of life and the world a little more freely and try to express my feelings more openly.  It's a gorgeous film, full of heart and magic. 

The Wayne Gale Variety Hour Episode 2: 90's Films

This is the podcast I've been waiting to do since I got in the podcast game.  The Wayne Gale Variety Hour Episode 2 is here! Danno and I speak at epic length about a topic that is not only near and dear to our hearts, but an undeniably integral building block to our friendship, 90's films!  We got the dogs together and chewed the fat about our favorite films and directors from a truly explosive decade in cinema.  The tropes, trends and instant classics are pored over meticulously while many an in-joke is made, often devoid of explanation.  The highs and lows are traversed with detours through innumerable tangents hilariously padding out the run time.  Please leave comments or questions here, @staplegenius on twitter or at the Lutefisk Sushi site linked above.  Thanks for listening and viva la 90's!

Skyfall

The new James Bond film is breathtaking to look at, very well acted and book-ended by two of the more stupendous action set-pieces ever put on film.   It's also predictable beyond belief, thematically diffuse and frankly quite boring for its middle hour.  I don't know how much my history with the  franchise informed my tepid opinion of this latest entry, but I'll state for the record I'm relatively indifferent toward all incarnations of the iconic character.  I grew up on the campy Roger Moore films and even then, it was Richard Kiel's Jaws that had the most lasting impact on me.  He always struck me as my father's action hero, all the more fitting considering the affinity he continues to have for the films, especially with Daniel Craig in the role.  I was primarily excited to see this because it was another occasion to get out to the true IMAX theater with my parents and son, but also to see the fruits of a Deakins/Mendes collaboration. 

The tantalizing notion of two such gifted visual storytellers combining forces did not disappoint in the slightest.  Whatever my misgivings toward the films narrative, it cannot be argued that Skyfall is surely one of the top 2 or 3 most gorgeous films of the year.  Mendes has always been marvelous at conveying copious amounts of emotional information with his carefully composed framing.  When coupled with Deakins superlative cinematography you have a motion picture that is absolutely stunning to behold.  It would be just as easy to comprehend the film with the sound off as on thanks to how potent the mise-en-scene is.  But I watched the film with the sound on, and running at nearly 2 and a half hours, there simply wasn't enough going on to hold my interest outside the magnificent visual splendor on display.

The plot is basically a rehash of The Dark Knight with stray elements of Nolan's entire bat trilogy peppered in for good measure.  I understand this is a popular nit-pick thanks to Sam Mendes much circulated quote in which he admits mining inspiration from the 2008 blockbuster.  But after sitting through a commuter train crash, a highly visible terrorist bombing and witnessing a disfigured sociopath orchestrate his own capture to facilitate an elaborate escape plan in which he dresses as a policeman and attempts to assassinate the films leading symbol of law enforcement, it became very clear the film had no ideas of its own.  I understand Nolan himself is heavily influenced by the Bond films, so we have something of a cinematic snake eating its own tail here.  Also, I fully admit unoriginality can sometimes be a non-factor for me as it pertains to film enjoyment, but something about Skyfall was working overtime to keep me at a distance, and I think I've figured out what it is.

I like Daniel Craig alright I suppose.  He's got great physicality, fair charisma and of course those stunning peepers.  But whatever he and the film makers are doing with him as James Bond is just not working for me.  I've always thought of Bond as a dashing, charming rake who utilizes intelligence more than brawn.  It's the style of our reboot times to make everything darker, but then why bother having it be a Bond film if he's going to behave like a shell-shocked, dim-witted attack dog?  I find very little charming about a blunt force instrument who's always three steps behind the machinations of both his nemesis and colleagues.  In these most recent iterations, Craig comes across more like the physically intimidating henchman James Bond would have to overcome before vanquishing the primary villain.  That is to say, tough and sort of cool, but not someone I want to live vicariously through or be compelled to root for.

The finale is a masterpiece of lighting, sound design and action choreography, yet there's no emotional resonance, at least not for Bond.  Sure, we're meant to somehow gather the significance of his decaying ancestral home under assault, but there's no real time or effort spent setting that up.   We're left to intuit the apparently wrenching particulars of his complicated past through a couple tombstones and an exhausted Albert Finney.   Clearly Connery wasn't interested or didn't need the payday.  At least there's a massive, violently impressive explosion to punctuate the languorous proceedings. 

I don't mean to be so hard on the film, there was a great deal I liked.  The aforementioned cinematography is as good as it gets and some of the action is quite thrilling.  Bardem is a lot of fun as the ridiculous villain doggedly pursuing his incomprehensible, constantly fluctuating agenda.  The technical specifics are top notch and should be enjoyed in IMAX, it's certainly worth the up charge if such material appeals to you.  Maybe my expectations were too high or perhaps whatever surprise the film could have held for me had been ruined by the incessant marketing onslaught that preceded it.  Whatever the case, Skyfall did not connect for me.  It's still accomplished film making I imagine would appeal to most. 

Shloggs Speaks: The Wayne Gale Variety Hour Episode 1: ZOMBIES!!!

I am elated to announce the debut episode of my new podcast, The Wayne Gale Variety Hour!  This show is the brainchild of myself and my good friend Danno.  Danno is a Minneapolis independent cartooning legend who also hosts an excellent podcast entitled Lutefisk Sushi, in which he interviews local cartoonists about their trade.  I highly recommend checking his work out as he is a unique, thoughtful and very funny voice in the world of D.I.Y. cartooning as well as being a truly excellent human being.  Danno and I have known each other for nearly 20 years and I like to think that rich history lends itself well to an easy rapport.

For our first episode, we decided to ease in by having a loose discussion about zombies in popular culture with a heavy emphasis on their representation in film.  The conversation takes many delightful tangents, from a reverential nod to Charlton Heston's magnificent midsection to our controversial vehemence toward 28 Days Later, we leave very few stones unturned.  I had a lot of fun doing it and we're looking forward to making this a bi-weekly affair as long as our schedules permit, so look forward to many more of these over the coming years.

If you have any questions or comments or show ideas, please leave them here or hit up Danno on twitter @staplegenius.  Thanks in advance for listening, hope you enjoy it!.

The Crow

Judging by the glut of harsh reviews from critics I trust (including my old friend, AK Film Geek), I've opted to give The Man With The Iron Fists a theatrical pass. For this weeks entry, I'd prefer to indulge in a little nostalgia by briefly examining an Alex Proyas film from the 90's that had a profound impact on me.  The Crow is a film for which my fondness and nostalgia is so overwhelming, I'm entirely incapable of assessing it through an objective lens.  A dark, stylish film both ahead and completely of its time.  I was 16 when The Crow came out, so the romanticized ideal of its magically misanthropic loner lead appealed immensely to my immature worldview.

The film operates outward from a central nihilistic conceit of an unjust world where crime and corruption hold sway, with the only viable solution being a misunderstood male violently upending the status quo.  Not only does this simplistic set up seem quaint and narcissistic in the modern world of global technological connectivity and heightened social awareness, it strikes one as borderline irresponsible as we continue living through the unending mass shootings in Columbine's wake.   But hey, it was the 90's and one needed look no further than the multiplex to ascertain casual violence was king.  The reality of violence hadn't hit home for most of us in our suburban splendor, so it was something to revel in the coolness of, rather than contemplate its repercussions. 

So, it should be no surprise that a young white male such as myself, raised on the one-man-army mentality of classic Stallone and Schwarzenegger and then thick in the tumult of puberty, should find so much to love in The Crow.   I saw it on one of my first dates (I was a bit of a late bloomer romantically speaking) shortly after procuring my drivers license, inextricably and forever linking the film with freedom in my young mind.  Star Brandon Lee had been accidentally killed on-set during filming, so the release was shrouded in morose fatalism, an atmosphere us surly teens were emphatically drunk on for the entire decade.  It's a simple supernatural revenge story, but told with such verve and style as to be positively Shakespearean to its target audience.  The imagery coupled with the real-life tragedy that framed its creation, was chilling.  Every moment in the film was imbued with additional emotional weight and sadness thanks to the cruel hand of fate.  To a 16 year old cinephile taking his first awkward steps into the world of relationships, this heady stew was beyond intoxicating, burned into my brain and emotional nerve centers for all time.

The absolutely fucking fantastic soundtrack didn't hurt either.  To this day, I can think of no album of popular music so well tied into a film with the possible exceptions of Repo Man and Saturday Night Fever.  The songs by then popular grunge, alternative and metal bands are still listenable today (to me at least) and factor in so prominently to the films mood and themes, I can't imagine the picture being nearly as successful without them.  The music in The Crow is every bit as integral to its magnificence as the direction, the source material, the costume design, the lighting and the performances.  Speaking of the performances, the iconic and final work from Brandon Lee is like a raw nerve being repeatedly, remorselessly plucked.  His presence is unearthly, possessing fluidity, grace and lean, muscular menace all at once.  The Crow is also overstuffed with memorable supporting turns by colorful character actors.

Ernie Hudson is the island of affable stability amidst a swirling sea of malevolent chaos, providing much needed moral grounding and comic relief.  Tony Todd, Michael Wincott, Bai Ling and Jon Polito are all slimy putrescence as the upper echelon of criminal activity in the hellish sewer of a city the film takes place in.  But it's David Patrick Kelly as T-Bird and his speed freak gang of miscreants that tie the film together and give our tragic protagonist his awful purpose.   They can't help but be likable through sheer lunk-headed enthusiasm and barbaric camaraderie.  One can only hope they were reunited in hell after the events of the film, firing it up in service of the devil himself, demonic henchman in this life and the next.

The Crow is a film that hit me just right at exactly the perfect time in my life.  It surely will seem overblown, silly and outdated to those late to the party, but it was a pivotal moment in my adolescence.  A potent genre exercise with lasting impact, timely then and to me still timeless.  Trapped forever in the amber of exaggerated longing and righteous conviction so prevalent in youth.  The film is to me as lingering fumes of forgotten feelings whose aroma I was childishly certain would never fade.  When revisiting it or its soundtrack, synapses inexplicably fire off in my brain producing cloudy and welcome reminisces of years gone by and my generation swallowed by the onslaught of time and change.