Janus Films and the Criterion Collection have released two classic short films for children from French filmmaker Albert Lamorisse: White Mane (1952), and The Red Balloon (1956). Each is mostly silent, with only the odd line or two of dialogue. In essence, both are extended chase sequences that deserve to be taught in film school.
I vaguely recall seeing The Red Balloon in elementary school, as an ancient film print running through our rattling projector. As the little boy Pascal (Pascal Lamorisse) makes his way to school through a depressingly grey Paris, he frees a stray balloon (the reddest red you’ll ever see on film) tangled on a lamppost. The balloon becomes his faithful and playful pet, but causes him nothing but grief. He is kicked off the bus, made late for school, gets in trouble with maman, and provokes a gang of ruffians in short pants. Still, throughout, the boy remains the faithful defender of his adopted friend, and is ultimately rewarded after suffering tragedy.
Le ballon rouge (The Red Balloon)
White Mane is the story of a proud, wild horse sought after by cruel ranchers. Only Folco (Alain Emery), a poor young fisherman, treats the horse with the due respect in order to be able to approach and eventually ride him. The two become equals, as opposed to master and pet. Shockingly, their tale ends in an apparent suicide, as Folco and the horse both chose the freedom of death over living under oppression (poverty for Folco, captivity for the horse).
Le cheval sauvage (White Mane)
Together, the two films present the following morals: adults are cruel and unfair, intent on stamping out pleasure and freedom, and animals and inanimate objects make better friends than humans. Both feature heartbreaking tragedies that would almost certainly never figure into contemporary children’s films.
Lest the brevity of this post indicate otherwise, The Sweet Hereafter is one of my favorite films. Although I’ve read the original novel by Russell Banks and seen Atom Egoyan’s film several times, I feel ill-equipped to “review” it. It is quietly heartbreaking and devastating, and difficult to capture in words.
Robert Browning’s tale The Pied Piper of Hamelin runs through the film as a metaphor. A tragedy of the worst kind imaginable, the death of an entire generation of a small Canadian town’s children, reveals that everybody, everybody, has demons.
Lawyer Mitchell Stevens (Ian Holm) descends upon the town, claiming to be able to help the surviving families avenge their children’s deaths. His zeal convinces many of families to join a lawsuit, but his true attraction to this particular case is complex and personal, and it becomes clear he is possibly an even more tortured soul than any of his clients. His crusade only further pulls back the veil on the town’s deepest secrets, and it falls to the young survivor Nicole (Sarah Polley) to put an end to it all.
One excellent scene that demonstrates the high level of filmmaking at work: when we finally see a flashback of the accident in question, parent Billy (Bruce Greenwood) watches in shock as an overturned school bus carrying his two children skids slowly to a stop atop a frozen lake, pauses for a heartbeat, then begins to crack through. The whole thing is filmed from a locked-down vantage point, at a distance, with muted sound design. Every element of the sequence shows astonishing restraint.
In order to catch up on the overwhelming backlog of movies I intend to cover here on this blog, this blogger is forced to cover Raiders of the Lost Ark with only a few disconnected observations:
The 2008 DVD reissues of the classic Indiana Jones trilogy have terribly designed menus; it looks like everything’s been overprocessed with Photoshop’s “Dust and Scratches” filter.
The zippy, witty screenplay is by Laurence Kasdan, known to genre geeks as the beloved writer of the best Star Wars script, now and forever: The Empire Strikes Back.
Indy ponders the ethics of looting
Hey, it’s that guy! A young Alfred Molina briefly appears in his first film role. In the DVD bonus features, he recounts an amusing tale involving his lack of difficulty in evoking fear in his performance as a batch of real tarantulas scrambled across his face.
Does the Indiana Jones franchise really give the field of archaeology a good name? Indy is motivated by money; he loots relics without the permission of indigenous peoples, and sells them to a museum associated with the university where he teaches. It’s implied his job or tenure – and that of his boss Marcus – depend on it.
Karen Allen is really winning as the hard-drinkin’ Marion, and it’s a pity she never became a bigger star, or at least appeared in the second and third installments. She was robbed!
Karen Allen, when she learned she wasn’t being called back for the sequels
I think I had the official coloring book as a kid, and I recall being fascinated by the concept of lost cities buried under sand.
For better or for worse, the practical details of the phantasmagoric climax are left unexplained: why is the Ark empty, why does it make bad guys’ heads explode and/or melt, why does it matter if your eyes are open or not, and how does Indy know all this information?
There’s lotsa drinking, gunplay, gore, and German profanity – in other words, all the stuff kids love! They don’t make PG movies like this anymore.
Kids, the moral of the story is: anyone with a non-American accent is not to be trusted.
This blogger has been a big fan of the bespectacled, water-obsessed Laura Veirs ever since first discovering her infectious song “Galaxies” on the late & lamented MP3 blog Salon Audiofile in 2005. Why it was not a huge hit, featured in iPod and car commercials, or soundtracking the denouements of The O.C. or Gray’s Anatomy, I’ll never understand. Still, she’s evidently doing well for herself, for I’ve now seen her live three times in New York City, and each time she’s graduated to a larger venue.
This is the first time I’ve seen her perform solo, without her band The Saltbreakers (whom she lovingly refers to as The Bearded Men). Like seemingly every other singer/songwriter these days, she employs live looping technology (pioneered by Joseph Arthur and popularized by K.T. Tunstall) to become a one-woman band, accompanying herself with looped beats and bass lines all generated on a single acoustic guitar. The mood was great and she was well-received, and she later ranked New York City as the best audience of the tour on her MySpace blog.
I always find it interesting to ponder my preconceived notions of a movie after I’ve actually seen it. The marketing and buzz on I’m Not There mostly centered on two talking points: the quirky device of multiple actors all playing incarnations of Bob Dylan, and Cate Blanchett being just plain amazing as usual (what else is new?). The first point is what gave me pause: how much sense would this film make to someone who is not a Dylan fan and scholar?
All I really know about Dylan comes from the Martin Scorsese documentary No Direction Home, and even that paints a sketchy picture of the man. Dylan has been an enigma throughout his long history in the public eye, often speaking in riddles, and (at least in his early years) inventing a fictional backstory. The press and even his own paying audiences were often openly antagonistic, so it’s no wonder he was so famously combative and evasive. Prefiguring the modern-day chameleons David Bowie and Madonna, Dylan presented a series of personas: American roots folkie, political agitator, rock ‘n’ roller, born-again Christian, Hollywood actor, and so on. The question being: how much of this evolution was sincere growth and change, and how much was performance art? Who is “Bob Dylan”?
An Oscar nomination’s a-gonna fall
Director and co-screenwriter Todd Haynes, having already deconstructed David Bowie in Velvet Goldmine, tackles the many aspects of Dylan perhaps the only way possible: fracture his key facets into multiple characters. As with the Bowie analogue Brian Slade in Velvet Goldmine, none of the Dylan figures are actually named Dylan, but then again neither is Dylan himself, whose actual surname is Zimmerman. Christian Bale plays Jack Rollins, interpreting Dylan’s Christian period, and Richard Gere plays Billy the Kid, a pretty literal interpretation of Dylan’s years in the wilderness after his fame peaked for the first time. Adding an extra layer of postmodern complexity, the late Heath Ledger plays Robbie Clark, a film actor famous for playing one of the fictional Dylans in a biopic. And of course, Cate Blanchett is amazing. As Jude Quinn, a reluctant celebrity fending off the attacks of the press, she triumphs by avoiding mere impression. Sure, she’s wearing a fright wig and shades, but her expressions and body language capture Dylan’s paradoxically wordy elusiveness.
The result is part faux documentary, part fiction, but provides a truer overall picture of Dylan’s complicated character than a mere biopic ever could. Perhaps at some point after his death (may that be a long time from now), we will see a conventional musical biopic made of his life story (a la Bird, Ray, or Walk the Line), but I certainly hope critics and audiences will remember I’m Not There.
Hey mr. guitar man
The DVD edition is the only I can think of that incorporates long on-screen text introductions (more than one, in fact). Does this reflect a lack of confidence on the part of the filmmakers or distributors in the home viewers being able to comprehend the film, or is it more in the vein of the scholarly introductions that preface Penguin Classics volumes? Either way, it only reinforces the impression that you have to be a Dylan scholar to appreciate the film (which, incidentally, turned out to not be the case).
And finally, I detected a few references to director Richard Lester: Robbie Clark (Ledger) walks through the set of the 1968 film Petulia, during an early scene in which women in neck braces leave a freight elevator before a party to promote highway safety (attended by the likes of George C. Scott, Julie Christie, and the Grateful Dead, so it’s not at all unlikely Dylan could have been there too). But even better is the best Beatles tribute I’ve ever seen: the Fab Four breeze through as the epitome of carefree fun, literally speaking and moving in fast-motion. They tempt Jude Quinn’s (Blanchett) desire to escape, until they are chased away by A Hard Day’s Night‘s screaming sycophants.
Julian Schnabel is an artist-turned-filmmaker, evidently preoccupied with the lives of other artists and writers: Jean-Michel Basquiat in Basquiat, Reinaldo Arenas in Before Night Falls, and now Jean-Dominique Bauby in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.
Several years ago, this blogger designed Fine Line Features’ official website for Before Night Falls. But frankly, I had trouble working up the enthusiasm to watch a biopic (absolutely not one of my favorite genres) about a tetraplegic. But please do not be dissuaded by the admittedly depressing subject matter. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is utterly beautiful in every way, and moved this hardened movie blogger nearly to tears in the end.
Mathieu Amalric (who resembles a more symmetrical Thom Yorke) plays the real-life Bauby, a fashion magazine editor who suffers a stroke. He survives with “locked-in syndrome,” the proverbial fate worse than death: near-total physical paralysis but with full mental faculties intact. In the true spirit of a French film, Bauby is surrounded by beautiful women. No less than Emanuelle Seigner plays Celine, the estranged mother of his children. In a moment of bittersweet humor, the despondent post-stroke Bauby is partially consoled when he first meets his two utterly gorgeous physical and speech therapists (Marie-Josée Croze and Anne Consigny).
According to the DVD bonus features, screenwriter Ronald Harwood conceived of the powerful visual device of using the camera as Bauby’s point of view, simulating his sole means of communication: blinking. He is, blessedly, able to move one eye, and painstakingly dictates his autobiography letter by letter.
The soundtrack is excellent, including Tom Waits, Joe Strummer (a really great song, new to me, called “Ramshackle Day Parade”), and the best possible use of U2’s “Ultraviolet.”
Helvetica (the documentary film) is not about Helvetica (the typeface), per se. Rather, it’s about the arts of graphic design and typography, their practitioners, and how they affect our daily lives.
Each luminary talking head has a different explanation of Helvetica’s appeal and longevity: neutrality, legibility, perfection (unlike more ornate typefaces, it is arguably comprised of the purest state of letterforms and can’t be improved), cleansing renewal (transitioning the tacky design of the 1950s to the bold and to-the-point 60s), problem-solving, soothingness, and just plain beauty.
Its detractors see its ubiquity as self-perpetuating, due to designers’ momentum, habit, and bad taste. The enthusiasm of the enthusiasts is infectious, but the movie doesn’t mock them or hold them up as objects of curiosity culled from a nerdy subculture (as does, arguably, The King of Kong).
Thankfully for its subject matter of graphic design, director Gary Hustwit presents a highly polished work full of excellent typography, motion graphics, and editing. This blogger bemoans the tendency of many documentaries (like Spellbound and Wordplay) to use their non-fiction badge as a press pass to excuse grain, sloppy framing, and poor sound.
We’d be lost without Helvetica… literally
I am a mostly self-educated web designer, not properly trained in the art and/or craft of graphic design. But I know enough to applaud the film for touching upon two of the biggest aspects of typography that every layperson should internalize:
Know your terms: Typefaces are designs. Fonts are particular implementations of those designs. There are multiple fonts based on the typeface Helvetica.
Arial is a poor Helvetica knock-off commissioned by Microsoft to side-step the expensive licensing fees. It is an abomination, a blight upon this planet earth, and should be summarily deleted from humanity’s hard drives. (q.v. The Scourge of Arial)
Finally, I must note a major disappointment: I rented Helvetica from Netflix, and the disc arrived emblazoned with a “Red Envelope Entertainment” label. Bizarrely, there were no signs of the extensive bonus features promised on the movie’s official website. Has Netflix begun releasing “not-so-special” editions of DVDs omitting the bonus features available on retail editions? I, long relying on Netflix to help keep my DVD shelves from groaning into a black hole of overconsumption, stamp my feet in frustration.
The Musical Box is a Canadian group that stages elaborate recreations of entire concerts given by the English progressive rock band Genesis in the early 1970s. They perform closely-observed note-for-note cover versions of the original songs, in the original set list order, with full recreations of the set design, props, costumes, vintage instruments, and even the mannerisms of the original Genesis. So while it is technically true that they are essentially a cover band, how many of those tour the world several times over and land gigs at significant venues like The Highline Ballroom? It speaks to both the integrity of the original Genesis music and to The Musical Box’s own skills that they are not a mere tribute band gigging through bars and frat houses.
At the Highline Ballroom, The Musical Box performed Genesis’ famed “Black Show,” originally in support of the 1973 album Selling England By the Pound, and widely bootlegged as the “Rainbow Show”. Genesis’ typical “White Show” was more elaborately staged, but due to venue requirements and the troubles of shipping their gear internationally, they would sometimes play the stripped-down Black Show, so known for its low stage lighting and simple black backdrop. The Musical Box’s performance had amazing sound fidelity, and was one of the best-sounding live concerts I’ve ever heard. No doubt the actual Genesis (many of whom have seen The Musical Box live and have even sat in with them on occasion) wish they had such modern audio technology at their disposal in the early 1970s.
The members of The Musical Box are as much actors as they are crack musicians. Fittingly, Peter Gabriel himself was mostly acting onstage; the famously shy young man masked his discomfort with an outlandish stage persona full of costumes, masks, and mime. Denis Gagné is older than the stringbean-thin Gabriel at the time, but does an extraordinary job of capturing his vocals and stage presence, right down to the hilariously filthy stories Gabriel would tell between songs to entertain the audience as the rest of the band retuned their instruments.
The only performer not in ’70s bell-bottom costume was Gregg Bendian as “Phil Collins.” He was, however, paradoxically one of the most authentic performers, recreating Collins’ unmistakably muscular and enthusiastic drumming. After becoming famous as a television actor and cheesy pop superstar in the ’80s, and Disney balladeer in the ’90s, it’s easy to forget that Collins is first and foremost one of rock’s best drummers.
The rest of Genesis was very serious and reserved, and relied on Gabriel to engage the audience as they played. François Gagnon enlivens the bearded, serious Steve Hackett’s guitar embellishments (not one of Genesis’ core songwriters, Hackett was however a brilliant guitarist and one of the inventors of the two-handed tapping technique). Sébastien Lamothe straps on a genuine double-necked Rickenbocker to play Mike Rutherford, with the dedication to verisimilitude to grow a full beard and flowing locks. David Myers plays Tony Banks, the stoic and unsmiling anchor on stage right, but sadly relies on modern synthesizers (nothing compares to the raw sound of an actual Mellotron).
And finally, a cheap shot: the audience was far from the usual sort seen at New York City venues. A noticeably older set, with a very strong dork flavor (with shirts tucked in over pot bellies), but there was a surprising number of women (not traditionally an audience for progressive rock).
A few notes on the songs:
Cinema Show – it’s difficult to fully appreciate the very long (approx. 5 minutes!) instrumental power trio sequence featuring Collins, Banks, Rutherford until you witness it live. Wow! Genesis was a lot “heavier” than I ever realized from simply listening to the albums.
Firth of Fifth – Hackett’s hair-raising melody line must be one of the best guitar moments in rock, ever, and no doubt Lamothe relishes playing it live.
The Musical Box – the coda sequence (during which Gabriel famously wore a grotesque “old man” mask) drove the crowd bananas. Clearly the band is aware of the song’s power, for they took their name from it.
The Battle of Epping Forest is the rare classic Genesis song that I haven’t already memorized over the years. Gabriel affected lots of character voices in the original, and thus this is perhaps the one point when Gagné’s impersonation fails him.
Supper’s Ready – had The Musical Box not already provided a premature climax to the show, the closing “Apocalypse” sequence to Supper’s Ready would have been it.
The Knife (encore) – why aren’t Genesis credited more often for recording one of the earliest hard rock songs? The Knife is so dark, loud, and aggressive, it could possibly even be called metal.
Martin Scorsese works almost constantly, even keeping busy with documentaries between each higher-profile feature film. But the frequency of his fiction films is far enough apart for them to remain much more hotly anticipated, and every year that went by with him being passed over by the Academy Awards only more firmly established his status as a Great American Director.
Despite finally being the occasion of his long-overdue recognition by the Academy, The Departed probably won’t be ranked among his more idiosyncratic and personal films like Mean Streets, Raging Bull, and Goodfellas (not to mention his still-underappreciated films about religious faith: The Last Temptation of Christ and Kundun). The Departed is a remake of the 2002 Chinese thriller Infernal Affairs, and thus should actually be categorized alongside Scorsese’s other star-studded remake, Cape Fear. Both are undoubtedly stamped with Scorsese’s auteur touch, but still not among his most distinctively personal work.
So, Jack, what was Polanski really like?
Seeing the film for the second time, this time on the small screen, this blogger is struck by the extremely high energy and pace. Like Michael Mann’s Heat (itself an influence on Infernal Affairs), the story concerns the parallel narratives of a cop — or should I say “cwawp” — (Leonardo DiCaprio as Billy Costigan) and a criminal (Matt Damon as Colin Sullivan). But unlike Mann’s stately pacing, Scorsese keeps every scene remarkably short and frantically cross-cuts between the dual narratives. Were Marty and editor Thelma Schoonmaker chugging espressos in the editing suite?
So, Jack, what was Antonioni really like?
One aspect of the plot I still don’t fully understand: what exactly does crime boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) offer Colin to ensure such undying loyalty? It doesn’t seem enough that Frank provided minor charity to Colin’s struggling family in his youth. What does Colin really owe him?
Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is a powerful, electric return to form for the 83 year-old Sidney Lumet, director of such canonical classics as 12 Angry Men, Serpico, Network, and, uh, The Wiz?
Kelly Masterson’s screenplay tells the high-tension tale of a pair of wholly doomed brothers as a non-linear narrative from multiple points of view. Each jump in time and POV is accompanied by a thrilling editing technique I haven’t seen anywhere else but Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider: the current and subsequent scene ricochet back and forth in increasing speed until we’re hurtled through time into another fragment of the narrative.
A masterclass in blocking from Sidney Lumet
The movie is full of examples of a fine director knowing how to use the form to the story’s advantage. For one example of how the composition of a shot reflects the subtext of the scene, note how that whenever Andy (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Hank (Ethan Hawk) plot their scheme in the bar, Andy physically looms over Hank and dominates the frame with his bulk.
The acting is great all around, including a devastating turn from Albert Finney as a bitterly disappointed father, and Marisa Tomei as a woman who cast her lot with two of the worst prospects on the planet. And in case you think Hawke and Hoffman are miscast as siblings, well… just watch.
