manhattan

Manhattan
d. Woody Allen, 1979

Manhattan has always been my favorite Woody Allen movie. Most people would, I believe, go for his earlier Annie Hall, which is arguably funnier and more accesible (it even won the Oscar for Best Picture). However, Manhattan shows Allen at the height of his power, his direction is obviously in top form here, the black-and-white compositions are just as good as those by his European heros Federico Fellini and Ingmar Bergman. Manhattan's script, though not as consistently funny as Annie Hall's, is a very dense work. And, finally, Allen's acting is also the best he's ever done, the final scene alone has been copied countless of times, and it's never better than it is here.

Allen plays Isaac, a writer who is dating Tracy (Mariel Hemingway), a 17-year old high school student. In an early scene, Isaac talks to his friend Yale (Michael Murphy) about how he wants to break up with her. In fact, he spends most of his time with her trying to get out of the relationship. And, as is to be expected, he regrets it once it finally happens. Meanwhile, Yale is having an affair with Mary (the unforgettable Diane Keaton), and is also trying to break it off with her. He even goes as far as trying to set her and Isaac up, without realizing that he may still love her.

As with all of Allen's films, there is an undercurrent about the way morality fits in the contemporary world. In an early scene in Manhattan, Isaac quits his job writing for a comedy TV show because he finds it unsatisfying and an utter waste of his talent. Afterwards, he finds himself worrying over how he will get by without his income.

All of these different threads come together effortlessly into one of the key American works of the 1970s. As an examination on relationships in the modern world, Manhattan is as poignant, and far more entertaining, than the best of Antonioni. That it is beautiful to look at and has George Gershwin's music is just the icing on the cake.

last days

Last Days
d. Gus Van Sant, 2005

As a fan of both Gerry and Elephant, I had some pretty big expectations for Gus Van Sant's Last Days. And though I found plenty to admire in the film (particularly Harris Savide's photography), I felt I was also kind of let down. On one hand, the images are not as striking as they were in Gerry, and the time-lapse shots are not as exquisitely composed as they were in Elephant; on the other, Last Days is supposed to be setting its own aesthetic boundaries and perhaps I shouldn't be comparing it so harshly to those previous films, but it's rather hard not to when a lot of all of the three films is structured in the same way.

As you may or may not know, Last Days is/isn't a portrayal of the last days (though no time is actually pointed out) of Nirvana lead singer Kurt Cobain. Not being much of a Nirvana fan myself, I had no problems with the movie regarding an inaccurate portrayal of Cobain, because it's Van Sant's movie and he should be able to do whatever he wants with these characters. With that said, maybe Van Sant himself did not take this into consideration, because he does seem to be holding back and playing it safe by and large. This is most evident when one compares his treatment of Blake, the protagonist of this film, and that of the Gerrys.

Though I'm sure there aren't many people who will find Last Days particularly engaging (I was the only one at the theatre when I saw it), for someone who is used to this kind of rigorous filmmaking, I would strongly recommend it. The sound design is quite striking, the aforementioned fullscreen cinematography of Savides was breathtaking to see in theatres, and Van Sant gives us a couple of blatant Michael Snow and Chantal Akerman, which I found interesting if a little too obvious (particularly the shot of Blake pouring cereal, a la Jeanne Dielman).

Some scenes in Last Days actually achieve the hypnotic effect Van Sant wanted present through the entire film, most notably Michael Pitt's acoustic performance of "From Death to Birth," and the back to back playing of the Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs," in which some of Blake's band members sing along with the part everyone sings along to when listening to the song, "I am tired, I am weary..."

punch-drunk love

Punch-Drunk Love
d. Paul Thomas Anderson, 2002

Paul Thomas Anderson's Punch-Drunk Love would be my own choice for the best and most inexhaustible film of the last 6 years. Interestingly enough, one of the only films made since the 90s that would rival it is Anderson's other masterpiece, 1999's Magnolia.

Part of what makes Punch-Drunk Love so great is how indescribable it is. One could choose to label it as a romantic comedy, but that would certainly not communicate the magical (almost musical) way in which Anderson's sequences develop. Instead, I would call it a mixture of the physical comedy of Jacques Tati, the vibrant colors of Jacques Demy, plus Anderson's own razor's edge humor.

Not that plot descriptions are important in a case like this, but the film is about Barry (Adam Sandler in easily the best thing he's ever done), an anti-social 30 something who works at some kind of strange warehouse that apparently manufactures novelty plungers. He has seven sisters who constantly harrass him and don't take him seriously; in a magnificent early scene that takes place at a dinner party, Barry breaks down and smashes her sister's windows.

As the film opens (with no credits), Barry finds a harmonium outside of his workplace and brings it into his office. This, perhaps more than anything in the film, is the symbol for the volatile emotions explained in the title. These arise out of his encounter with a strange lady named Lena (Emily Watson), who comes to drop off her car in the warehouse next to Barry's. Through a series of strange circumstances, they start going out and other things (that I won't give away) happen, culminating in a brilliant final shot that has yet to lose its power after many viewings.

Though Punch-Drunk Love's plot is always engaging and fascinating, perhaps the most astonishing aspect of the film is its visual style. Anderson's use of color, as well as interludes of Jeremy Blake's artwork, is quite intriguing. The three major colors used are red, white, and blue. I could go into details about what these colors mean to the story and their effect on the viewer, but it's better to let each viewer figure these out.

In short, Robert Elswit's cinematography, Jon Brion's amazing music, and Anderson's unparalleled compositions and brilliant script make Punch-Drunk Love cinematic entertainment at its very finest.

barry lyndon

Barry Lyndon
d. Stanley Kubrick, 1975

There's never been a film quite like Barry Lyndon. Sure, there's been plenty of period pieces, but none come close to achieving the kind of profound artistry found in Kubrick's film. It's easily one of the most beautiful color films ever made; the images are so striking that part of me doesn't really care whether it's a masterpiece on any other terms. However, Barry Lyndon is also an amazing achievement in storytelling and is as engaging as any film I've seen.

The story takes place in the late 1700s, it begins in Ireland with a young man, Redmond Barry (Ryan O'Neil), spending some time with the cousin he has fallen in love with. The voice-over narration brings us right into this narrative; a world that is as foreign as the one in Kubrick's last picture, the disappointing Clockwork Orange.

Barry is so taken with his cousin Nora, that he is willing to duel a Brittish officer who plans to marry her. He ends up killing him, and must flee to Dublin before the police come after him. Barry's voyage gets off to a rough start when he is stopped by a father and son team of criminals, who take his horse and all of his other possesions (being the gentlemen they are, however, he is allowed to keep his boots). With no money left, Barry is forced to join the army, which he subsequently abandons by disguising himself as a Brittish officer with important news to deliver somewhere far away.

A couple of Prussian soldiers call Barry out on his lie, and at this point he enlists in the Prussian army. After two years of fighting for them, the General trusts him enough to send him out on a very important mission. He is to spy on a fellow Irishman who is posing as a French aristocrat, and figure out whether the Chevalier de Balibari is a spy. As it turns out, Barry breaks down in front of his contryman and begins giving false reports to the Prussian.

The first part of the film (titled "By What Means Redmond Barry Aquired the Style and Title of Barry Lyndon") concludes with Barry and the Chevalier becoming prosporous gamblers who now live the good life. Barry spots Lady Lyndon in a garden, she is married to Sir Charles Lyndon, an old dying man. Upon his death, Barry marries Lady Lyndon - therefore aquiring the style and title of Barry Lyndon - and moves into her state, already housing Lady Lyndon's first son, Lord Bullingdon, who despises Barry.

The second part ("Containing an Account of the Misfortunes and Disasters Which Befell Barry Lyndon") is in my opinion the better of the two. This, I think, is mostly due to my own personal preferences. The first part has a lot of scenes dealing with wars and armies, while the second, more lavish part, is set mostly in and around the Lyndon estate as Barry's misfortunes fall upon him.

That the film ends sadly comes as no surprise, and Kubrick bravely eliminates all suspense from his story (with the exception of the final fantastic duel between Barry and Bullingdon) by both giving it away and through other subtler means, most notably the use of slow zoom-outs that distance the audience from the story - it is these zoom-outs that truly make Barry Lyndon a historical epic and such an amazing period piece.

Now that I've given away the entire story, it is important to talk about what truly makes the film such a breathtaking experience. First, John Alcott's color cinematography is, for my money, the best of any film. Every single frame of Barry Lyndon could stand as a fantastic photograph. Kubrick actually used paintings from the time to plan out some of his compositions, and the first time I saw the movie, I had to just kind of sit back dazzled by the lush colors and vibrant beauty. The indoor and night scenes may be even more amazing, special lenses developed by NASA had to be used for these scenes. Special lenses allowed Kubrick to shoot entire scenes lit by candlelight, giving it a beautiful kind of orange glow that I personally had never seen.

As an uncompromising artistic vision, Kubrick's Barry Lyndon is incomporable. It's exquisite, unbearable, and unforgettable.

rushmore

Rushmore
d. Wes Anderson, 1998

When I first saw Rushmore (after having already seen Anderson's later works The Royal Tenenbaums and The Life Aquatic), I felt it wasn't as effective as those other films, and that Anderson wasn't yet the great director of the later films. Subsequent viewings, however, have proven other. Rushmore is a heartfelt, hilarious, and subtly heartbreaking coming-of-age story, making it one of the essential film of the 1990s.

The film is about Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman in his first role), the kind of student who is too involved in founding clubs and writing plays to care about his school work. Early in the film, Bill Murray's character, millionare Blume, asks him for his secret for having everything figured out, "I guess you just have to find something you love doing, and do it for the rest of your life. I guess for me that's going to Rushmore," Fischer says. Soon after, though, he is expelled; not only for his bad grades, but for planning to build an aquarium on the baseball diamond.

By this time in the story, Max has "fallen in love" with a teacher at Rushmore, Rosemary (Olivia Williams). He tries to impress her by bringing up latin after she mentions that her thesis at Harvard was on Latin American politics; he also proceeds to petition to save latin, which gives way to a priceless line later in the film. As it turns out, Herman Blume also falls in love with Rosemary, leading to a rivalry between best friends. Eventually, both must learn to come to terms with themselves and their crazy obsession with Rosemary; and the final touching scene is nothing short of extraodinary.

Anderson's framing and compositions will be very familiar to anyone who's watched any of his work, as will be his wonderful selection of music for key scenes. More importantly, however, Rushmore shares the same palpable sense of melancholy that hovers over The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, and to a lesser extent Bottle Rocket.

Rushmore is a wonderfully beautiful film about growing up.

the night of the hunter

The Night of the Hunter
d. Charles Laughton

Charles Laughton's The Night of the Hunter would be my choice for the greatest fairy tale ever filmed. Though this may seem like a strange title for a film whose main character, preacher Harry Powell, goes around killing women and stealing money; not only that, but he's doing it all in the name of God, and he believes every word he says.

Powell, brilliant played by Robert Mitchum, ends up in prison at the beginning of the film for stealing a car. There, he meets Ben Harper, who recently murdered two people and stole $10,000. Only his two kids, John and Pearl, back home know that he hid it in Pearl's doll. The preacher manages to make Ben talk in his sleep, and finds out that he's got a widow and two kids. Soon after Ben's hanging, Powell drives down to the family's home and preceeds to meet the family, marry Willa Harper, murder Harper, and to try to get the secret out of the two kids.

Ben's kids, particularly John, prove to be stronger than their mother; they manage to escape from Powell through the use of an old raft they take down the river (in one of the best scenes in the film). John and Pearl find refuge in the home of a nice old lady, Rachel Cooper, who already takes care of about four kids that aren't her own. Now she has two more mouths to feed, as well as protect from the preacher, who has found where they live and is coming for the doll.

That's about all there is for the plot in The Night of the Hunter; but perhaps the film's greatest achievement is the visual style. As a complete departure from other American films of the 1950s, it resembles German expressionism more than anything else. The blatant use of studio sets for the outdoor scenes (most notably the river scene with its painted stars) convince the viewer that all of the horrible things that happen to these kids would not really happen in real life, hence the title of best fairy tale ever made (after all, there's a happy ending, I think). Technology has come a long way since 1955, and directors have figured out how much they can do with film, but I think there's not a more effective tool for horror stories - or any film for that matter - than shadowy black-and-white compositions like the ones in The Night of the Hunter.

Laughton's compositions are quite amazing here, and it would have been great to see where he was heading had he not only directed this one film. Stanley Cortez's cinematography is as close as movies have come to resembling a complete dreamscape (other examples I'm thinking of are Buñuel's films, Altman's 3 Women, Bergman's Persona, and the work of David Lynch). In short, The Night of the Hunter is one of the key films of the first century of cinema.

love me tonight

Love Me Tonight
d. Rouben Mamoulian, 1932

Original review here.

Additional notes on a second viewing: Still a fantastic musical that I suspect will never get old. The running time of 80-something minutes goes by amazingly fast, and the fact that the film is really funny and that all the songs are great really helps. Love Me Tonight contains some of my favorite moments of the movie musical, and it has not dated one bit after 74 years.