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DaLlama
Reviews
Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)
No equal
How often do you watch a film that, when you hack past the glitz and all the symptoms of Hollywood-Syndrome, is a flat-out masterpiece? Not just a great film, but a flawless one, one that moves far beyond 'I wouldn't change a thing' to one you gape in awe over, countless times over countless viewings, because you cannot comprehend how it could be so perfect. I don't usually gush like this. I admire, praise, vociferously shake my fist and rant, but never...gush. I am gushing now.
Whether it's interpreted as oedipal suckling or sexual gratification, I love the kindergarten-scrawled credits juxtaposed over the imagery of the mid-air refueling (the transfer of essence?), suggesting the ubiquitous role of sex throughout our lives. From there, the film unfolds brilliantly, playing Who's-In-Charge-Of-National-Defense? to the double standard of the water-as-semen euphemism (Ripper's strategy to stop the communist plot is avoiding ejaculation while Strangelove's solution to the impending nuclear disaster is to ejaculate at will to replenish the human race.). But that's its true beauty: Dr. Strangelove works on so many levels. If you're hard-bent on the sexual angle, the whole film can be as Freudian or Masters and Johnson as you want, from the more obvious touches (General TURGIDson, and nearly every other name) to the subtle (The homosexual undertones of "You with the old gun and me with the belt and the ammo, feeding you Jack. Feed me you said, and I was feeding you, Jack."). But it could be about the ludicrousness of the arms race or the ludicrousness of the armed forces or the ludicrousness of the most powerful men in the world. It could be about the biting irony of the quest to promote peace by the threat of war (so appropriately summed up by, "You can't fight in here, this is the war room!"). It's about all of that, and then some. Winning the Triple Crown of accents by Peter Sellers; George C. Scott and the tantric Sterling Hayden; the meticulous attention to detail (Hey, if the special effects aren't there to convincingly depict a flying B-52 from the outside, the next best thing is to show it from the inside (and, of course, to further emphasize all the useless "safety" measures the Air Force employs to avoid dropping the bomb by mistake.).).
There are few films as completely satisfying as this, especially after repeated viewings. Kubrick's very best...and that's saying a lot.
American Pie (1999)
I just don't know...
Why is it so hard to really say why American Pie just didn't do it for me? My expectations, perhaps? Of course, like any movie you have a feel for what you hope to _get_ out of the movie right before the lights dim...I was expecting something outrageous and over-the-top, especially because I had the Unrated DVD starting to spin. I mean, this cut couldn't even land an 'R' rating. South Park did (although certain MPAA members came out later "regretting" their decision to shy away from the dreaded NC-17), so I was expecting something on par. Truth is, American Pie bogied, if not three-putted. It had a throw away message (sort of like South Park, but less campy and almost taken seriously, a definite negative) about the virtues of beating down peer pressure. It had forgettable characters and a weak script. But that's hardly why I was excited to see it...I wanted pure, unadulterated, NC-17 teetering outrageousness...and I didn't get that.
The mutilated pie was funny. And I never really thought about how useful a flute might be...but that was about it...all the gags seemed so...forced. I couldn't tell if I was supposed to take the movie seriously or not, and that's its inherent flaw. If you're going for the push-the-envelope gusto, by all means strap on the booster rockets and GO (which, by the way, was a far better movie chronicling the outrageousness of teen angst.). Jim and the gang were so...serious, and even if that was the intent, it wasn't very amusing as it unfolded. For example, as Jim consistently struck out with a man on first, I really didn't care...it didn't HURT, hit the brotherly sympathy nerve, like the answering machine scene in Swingers. All the characters were positively dull and terribly zero-dimensional.
I don't mean to analyze this movie to death although I probably just did, which makes me something of a hypocrite. The bottom line is that it's supposed to transcend critical review and just be damn funny, no more and no less. But it wasn't and that's what made me wonder, Why?
Gods and Monsters (1998)
Humans and Humans
Truth be told, it's not easy to write a film review as disconnected as I am from the underlying inspirations and principals of the movie in tow: Gods and Monsters. I knew little about James Whale and the Frankenstein franchise, possessed virtually zilch experience with Bill Condon (aside from the trivial baggage that his previous _and first_ feature film was the Direct-To-Oblivion sequel to the Scariest-Movie-Of-All-Time-When-I-Was-Fourteen, Candyman.), and unceremoniously avoided anything to do with Brendan Fraser. So, there's not much I can say about historical accuracy, era juxtapositions, or tour-de-force performances. All I know comes from the ninety-eight or so minutes I had with the film.
Which were pretty splendid, to say the least. What more, I was pleased by how little the film seemed to hit me over the head. Not with a lengthy diatribe over the political progressions of societal acceptance of diverse sexual orientations, not with any sort of disgusted expose of Hollywood's miscreants. Instead, I found a minimal but simplistically acceptable plot moved along by wonderful acting, vivid portrayals of what it's really like, beneath the typical distractions, gimmicks, and veils, to be a human being. Ian McKellan astounded me. Fact or fiction, he wasn't necessarily James Whale, but a complicated, reserved, and often misunderstood director who found a glimmer of intrigue and desire for his new gardener, Clayton Boone, played impeccably by Brendan Fraser. From their initial meeting with Whale indulging in staring at Boone hard-driving an edger, I was struck by a remarkable sense of kinship between the two, which only got better as the film unfolded. And, with Hanna--the third vertice of the bizarre love triangle--the edgy buffer between the men, I felt incredibly comfortable just watching three very different people open up to each other and to me. The irony of the title, Gods and Monsters, is that whether someone or something is considered a 'God' or 'Monster' is largely due to perception...human perception. We invent our gods and our monsters daily, and they are usually people we know, love, hate, or admire. I spent a very good ninety-eight minutes, mostly from being in the company of those three fellow humans.
Toy Story 2 (1999)
Bravo
Maybe I'm permanently deluded, but I'm not nearly close to full-brimming from the delight I get from the brilliant mind of John Lasseter and the can-you-top-this crew at Pixar. I went into seeing Toy Story 2 with reserved anticipation, a little uncertain how my eyes would respond to TI's fully digital film-less film projection, and, admittedly, slightly besmirched from the plot-spoiler-laden trailers I was unfortunate enough to see during the last few months. Woody's lost, the gang is sent to rescue him, resplendent with fleeting yet chronological shots of all the major venues of action along the way (the busy street, the toy store, the elevator shaft, etc.). Didn't I already know how the plot would unfold? I mean, this wasn't like reading a Peanuts strip before seeing Citizen Kane (which, I admit, happened to me), but it was damned near close. At the end, the trailer DID reveal quite a bit, probably more than I would have preferred to know. But I didn't care. And that, to me, is the true beauty of this movie.
It's not just the toy gags, the deliberate pot-shots at other films, or the lavishly gorgeous animation and fluidity of character detail and movement, but how everything comes together so tidily and so satisfyingly so. Plus, you could do far worse than the well-cast, and well-meshed voices in giving a pulse and quirky facial english to the beautifully rendered toys. I laughed out loud...many times in fact.
If the first Toy Story sent a message on the importance of friendship, the sequel takes it one step further, exploring our complicated and often tenuous perception on the people and things we love as we grow up. As we mature, we often abandon and discard objects (clearly, the toys are symbols for real people) or friends for inexplicable and often petty reasons. The underlying message: relationships change, people change, but as much as it's important to think hard about who and what you hold dear, sometimes you have to let others go, based on their choices instead of your own. Where I have been reveling in irreverence and maniacally original visions for the past few months, Toy Story 2 was a wonderfully entertaining way to reacquaint me with the cliche of tried-and-true.
Joan of Arc (1999)
Nice try Luc, but...
I had a tough time with this film. Admittedly, my expectation levels were high based on Besson's previous work, a clear source of bias indeed. A few plusses first: visually stunning, great camera angles and placements that seem to bring out the details of the characters' movements and physical idiosyncracies. Excellent 'raw' battle scenes, great attention to costumes and the weaponry (armor too) of the era. However, despite outstanding performances by John Malkovich and Dustin Hoffman, Milla's constant grating on-screen paroxysms were distracting from the pace and true meaning of this so-called epic. I can see where Besson was going, delving into the secular and religious dichotomy within the state...however, casting Milla as the "messenger" representing both faith and conceit, well...goes awry rather quickly. It's difficult to give the character of Joan any credibility when Milla's performance was so lacking...if that was Besson's intent, well, so be it. I was squirming during the last half hour, praying the film would just end. True epics aren't disjointed or forced. Unfortunately, _The Messenger_ was both, and glaringly so.