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À l'intérieur (2007)
Nothing Inside But Wasted Potential
I just don't get it. What is so great about this film? It's supposed to be representative of the so-called New French Extremity, which includes some truly original, ambitious films (Irreversible, Fat Girl, Base-Moi), so why does this unoriginal, unsurprising, uninteresting take on the home invasion subgenre get all the attention?
There were a few, admittedly, intriguing ideas (the lighter and the aerosol can was great), but most of them were squandered away. For instance, the idea of having a home invasion on Christmas Eve is intriguing, but did they do anything at all with it? Of course not.
Then there's the great idea of having the editor mistake the attacker as being Sarah's mother. Unfortunately, the movie takes this believable scenario and exaggerates it beyond believability by having Sarah open the bathroom door and accidentally stab her fully lit mother in the neck. I didn't buy it for a second.
Next, we have the intriguing idea of having victims who we thought were dead suddenly pop back up, now significantly disabled cognitively, but still attempting to defend themselves out of some sort of automatic fight-or-flight response. However, this idea gets way out of hand when one of the cops turns into a full-on monster, hissing and growling, with blood gushing from his eye sockets, as he aggressively batters Sarah's pregnant belly. So I guess he was possessed by a demon?
Then there's the cool idea of the attacker having lost a child, as an explanation for why she wants to steal Sarah's unborn baby. I even like the fact that Sarah is revealed to have been responsible for the woman's loss. But the fact that this is the very same woman from the car accident that killed Sarah's husband...it's just too unbelievable, right? Not to mention the fact that the attacker was pregnant as well. I mean, at least make her child be a newborn or something. It's just all too conveniently connected and neatly wrapped up.
Which brings me to my final complaint: the ending. Now, I like the idea of the main character dying, and it only makes sense that she dies from having her baby carved out of her womb: we knew that scene was coming at some point. So what is my issue with the ending, you ask? Well, for starters, they could've actually come up with one. This movie gets to the point which we all knew was coming, and then it just stops. It's not even enough to count as a slight nod to Rosemary's Baby, which I think it was maybe going for. It's just nothing. It's a movie without an ending. It gets right to the end, the chance for the directors to do something clever, or shocking, or interesting... and then it cuts to black and the credits roll. Another opportunity wasted.
The Bad Batch (2016)
For your own sake, I hope you can see this film for the masterpiece that it is.
Charles Bukowski once wrote, "Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must live." This is how I feel about the people who didn't appreciate this film. Not the monosyllabic morons decrying the film for wasting their precious time - like ants to a picnic, those types will always heap vitriol onto any art house film worth its salt. Rather, I mean the supposed cinephiles...those who think that when this movie loses them, it's because it took a wrong turn. Sorry to say, but for all their self-importance, there are those out there, like myself, who have discovered another way of approaching cinema - maybe we're crazy, but it includes recognizing the genius of this film.
It's easy to see why critics didn't like it. Unlike the director's last output, she doesn't couch her visual style in the time-honored techniques of serious cinema. I loved A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night, and in fact, the two films share a lot in common (fictional world of outsiders, injury to main character in the first act, furry critter ties everything together), but Amirpour was obviously working with a much smaller budget then and remained in the established realm of student art film. It worked masterfully, winning her awards and praise and the chance to direct a much bigger production. But rather than borrow once more from the pre-approved visual styles of Jim Jarmusch and David Lynch, Amirpour instead leans into her love of desert landscapes as she takes on the post-apocalyptic genre (Mad Max, A Boy and His Dog, Tank Girl).
And yet, the tone of the film is much the same - long cuts, gorgeous stylized shots, in-camera effects. In a word, the storytelling is extremely visual, in both films. But for some reason, this style is easier to swallow when it looks like you're making the most of a small budget. It especially works well when there are no recognizable faces, as people tend to expect a certain amount of dialogue or a certain style of acting or a certain length of screen time from celebrity actors. Much like McConaughey in The Beach Bum, casting Keanu Reeves, Jason Momoa, and Jim Carrey seem to have elicited the wrong expectations from its viewers. It definitely attracted too many viewers from the mainstream (accounting for the endless dribble about the slow pacing in a large number of the reviews), and for that reason the low score is to be expected. But those viewers ought to be aware - Fury Road isn't the only way to make a film about the desert. Hell, it's not even the only way to make a Mad Max film. The Road Warrior, for instance, had a much slower pace, and it is perhaps for this reason that so many cinephiles consider it to be the best of the series. Slow pacing and desert landscapes go together like peanut butter and milk. Lawrence of Arabia, anyone? Walkabout? Of course, I'm also a huge fan of Gus Van Sant's Gerry, which I imagine had a lot of cinephilic fanboys looking for the exit.
The problem boils down to this - the more cinema knowledge you have, the more difficult it can be to leave your preconceptions at the door. But as someone just as interested in finding new talent as in venerating the established veterans, I find this is a necessary precondition to enjoying the bold, original work of tomorrow's cinematic innovators. The Bad Batch is a genre movie, a western, and Amirpour knows this, employing various genre tropes, albeit in slightly new ways. She doesn't give us an obvious big bad, or a final showdown - she doesn't employ Mexican standoffs, or bounty hunters, or even gun fights. She does, however, give us a story of survivalism (both man vs. wild and man vs. man), cannibalism, kidnapping, drug addiction, forced labor, indentured service, exploitation, redemption, personal responsibility and trust, which, I don't know about you, but that sounds like a lot of juicy story content (I saw one reviewer actually list the events of the film in a similarly bulleted fashion, attempting to illustrate how empty the script was, but inadvertently listing several major themes with emotional weight and human interest). And honestly, the pacing isn't even that slow, especially when compared to films like 2001: A Space Odyssey or Solaris (outer space is, after all, a kind of desert). It's more likely that this film's detractors are reacting to the meandering plot. And it's true - the story is told in a way that makes it difficult to recall the details of the plot afterward, especially the chronology of events. It is, at times, surrealistic, even hallucinogenic. At other times the events of the film rely heavily on happenstance. Without each scene leading directly and obviously into the events of the next, it can sometimes feel like you, the viewer, are drifting through various unconnected episodes, unguided by an overarching plot. And perhaps that's true. But who said that's a bad thing? Actually, it seems like a very appropriate storytelling device, given the setting. But alas, it seems the success of Fury Road has monopolized audience expectations when it comes to films made in the desert. Don't look for that movie here. Rather, if you have any expectations at all, they should be based upon the director's debut, her revisionist approach to genre, and maybe the broader history of quirky desert films, such as A Boy and His Dog. And, for the love of God, leave behind any preconceived notions based upon the cast. They're actors, after all. They deserve a chance to show you something different.
The Birds (1963)
THE BIRDS - a theory
The Birds is one of my favorite films of all time. An iconic horror mystery, it is perhaps best remembered for its lack of an explicit explanation as to why the birds are attacking the humans. Of course, the film is about a lot of other things too, including but not limited to love, loss, jealousy, toxic masculinity, mental illness, fear of abandonment, and, perhaps most importantly, fear of intimacy. It tells the story of a man (Mitch) who doesn't want to be shackled by love. In describing the kind of lovebirds he wishes to purchase, he inadvertently describes the kind of woman he seeks: "not too demonstrative...(but) not too aloof." A hotshot lawyer and veritable playboy in the city of San Francisco during the week, Mitch also appears rather like a child at heart, spending his weekends with his mother and sister in Bodega Bay. His mother (Lydia) obviously knows more than she lets on, though we're not sure what about. Personally, I believe she's the key to unlocking the true meaning of this film. But more on that later.
After a highly entertaining introductory meet-cute, the movie really gets going when the woman (Melanie Daniels) tracks Mitch all the way from San Francisco to the sleepy little town of Bodega Bay. Interestingly enough, Mitch's mother, Lydia, seems more worried about what's going to happen next than she is threatened by her son's new fling. You see, Lydia has nothing against the women in her son's lives (Mitch's former lover, the schoolteacher, Annie Hayworth, mentions that she and Lydia are friends). Rather, Lydia knows that Melanie and Mitch are a proverbial powder keg, just like Annie and Mitch were, before Lydia drove Annie away. We know Lydia isn't protecting her own interests, or even her son's - she and Annie both at different times in the movie insist that the clingy mother interpretation is not the correct one. So what is it that worries her so? The answer has something to do with her late husband, Mitch's father. According to Lydia, Mitch's father was better at entering into Mitch's world. He was better able to control Mitch. In some scenes, Lydia almost seems afraid of Mitch, now that she no longer has her husband to facilitate - meaning Mitch is the threatening element, the dangerous ingredient in his relationships with women. We soon learn from his younger sister, Cathy, that Mitch makes a living defending wife killers - or "hoods", as she calls them. Could it be that he has become inspired by the men he represents in court? That would mean it's for Melanie's sake that Lydia is so afraid of Mitch and Melanie's burgeoning affair. She drove Annie away in order to save her, and now she must try to do the same with Melanie.
Only, Melanie is different. She seems able to surprise Mitch, so much that Mitch continues to change his mind about his true intentions toward her, constantly straying from his original plan. And just what was his original plan, you ask. Why, to kill her, of course. And why not? She's the perfect target. She's stuck-up, meddlesome, entitled, condescending, promiscuous, and most importantly, she wants to keep Mitch all to herself. In this way, she's like all the rest.
Still, there's something unique about her. On some level, Mitch knows she could be the one to drive a wedge between himself and his dear old mum, which in turn triggers many repressed urges: the desire to behave freely, the Oedipal desire to marry his mother, the desire to kill those who would stand in his way (could it be that Mitch killed his own father?). And like other Hitchcock killers before him, Mitch is guided by an inner voice. So Melanie Daniels must die, so saith the demon that lives inside Mitch's troubled mind.
But the real trouble comes whenever Melanie begins to challenge his preconceived notions about her. For one thing, he almost never brings his dalliances home to meet his mother. For him, the sleepy town of Bodega Bay is his escape, his refuge. Here he is the King of the Castle, husband to his mother, and father to his sister. If any one of his other city flings were to invade his quaint country paradise, the ugly demon would rear its ugly head for sure. But here is Melanie Daniels, potential dream wife, potential murder victim, who keeps throwing Mitch for a loop, getting him all confused about what he wants to do with her. Could this cognitive dissonance be the key to explaining the bizarre pattern of bird attacks which seem to have followed Melanie into Bodega Bay?
You see, contrary to some theories, I don't believe the birds are trying to seek vengeance against the humans (the ornithologist tells us they aren't intelligent enough - that they've never flocked together before). The only way something this coordinated could happen is if they were being controlled by an outside force. The town drunk seems to think it's the end of the world, although the radio reveals that only Bodega Bay and a few surrounding areas are being affected. So we know it has something to do with Melanie, but what? To answer that question we have to look at what events precede the attacks. The first attack was right after Melanie surreptitiously delivered the lovebirds, causing Mitch to feel genuine warm feelings toward her (very different from the cat and mouse game he played with her in the opening scene). The next incident follows Mitch's telephone apology for making Melanie mad. Once more, the demonstration of genuine concern is followed by a bird crashing into Annie's front door - a sort of messenger pigeon of doom. The next attack occurs at Cathy's birthday party. While Mitch and Melanie go for a private walk, Melanie reveals a more vulnerable side of herself and Mitch is once again caught off guard, touched even, and his plans to murder her once again become frustrated.
"Sure," you say, "But why would Mitch's ambivalence cause birds to suddenly take flight and attack Melanie?" Obviously something supernatural must be going on, since science cannot account for such behavior. And the most frequently adopted supernatural beliefs are those of organized religion. So perhaps the town drunk is right, after all. It isn't Armageddon, but perhaps it's Biblical in nature. And what's more Biblical than a good, old-fashioned demon possession?
The way I see it, Lydia knows about her son's violent potential not because she's seen him kill before, but because she knows what her husband knew: that their son is possessed by a demon - A demon who demands sacrifices, generally in the form of women. Hence his playboy lifestyle in swinging San Francisco. What Lydia doesn't know is that whenever Mitch represses his desire to kill, the demon living inside of him goes hungry, leading it to possess whatever dumb beast is nearby to do its bidding. First the gull, then the messenger pigeon, then the plague of birds descending upon Cathy's birthday party. They attack Melanie because she was the intended sacrifice, specifically targeted by Mitch, who we learn became aware of her reputation during a prior court hearing. By showing up on his doorstep, Melanie has put herself directly in harm's way.
Later, after the birds have attacked the town, one of the women accuses Melanie of being evil, causing Melanie to lash out in a moment of compulsory entitlement by b**ch slapping the woman. But the incident seems to have reminded Mitch of what kind of woman Melanie really is - the kind of entitled princess desired by the demon, the kind he enjoys humbling. Suddenly, the birds retreat, for the demon has been pacified: Mitch once more desires to kill.
But once again he is touched by the actions of Melanie when she cares for his sister, and so another attack is launched against their home. So after Melanie succumbs to the birds in the attic, it would seem that Mitch is fighting to protect the woman he loves when he drags her to safety. But when Melanie awakes and begins defending herself against him, it is more than just PTSD which she is experiencing. She can sense the demon in Mitch. It's the reason the birds have settled down again. Without incident, Mitch is able to pull the car around (Melanie's car, mind you, so as to stage a scene) and helps the women traverse the bird-infested lawn. A glance between mother and son would suggest that Lydia, fully aware of the demon inside of him, has accepted the inevitable: the demon wants blood, Melanie's blood, and will stop at nothing to get it. Together, they place Melanie in the backseat. She smiles at Lydia and Lydia smiles back, playing the good mother. But it is only an act. The car pulls away and disappears around the bend, as they drive to a remote area to perform the deed.
Now, of course none of this is made explicit. But neither is any other interpretation beyond a vague metaphor for female entrapment. But you have to admit, this theory does retain some water. I mean, it is somewhat logical, isn't it? Actually, whether or not you agree isn't really the point. The point is, Alfred Hitchcock made a superb film about killer birds and chose, rather unconventionally, to leave out any explicit answers, so that people like me can have fun creating our own little twisted back stories, and no one can tell us we're definitely wrong.
High Fidelity (2020)
We Definitely Needed the High Fidelity TV Show
If, like me, you loved the book, and if you obsessed over the movie and learned all the wrong lessons from it, just like I did as an angsty, misunderstood, hopelessly romantic adolescent, this show gives you the chance to relive all your favorite parts (e.g. the banter of coworkers, the endless list-making, the useless trivia, the insights into making mixtapes, the observations on music elitism), while updating the problematic glamorization of unhealthy behavior into more clearly-stated admonishments and cautionary tales regarding relationship drama. While many detractors of the show will no-doubt reach their conclusions based solely on the very Rob-Gordon-like canonization of the original film, others may find the show awkward simply because they in fact DID learn the right lessons from the film, which they view as an indictment specifically of male-centric obsessiveness, if not stalker-like breakup behavior (I'm looking at you, Pitchfork). And while there's some truth to that, John Cusack's Rob Gordon was far from the only character acting selfishly (I would argue that Laura not only strings Rob along, but knowingly gets back together with him for the wrong reasons). But this is why the TV show has value - precisely because it does not give us the same exact story. While obsessive fandom may be a hotbed for masculine toxicity, the focus on such problems to the exclusion of female perspective can be just as problematic. It's as if some men are so desperate to retain dominion over traditionally male arenas, they're willing to monopolize such unattractive traits as...well...excluding others.
Also, it's worth mentioning that, like the film (and its main character), the show's not perfect. Some of the updated bits work better than others, as they try to incorporate not only new technologies and attitudes toward music fandom, but also modern day sentiments on topics such as believing women, gaslighting, gatekeeping, cultural misappropriation, culture, and social media. However, the best parts are when the show merely uses the original material as a jumping-off point. Like episode 5, in which a small segment of the book, which was filmed for the movie but was ultimately cut, is transformed into an episode-long event, showcasing the troubled gender dynamics which often plague cultures of connoisseurship. All this to say, I found in the show the opportunity to once again fall in love with the story of a self-obsessed record store owner, who is still capable of making the same mistakes, but who seems to be at least somewhat aware of her own subjectivity, if not her tendency for self-destruction. Even the show's tone - the editing, scoring, pacing - seems to do a better job of pointing out when a character is behaving unhealthily. And while the show may have sacrificed a bit of the honest realism found in the book, such as the believability of two selfish people getting back together even when they're obviously bad for each other, it does so in the service of leaving us with better lessons in love.
The Forbidden Room (2015)
Truly Unique - a precious commodity these days
In a time when Hollywood seems completely incapable of creating anything original (not b/c it's all been done before, which I would argue is the case for music, but b/c Hollywood is run by non-creatives who only look at dollar signs and are terrified of risk), the unique works of Guy Maddin stand out like a precious stone. Love him or hate him, you have to admire his dedication. For the layperson, his films are often hard to access or decipher. In this way, his works remind me of the late great David Lynch (he's not dead, but seemingly retired). I am not as well-versed in Maddin films as I am with Lynch, but I'm also not the first to point out their similarities. For one, they have a very similar soundscape. This film in particular employs Lynch's standard drones of dread, synthesized melancholic strings, and industrial sfx. However, Maddin adequately stakes out his own territory, as well. His employment and recreation of various vintage film stocks is somehow both convincing and unique. His tendency to embrace distortion and outdated special effects goes further than I've seen with any other filmmakers.
As far as plot, the film employs a standard concept, the story within a story, but it also takes this concept further than I've ever seen done before. The narrative structure is in fact two nesting russian dolls, presented one after the other. The framing story (not counting the bookends which feature a hilarious Louis Negin giving bath-taking advice) concerns a group of men marooned inside a submarine, unable to resurface due to a large block of melting jelly which will explode if depressurized. But then the impossible happens. Not unlike the supernatural events in Tarkovsky's Solaris, a lumberjack suddenly appears in the submarine, unaware of how he got there. From this scenario, we enter the story of the lumberjack's last memories. Before this concludes however, we've gone off on another tangent, another story within the story. And thus continues the narrative, falling further and further down the rabbit hole, until finally, as if coming up for air, we reverse directions and begin to zoom out, resolving one story at a time, until we're back in the submarine. However, as I mentioned before, this is only one of two plunges the movie makes before we receive a conclusion to the tail of the submariners.
The titular Forbidden Room refers, I believe, to the Captain's Quarters, but also derives from a 1914 silent film now considered to be lost. Which leads me to the second big concept of the film. All of the stories, vignettes, and tangential meanderings are based on silent films which can no longer be viewed, as they have either been lost or destroyed. This part I didn't know going into the movie, though I wish I had, for it adds an interesting element to the often surreal storylines. For a moment, when the film was just beginning, I had a tinge of worry that it would be an exercise in style over substance, and I know many would agree with me on this. However, as the different concepts were picked up and dropped, I became engrossed in the tone shifts, in turns erotic, surreal, melancholy, and humorous, and realized I was being swept up in the narratives.
For those uninitiated in an intentionally bombastic visual style, the Brechtian effect of constantly being reminded that you are watching a film may prove too difficult to overcome. But for those of you who can enjoy an attack on the senses, such as with Natural Born Killers, while still managing to pierce through the surface level and immerse themselves in the plot buried underneath, this film might be for you. And if it isn't, don't despair. I readily admit, this is one of the harder films to access. Just don't make the mistake of writing a belligerent review employing extremes and absolutes. We've already got plenty of those, as typified by most of the reviews for The Forbidden Room. Although, I have to admit, there is a certain comical irony to seeing a reviewer call a film impenetrable, inaccessible, undecipherable, only to be followed by a glowing review written by someone who has seemingly done the impossible - deciphered a plot!! There is definitely a plot here, and though it was a struggle at times, I managed to retain my awareness of which stories were inside of which, which stories had finished and which had yet to be resolved, etc. So give it a shot. Hopefully this review has, to some extent, prepared you for what you are about to see. And if it isn't working for you, turn it off. But please, for the love of god, don't tell me about the hours you invested which you will never get back. Nobody gives a rat's bottom about your stupid precious hour, especially when you continued to waste time by writing an asinine review about your experience.
Movie 43 (2013)
I call bullshirt!
I don't believe the majority of the reviews on here. I'm not saying I'm surprised, or offended, or that I can't handle the lack of basic grammar...I mean I literally don't believe most of the reviews to be genuine. I mean, come on. One star out of ten? A movie has to try harder for it to get such a low rating. Same with the ten out of ten reviews. This movie in no way deserves such extreme responses. The spectrum of love and hate for a straight-forward raunchy compilation film is the same as the spectrum that exists for Funny or Die or Collegehumor. You literally don't get to hate (or love) it that much. I'd say the spectrum exists somewhere between 3 and 7. Anything outside of that, and you're just trying to tip the scales (which is why most reviewers gave a one or a ten). I understand your frustration at having someone disagree with your assessment, but don't take it out on the innocent readers of your puffed-up review, take it out on the reviews you disagree with by down voting them as unhelpful. That way we can keep from crowding the edges like a bunch of reactionary sheep.
The Diabolical (2015)
Not For The Narrow-Minded
Why, oh why, do so-called "Horror Fans" insist on choking any potential originality out of their favorite genre? Personally, I consider myself a horror fan, but I hesitate to use the term because of what associations people might make about me - namely that I'm a gatekeeping fanboy who is only satisfied when horror films retread established territory from the '70s and '80s. In truth, however, I appreciate films that deal with the macabre. I have a morbid sense of taste, and that's what draws me to stories about mayhem, murder, and monsters. Not an allegiance to a clique which mostly wears its horror fandom on its sleeve like an identity.
All that being said, I feel like The Diabolical has been grossly misjudged by the aforementioned so-called "Horror Fans." Actually, that's not surprising, since that's literally what they do; undermining the horror genre is literally the defining characteristic of many "Horror Fans." What director Alistair Legrand has tried to do here is provide a science fiction explanation for what first seems to be a paranormal event. Which is...well...pretty cool! It may not be the first time we've seen this done (Beyond the Black Rainbow comes to mind), but it's certainly less tapped than the standard "Indian-burial-ground," "something-terrible-happened-here," "vengeful-ghosts" explanations present in most haunted house films. It may not always work perfectly (some things are left unresolved), but there are so many good things about this film (the cinematography, the music, the practical effects, good child actors, Ali freaking Larter!), it seems a shame to obsess over its faults. Especially when such an attitude seems to be directly born out of a reluctance to allow new ideas into the genre. Some of the most celebrated scary movies of all time are riddled with flaws (Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, Suspiria, The Sixth Sense, Carrie). So why do they get a pass but not this admittedly imperfect attempt to breathe new life into the genre? My guess? Narrow-minded nostalgia.
The Double (2013)
A jumble of movies we've seen before
Before you get all pissy and shout at your computer screen that this movie is based on a Dostoevsky novella from the 1800s, let me be clear: I am not inferring that the story somehow ripped off other contemporary sources. I'm just saying that I felt distracted while viewing The Double by its many similarities to films I've seen and that have seeped into popular culture. Specifically, I kept thinking of Fight Club, The Tenant, Youth In Revolt, Enemy, Rear Window, Brazil, Eraserhead, Dead Ringers, and The Trial. Which leads me to the question: Do we need this movie? Even if it is a mostly faithful adaptation to a hitherto unadapted story by a world famous 19th century novelist, which recalls excellent films from the history of cinema, and which was beautifully, skilfully crafted and acted...do we really need another surreal-noir about the anonymity of corporate jobs? Or another movie with the doppelganger/alter ego paradigm, especially one which does nothing to reinvent or subvert the genre? It should be noted that I enjoyed watching this film for its set design and b/c of Wasikowska's enchanting ways. But not for its story. Which isn't to say I think the source material is weak, but that the elements which had been so intriguing when the novella was first published have now become tropes of this type of film. In short, The Double left me thinking of the films it resembled, already forgetting the doppelganger (could this have been the point?).
Love (2016)
I loved it!!...but I think I understand why others didn't.
If you don't have a passing knowledge/interest in romantic comedies, then I suggest you keep moving. While this show definitely injects doses of reality throughout, the basic premise is nothing more than your standard Rom-Com formula. But while the writing may feel cliché at times, there is also a strong sense of self-awareness, like when the male lead, Gus, throws out his Blu-ray collection of the most obvious, guilty-pleasure Rom-Coms from the past thirty years, criticizing them for their terrible relationship advice. Or like when Bertie, the female lead's Australian roommate, interrupts a studio tour to expound upon the genius of one of her favorite Rom-Coms, The Holiday. In both cases, it's obvious that the characters have an unhealthy relationship with the genre. This is an especially interesting commentary on Gus's character, who, later in the season, tries to encourage the writers of Witchita (the show for which he works) to step up their game, instead of relying on formulas. As Gus becomes completely unhinged during a writer's meeting, it becomes apparent that for all his enthusiasm and idealism, he's actually rather unperceptive. He may have stumbled upon a good idea, but he doesn't seem to understand why it's a good idea. One of the stars of Witchita, a child actor played by Apatow's youngest, nails it when she exclaims, "Why did you make him a writer? Every time he makes a suggestion, it's way off. He just doesn't understand the campy nature of the show." For this reason, I suspect Gus would have similar issues understanding the vibe of 'Love.' Not because he's an idiot, but because this show plays with a lot of subtle irony. Irony which, incidentally, the female lead, Mickey, revels in. Everything she says has a double meaning. When Gus takes her to the magic castle, she derives the most fun from watching the other spectators, an ironic, veiled criticism on magic-fans in general, which Gus takes personally, as he is, after all, one of the spectators for whom magic is a straightforward source of entertainment. Later, when Gus invites her to a party where the goal is to write theme songs for movies without theme songs, she keeps trying to find the second layer, assuming the point is to write sarcastically bad songs in order to make fun of bad movies. Of course, the biggest irony is when Mickey ends up turning into the clingy sort of girl you expected Gus to be, and Gus ends up being more of an asshole. While not entirely new ground, the whole thing about Gus being fake-nice felt refreshing, as it subverts the typical "I Love You Beth Cooper"* formula.
So while this show definitely relies heavily on a vast history of Rom-Com tropes, it engages with them in slightly ironic and often original ways. The title is another good example, as the show both lives up to its name, in that it deals constantly with the pursuit of love, while also reading as sarcastic, with there being very little actual love displayed by the characters (Bertie being the main exception). And yes, the characters are spoiled, materialistic, narcissistic screw-ups, but they also reminded me of people in my life, including myself. It's like the cast of a Rom-Com was dropped into real life, where all their vapid aspirations are suddenly revealed as such, and as a result the characters can actually evolve (for better or for worse), all the while still being subconsciously affected by the Hollywood Rom-Com machine. This technique works especially well for me, as the fusion of platitudes and realism makes the realism seem even more realistic by contrast. In fact, this is probably what I found most enjoyable about this show: the dose of realistic dialogue and acting in an otherwise familiar scene, such as the impromptu jam session at the otherwise typical Hollywood pool party, or the way the unrealistic mismatching of cool, hot chicks with dorky dudes is explained with authenticity by a group of women describing their phases of sleeping with only unattractive men. Unfortunately, for many people this just reads as adding shock value to a played-out scenario. Personally, I find this show more intelligent than that.
*Also starring Paul Rust
Hard Candy (2005)
Not the movie I wanted it to be
First of all let me say that the acting in this film is extremely well done, in that it is very realistic which I'm sure was the intention. However, I'm not sure it's appropriate. Films of this content (meaning torture, as well as pedophilia) are a hard enough subject to tackle, and it is for this reason that some of the more successful, albeit infamous, examples of pedophilia and its effects on people as represented in cinema are more cartoonish (namely Todd Solandz's HAPPINESS), because this offers a detached viewpoint. I'm not one to shy away from provocative material, but by offering them in a more Brechtian light, we may gain a more productive perspective. By letting the audience off the hook from being forced into an uncomfortable situation of having to endure realistically horrendous acts there is no risk of repelling the audience that the film in fact intends to influence. But obviously this was not the plan of Hard Candy's director.
Before going into this film I was intrigued by the premise of a role reversal where the typical predator (pedophiliac) becomes prey to a preternaturally diabolical 14-year-old girl. What I expected was an over the top, iconic psychological thriller where the pedophilia angle would be used to create preconceptions of the characters so that they could then be turned upside down. This is, in fact, how I felt for most of the film, until the unbearable ending in which the film's monster (Hayley) is glamorized as a sort of activist superhero.
Upon viewing some of the extra features on the DVD I got the impression that the director had set up a sort of sting operation for the audience. David Slane talks of his work as a test of morality, posing the question of who you found yourself sympathizing with, as if sympathizing with the pedophile suggests a dangerously flexible code of ethics. But the film is obviously set up to portray the pedophile as protagonist (with the exception of the confession at the end, which is supposed to justify the girl's psychotic actions). Are we to be incriminated for reacting to deliberately crafted cinematic technique? Should we have reveled in the sadistic punishment of a troubled, albeit perverted, man? It is my opinion that the finger would be better pointed at anyone who found this material enjoyable. Let's face it, this film is not as much about pedophilia as it is about vigilante violence, and in this case the violence far exceeds its justification as the vigilante is clearly as psychologically warped as the pedophile. I can see why this film might be a joy ride for any man-hating feminist extremists, but I would hope that the average audience member experiences a healthy dose of recoil.
As far as technique, flawless craftsmanship didn't save me from a difficult viewing experience. In fact, the slick, modern cinematography felt out of place for such a dirty little story, and some particularly stylized segments became distracting as I felt like I was watching a music video or car commercial.
In conclusion, it should be said that an enjoyable viewing experience isn't required for a film to be considered a work of art. An avid fan of provocative cinema myself, I know the benefit of unsettling content as a means of gaining a reaction. But with Hard Candy, I can't help but question to what end we the audience have been subjected to this material, if not to make us guilty for our reactions.