From Jerzy Skolimowski’s Essential Killing. Near the beginning of the film, three soldiers enter a canyon, and are visually “swallowed” by it. Indeed, much of Essential Killing seems to portray man pitted against his surrounding landscape. Skolimowski’s fascination also seems to be in the digital texture of land, which he experiments with throughout as can be seen in the following stills.
Paul (2011)
Dir. Greg Mottola
The on-screen duo of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost is a unique one. Two real-life best friends who make each other laugh have become famous comedic presences simply from making fun work that embraces their geeky sensibilities. With the wonderful TV series Spaced and their two hilarious parodies Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, they have mostly succeeded as a trio with filmmaker Edgar Wright. Together, their authentic friendships have brought a natural emotional center to their primarily comically oriented work. With Paul, directed by the American auteur Greg Mottola, responsible for Adventureland, one of the best films from the last decade, it is an outsider eye making a film partly about this friendship and its’ warm chemistry. The films scores extra points for transforming the Comic-Con-goer from just being a fan to being a legitimate movie lead. This is a film of modest aim with a handful of small problems (a couple awkward characterizations, a hit-or-miss musical score) that represents an acceptable step back for Mottola.
References to Steven Spielberg’s films are plentiful and range from subtler touches like adopting traces of the auteur’s mise en scène to an actual voice-over cameo from the man himself. Mottola borrows Spielberg’s way of introducing the antagonizing adults in E.T., showing only the feet and flashlight of a FBI agent hot on the trail of the fugitive alien, Paul. There are also a couple references to John Williams’ musical scores, such as an obvious Close Encounters moment, but the more clever moment has a band with unlikely instrumentation playing the song from the Star Wars Cantina in A New Hope (a joke admittedly made firstly by Trey Parker in Team America). Mottola makes his inspiration abundantly clear when a small-town cinema in Paul has two films listed on its’ marquee: Duel and Easy Rider.
Like with Easy Rider, the two friends who traverse America in Paul are assaulted by American hegemony and institution. At once, the characters are being chased on the road by the FBI and a bible-thumper with a shotty. They also encounter two disgruntled rednecks in an Area 51-themed bar. The film strongly asserts itself against American ignorance with Kristen Wiig’s character Ruth, at first a devout Christian when forcibly added to our group of RV-bound fugitives, with a pair of glasses that covers her one blind eye with a shaded lens, symbolizing her narrow view. Then Paul works some alien mojo on her, sharing his consciousness and collective experience with her, as well as correcting her bad eye, shattering her religious views in the process. Later in the film, an FBI agent played by Bill Hader (Mottola’s good luck charm who also appeared in his last two films) is violently pursuing Paul and his accomplices and has one of the lenses of his sunglasses knocked out, recreating the symbol of ignorance that donned Wiig earlier on. As Paul ultimately doesn’t fully characterize an antagonist, it is as if this ignorance is the antagonistic force of the film, made tangible through several characters. Paul himself spreads the antidote of consciousness, a figure of liberation in the form of a cinematic archetype.
Rango (2011)
Dir. Gore Verbinski
Gore Verbinski’s post-modernist foray into animation is unexpectedly fortuitous. The splendidly oddball Rango is a meticulously crafted, thoughtful work of popular art that surpasses everything else the otherwise unremarkable filmmaker has done, and is a strong early front-runner for animated film of the year (considering Pixar’s offering this year is Cars 2…). The film is inventive and consistently entertaining but is most satisfying with its’ surprisingly layered structure. Rango has a political edge and an existential core. Using water as a metaphor for wealth (has Verbinski even seen Film Socialisme?), the film critiques America’s economic system (the bigwigs of the small town in Rango even play golf, the smug, privileged bastards) and climaxes with a redistribution of said wealth. It should be noted that Rango ingeniously uses Las Vegas as a symbol, evoking two American masterpieces from 1995: Casino and Showgirls. The title character, meanwhile, has an arc from complete alienation to existential certainty that is well handled.
The animation is really quite something, with really fluid motion. The character designs are original and are distinguished from the usual “cute-sification” of animals in animation. and there are flourishes of brilliance such as when Rango is “freed” from his terrarium in a breathtaking sequence at the onset of the film, or during a brief and delightfully absurd dream, or in a particularly beautiful sequence that finds Rango wandering through the desert at night. The film is referential but not in a banal, random sense (Family Guy, Shrek). The ensemble cast is one of the most impressive as far as animated films go with a great lead performance from Depp and also with nice bits from the likes of Ray Winstone and Harry Dean Stanton. Timothy Olymphant’s voice shows up in a scene with a (visual only) cameo from Clint Eastwood/The Man With No Name. The patriarchal staple offers the protagonist words of wisdom then pimps away in a golf cart full of Oscars. Absurd genius.
John Ford’s The Searchers is a subversive work in the Hollywood Western genre that represents a time of transformation in the American consciousness. The protagonist, Ethan Edwards, played by the legendary John Wayne, is a man consumed with hatred; He is a product of a nation founded on the conquest of others. To elaborate on said conquest, we are dealing with mass murder, slavery and the theft and rape of land. Ethan’s outlook is understandable given the time frame in which The Searchers takes place in the mid to late 1800s (post-Civil War), but also not entirely inappropriate for the time when the film was released in 1956 if we consider his racism as representative of America’s attitude toward minorities in the early-mid 20th century, during which Ford lived the majority of his life (he was born in 1894). In the 50s, America’s views were beginning to evolve, and Ethan’s arc in the film deals with this change. Ford and specifically The Searchers have been criticized for being racist, but this is an unfair claim. The racism on display in the film is put under a critical light, and Ford’s auteurism reveals much insight into both himself and America.
To understand the character of Ethan Edwards and to be able to interpret his key decision in the climax of The Searchers, we must look to an early sequence in the film, where he returns to his brother’s family for the first time since the Civil War ended. Ethan fought for the confederacy and has since been involved in lawfully questionable activities as demonstrated by his wealth of mint gold coins. The opening of the film is rich with subtext that is never explored in any expository fashion by Ford. The family to which our protagonist is known as “Uncle Ethan” is composed of five members: the father, Aaron Edwards; the mother, Martha; the eldest daughter, Lucy; the son, Ben; and the youngest daughter, Debbie. The very first shot of the film introduces a famous framing device. Martha is seen framed by the doorway of her home, looking outside longingly at the site of a returning Ethan. The opposite bookend of this device, which I will examine later, uses the same motif, but with Ethan framed by a doorway, looking in longingly. Immediately we have established that Martha has a special fondness for Ethan, and although there is no purely expository element to reference as evidence, the framing and staging of the next several scenes reveal that Ethan and Martha have shared an intimate relationship. In the way they greet each other so carefully, with Ethan gently kissing her forehead, the looks they share, and the way we see Martha lovingly stroke his clothing (again, framed in a doorway), it couldn’t be clearer.
The first shot of Ethan once he has entered the home is key: He picks up Debbie in his arms and lifts her above his head and carries her over to the dinner table, reluctant to let her go. All of Ethan’s exchanges with Debbie also suggest a special relationship, and the motivation behind his fixation on her, in comparison to the other two Edwards children, could be explained by her being the secret daughter of Ethan rather than his brother Aaron. In a gorgeous master shot, the entire Edwards family as well as several guests, are all seen in a single frame. When Ethan enters and walks towards the dining table he approaches Debbie, who is seated. The camera tracks in as Ethan gets closer to her and places his hands on her chair. Ethan is wearing a red shirt, and Debbie has red ribbons in her hair, as well as a red handkerchief. For the most part, Ford’s misé en scene is very subtle, but this shot strongly pronounces the secret connection between Ethan and Debbie. Taking this subtext into account, we can interpret later events as well as the film as a whole.
In 1956, America was beginning to undergo serious changes in terms of the treatment of racial minorities. The African-American Civil Rights Movement recently begun. One of the early key events was Rosa Parks’ refusal to abide by the segregated seating on a public bus, prompting a successful boycott of Montgomery buses. Martin Luther King Jr. was a spearhead in organizing the boycott, and his voice became synonymous with human rights, although his famous “I have a dream” speech was still years away, and indeed so were many of the milestones of the movement. It could be said that the America at the time of The Searchers was on the brink of changing, but far from having changed. This is perfectly represented by Ethan Edwards, a personification of this hatred and prejudice that was long overdue to expire. Ethan does not defeat his racism in the film, but he does temporarily transcend it. This stubbornness is also representative of the time, and maybe even John Ford himself, who no doubt had been raised with certain prejudice beliefs that were inherent of the era in which he grew up. The Searchers gives us a protagonist who cannot overcome the hatred he is burdened with, but believes in a future without it for others. Ford anticipated positive changes in the American consciousness and expresses his hope for them in the film through Ethan’s actions.
The narrative of The Searchers is one of the most effective in Hollywood cinema. After native savages known as the Comanche kidnap Lucy and Debbie, Ethan and others set out on a mission to save them. Lucy is murdered early on, and the search for Debbie lasts a decade. For the majority of the film, Ethan is partnered up with Martin, who is part Cherokee. Even though their interest in finding Debbie pits them together, Ethan is distrustful of Martin because of his mixed heritage. In this light, we can see that Ethan’s racism is completely unreasonable, as Martin is clearly the moral compass of the film. Indeed, Martin even plans on preventing Ethan from irrationally killing Debbie when they find her, something that Ethan makes it clear he’ll do once they discover she has been integrated as a member of the Comanche and is no longer, as Ethan sees it, innocent. Ethan’s hatred drives him throughout the film, which is what makes his act of mercy in the film’s climax so moving and so surprising. When they finally find Debbie, Martin kills the central Comanche antagonist known as Scar. Ethan’s hatred is clearly fueling him when he scalps the dead body of Scar, giving us no reason to expect him to spare Debbie. As he charges towards Debbie on his horse we fear the worst but in an act that transcends his all-consuming hatred, he picks her up in his arms with the same loving gesture that he showed her at the beginning of the film, and lifts her up over his head. Ethan’s love for his daughter is stronger than anything else, and sparks his transient heroics. Perhaps it should not be such a surprise when we consider a moment early in the film where Ethan places a war medal on Debbie as a gift, transforming an object with connotations of violence into something of love and beauty. Another clue occurs simultaneously with him charging at Debbie, with the walls of a cave framing the action much like with the doorway motif which is only used for moments that highlight love and family.
The best shot of the film is the famous final image that mirrors the shot from the beginning. Ethan returns Debbie “home”, to the Jorgensen family. The mother and father embrace Debbie as if she is their own daughter, then the three of them walk inside the house as the camera pulls back, creating the doorway motif. Next, Martin and his love interest Laurie Jorgensen walk inside together. Ethan Edwards is left alone on the porch, staring into the doorway longingly from outside in a reverse from the first shot in which Martha looked for Ethan from inside. He stays there for a few moments and then he turns around and reluctantly walks away. He was able to temporarily overcome his prejudice because of his love for his daughter, but he has not miraculously shed his tragic flaw. In order to create a family, Ethan must courageously remove himself from it in order to stop the cycle of hatred. As the man that he is as well as what he represents, there is no place for him in this newly forged family that offers the hope of a better future founded on love.
From Martin Scorsese’s The Age of Innocence. He is celebrated for his masterpieces in the 70s & 80s (Taxi Driver, Raging Bull) and his overrated (but still great) Goodfellas in 1990, but Scorsese actually made some of his most formally ambitious films between 1991 and 1995; Specifically: Cape Fear, The Age of Innocence and Casino. All three of these masterpieces tend to be unfairly overlooked despite featuring some of Scorsese’s most complex and rewarding work, perfectly demonstrated by the above images from the overwhelming final sequence of The Age of Innocence.
A Married Couple (1969)
Dir. Allan King
Allan King exposes the best and worst of the nuclear family. Admittedly, the best is few and far between when compared to the worst, but when it does appear it is something like a beam of light coming in from the window and illuminating a dark room, showing us what we couldn’t notice otherwise. A Married Couple is an unreasonably strong documentary because it doesn’t look for a story, it looks for faces and is so deeply invested in its people, that it wouldn’t dare film this romantically defunct married couple as anything other than the most fascinating subject in the world. At no point does King or anyone interrupt the subjects of the film with direction or questions (something that separates it from the somewhat similar-in-tone work of the Maysles), and focusing on presenting the world of these people with beautifully quiet camera work. A major masterpiece and one of the best Canadian films I’ve seen.
The Last Picture Show (1971)
Dir. Peter Bogdanovich
Peter Bogdonavich examines and expresses the confusion and anxiety of a small town in Texas that is, above all else, desolate in spirit. The misdirection of the town’s youth is only equal to the misdirection of the town’s adults. We come to understand the necessity of a scapegoat passion like football, as well as the escape of cinema, in a community full of people who are beginning to outgrow the small lives that were carved out for them at birth. The repression inherent in their lifestyles leads to overwhelming guilt and shame over their sexuality. The problem of clothing is a preoccupation in the film (undressing is an elaborate endeavour) and the creaks of a bed “in use” and the creaks of a descending coffin come from the same utterance of feeling. Also: Cybil Shepherd.
Limelight (1952)
Dir. Charles Chaplin
Far from perfect, but beautiful regardless, Chaplin’s Limelight is a fitting farewell to his onscreen persona(s) (another reason A King in New York just doesn’t work). At its best, the film is moving and even life-affirming; At its worst the drama can be a little thin. The lead female performance is one of the most awkward in Chaplin canon, but fortunately that doesn’t hinder the film as a whole and only compromises one or two moments. The flea gag that Chaplin had been trying to work into his films for his entire career finally appears and it is immediately clear why the act never properly merged with a past project. Here, in the context of the story of a fading comedian, the gag fits as well as it ever could have. The moments of Limelight shared by Chaplin & Buster Keaton are especially poignant and marks the end of an era where clowns and high art were synonymous.