The Man Bill Murray

"I bet Mafia kids get bummed when they find out the tooth fairy doesn't take other people's teeth or when they find out there's no horse-head fairy at all."

                                                                 ~ Bill Murray

The Hawk is Dying But Not in My Backyard

Yesterday afternoon, while sitting in the back gardens with Sandra, we watched as a small sparrow hopped from a nearby tree branch onto the ground close to us.

A common enough event that neither of us gave any remark of its passing. In fact the event itself is only remember because of what happened next.

A hawk, lean and fast, tore talons-first out of the sky and landed right where the sparrow was a moment before. It did not catch its prey, and perhaps was surprised to find us sitting there, jaws agape, watching. No eye blinked. And then, with a silent movement of wings, it took off back into the sky.

Anonymous Postcard In the Mail

Arrived today, with the quote "Arrivederci". But I recognize the handwriting on the back.

Last Call for 2009: Film, Music, and Books

No way I can post any definitive lists this year. Raising a 2 year old does not allow for a ton of free time. There were so many films I didn't get to see and most of my viewing was spent catching up on what I missed in 2008.

But I did catch a few great ones. Heard a few brilliant albums. Read a few outstanding books.

Books (None from 'o9; just ones I read this year)

1) Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Posits humor, sex, and some damn fine philosophy into a great humanist piece. His Theodicy of Shit is brilliant.
2) Cormac McCarthy, Suttree - A god of prose, McCarthy's characters and settings shudder with a deep sadness. Consistent with his other books, the always-present theme of human choice.
3) Erik Larson, The Devil In the White City - Big surprise for me. Non-fiction paced like fiction. Larson comprises a narrative arc by showing the connection between one of America's defining moments in history (Chicago World's Fair) and also its first serial killer.
4) John Steinbeck, The Pearl - Steinbeck re-creates old Mexican folklore and puts together some impressive mythology. Great descriptions with his usual grasp for story.
5) Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle - Unlike anything I've read before. Murakami plays with chronology and dual-realities without traipsing into silly fantasy. Subtle at times, but always with the tension of beauty and violence.

Film

1) The Road - Hillcoat's astonishing recreation of McCarthy's novel is only overshadowed by Viggo's acting.
2) State of Play - Great dialogue, pacing, story-lines. Intelligent political commentary.
3) District 9 - Sharlto Copely put on the acting job of the year, in my books. Plays with themes of identity and refugee and manages to foster real empathy for CGI aliens. Worth every penny.
4) Coraline - What happens when Pixar takes a tab of acid. Dark, luminous story-telling with gorgeous effects. Stop-motion animation at its finest.
5) Two Lovers - A sedate, strangely realistic romantic film that focuses more on human decision than trying to manufacture a pretty ending. Some great ambiguity here.

Music

1) Mastodon, Crack the Skye - Moody and progressive with great story-telling. Avoids most "metal" cliche--not to mention the best album art in the past decade.
2) Pearl Jam, Backspacer - Great form that hints at their earlier work without sounding immature.
3) Magneta Lane, Gambling With God - An example of Canadian Arts Council funding going somewhere worthwhile. The lead singer's voice somehow bridge's the gap between two vastly different eras of female vocals.
4) Baroness, Blue Album - In the same vein as Mastodon. Well crafted, ambient metal that borders on being literary.
5) Alice in Chains, Black Gives Way to Blue - heavy, morose, and with a new vocalist that seems up to the task, though likely forever singing in someone else's shadow.

Why All the Remakes?

No question that film adaptations of books are big money, and often result in some outstanding movies. But I can never figure out why remakes occur so frequently. And lately, we have films coming out that are remakes of films only a few years old.

Take 2009's Brothers directed by Jim Sheridan. I haven't seen it yet, so it might be a corker--and given the cast the performances are bound to be decent. But why Sheridan would feel the need to remake such a recent film is beyond me. What is gained?

2005's Brothers, directed by Susanne Bier is one of my favorite films. Tremendous performances. Bier is one of those careful directors who knows how to pull complex emotion from her actors. She creates unimaginable tension in this story of close family bonds separated by infidelity and war. It doesn't need to be remade.

Sheridan's list of credits is about as impressive as they come. Director of My Left Foot, The Boxer, In America, he is one of those film makers who takes his time choosing a project and truly delivers once he finally does. Which is why his decision to remake an already great film surprises me. He, of all people, should recognize the need to let original work to stand on its own. And what of Bier--also a great director (Open Hearts, After The Wedding)? Would she not have to sign away the rights to her film in order for it to be made?

I pose this as a real question, as I don't know what is required for remakes to be authorized.

Sheridan is not alone. Think back to 2002's Insomnia with Al Pacino and Robin Williams--a daft, silly piece that did no justice to the original Danish Insomnia (starring Stellan Skarsgaard) made in 1997. Lars Von Trier's The Kingdom, a truly creepy television mini-series also fell victim to a horrible network remake by Stephen King, called Kingdom Hospital.

Maybe someone in the film industry can explain this better to me. Are there no more original ideas out there? Does all of filmdom consist of adaptations and remakes?

I don't want to see great films remade into different, probably lesser projects. Let a film stand on its own. If it's a matter of gaining a wider audience, North American distributors need to ball-up and work aggressively to get the originals into the theaters upon their release.

The Road - It's Finally Here

A great piece of fiction, for me, is gauged by how effectively it devastates. This not only comprises of story and character, but how the piece speaks to the human condition, the bonds between persons, the metaphysical and existential questions surrounding existence. And, of course, prose.

Cormac McCarthy's The Road cuts to the quick. Dark, harrowing, unrelenting in its grief and hope. I read it right after my daughter's birth, in two days, often with her curled up asleep on my lap. This book is very much a love-story.

A great director like John Hillcoat (his The Proposition is a must-see) ensures a certain loyalty to the source material, and a refusal to engage in the sentimental. The cast is immense and capable, the few trailers I have seen look rightfully grim. But what no director can capture, especially in the context of a writer like McCarthy, is the texture that comes from prose.

Nonetheless, I'll be damned if I don't see this film half a dozen times before the year is up---just to be sure.

More The Road Info

The Oscars 2009: Politically Correct as Always

My long-time guilty pleasure has always been watching the Oscars. When I was young, I watched with reckless fascination and longing as gorgeous people careened down red carpets with practiced smiles and Vaseline-covered teeth. Now I carry the required cynicism--though I still root for favorites and get a kick out of opening song numbers. This year, the pared-down, old-school retro approach worked for the most part. Jackman's hosting was superb, great singer--not too flashy or pretentious. The sets were impressive. And no Jack Nicholson sitting in the front row looking sweaty and self-important. Robin Williams did not charge the microphone and practice a future stand-up routine. It was nice.

Maybe too nice? Speeches were short, sweet, thanking just the right amount of people. I'm sure we'll see in the papers tomorrow that Sean Penn forgot to thank his wife. All the appropriate political opinions were championed just the right amount. I was mildly surprised that the one-second televised delay didn't beep out Penn's commie, homo-lovin' sons-a-guns comments. The show was clean, polished, glassy. Nothing too edgy. In fact, Ben Stiller's mockery of Joaquin Phoenix's mentally-vacant appearance on David Letterman, was probably the most controversial item of the evening--if you can call it that. It all felt too-retro, too much an emphasis on perception. In some ways, I think this negates the freedoms Hollywood tries to champion--but that's another blog post.

The good: Kate Winslet's much deserved win for The Reader, Richard Jenkins' nomination for The Visitor, acknowledgement by Winslet of Anthony Minghella and Sydney Pollack--huge losses for quality film in Hollywood, Seth Rogan's stoner-dude skits, and Hugh Jackman's consummate hosting.

The bad: no mention of Ledger in the "Hollywood Remembers" sequence, no speech or memorial honoring Paul Newman, Michael Shannon losing to Heath Ledger, Rourke losing to Penn, the overly-long dance/music number near the end, Slumdog Millionaire's over-abundance of awards (good film--but not that good).

Here were my picks:

Best picture: The Reader
Leading Actor: Mickey Rourke (The Wrestler)
Leading Actress: Kate Winslet (The Reader)
Supporting Actor: Michael Shannon (Revolutionary Road)
Supporting Actress: Marisa Tomei
Screenplay: Frozen River

Note to self: find the nominated short animations and documentaries and watch them. The clips shown were impressive.

And would someone please hit Barbara Walters with a shovel? She has to be the worst interviewer I've ever seen.

The Reader: Complexity Through Ambiguity

I've been meaning to comment on the film The Reader for quite some time. It's one of those films that kicks you in the stomach. You feel the pain of it for days after. But before I pass commentary...

I read Joyce's Dubliners a month ago. Good book, the kind perfect for literary criticism though I suspect not as relevant in contemporary short-fiction. Joyce present his characters as normal folk, in normal circumstances--without pretenses. This simplicity is deceptive actually, because the reader feels lulled by the seeming lack of action and winds up glossing over certain nuances, or a careful crafted sentence that explodes with epiphany. I certainly did. But those moments when I was the perfect, captive audience, Joyce skillfully brought his complexity to light--revealed. Of course, Joyce is responsible I think for a lot of what is taken for granted in short-stories now. The ambiguous ending, the internal arc of a character, the simple but loaded gesture--all found in his works, though one could argue in rawer form.

Moving from Joyce to The Reader means taking the themes of complexity through ambiguity and placing them on the screen. Not always an easy task, though I suspect film is more suited for this. One perfect scene and all the facets it incorporates can flawlessly reveal several pages of literature--in the right hands, that is. The Reader begins with a somewhat taboo tryst between a youth and an illiterate, middle-aged woman in post WWII Germany. The first act focuses almost exclusively on this, creating what I perceive as a genuine, though complex, love between the two people. You know the woman, played by Kate Winslet, is hiding something. Her actions suggest this, though no reference is made to give credence.

By act two the proverbial bomb has been dropped--Winslet's character has Nazi affiliations. The story moves from the comfortable love affair to darker waters, the kind that warrant certain judgments to be made. What makes this film remarkable is the complete empathy given to all the characters involved. Stephen Daldry (who also directed The Hours) presents his characters as human beings capable of horrific acts, not horrific human beings who act according to their nature. And the distinction can be made (and should be). Most war films do not engage in presenting the enemy as complicated, loyal humans--especially WWII films. The enemy is this vague, oppressive shadow, a faceless wall of flesh that swallows bullets and bombs and speaks through a gaping maw of sharp teeth. Daldry rejects this--or at least draws this from the book and uses it to his advantage. He reveals the lunacy of black-and-white morality, the notion of the monster and instead injects sympathy in unlikely, but completely believable ways. The sympathy is huge, and the ending is so painful, so frighteningly lonely because the moral high ground one is normally inclined to take lies shattered at their feet.

One should note that most critics missed this about the film. They wanted the "horrors" of the holocaust, they wanted their traditional monster. The Reader never denies these things, it simply tries to add a complexity lacking in other films of similar subject matter.

In a previous post I lamented the lack of good films this year. But in the past month or so, I've managed to watch several films that make up for all the garbage. The Reader is at the top of this list.

Tobias Wolff on Bergman, Faith, Doubt, and Aesthetic Influence.

Best quote from Wolff's short article (read it):

"We like to think of our beliefs, and disbeliefs, as founded on reason and close, thoughtful observation. Only in theory do we begin to suspect the power of aesthetics to shape our lives."

I've never heard of churches showing Bergman films.

Ingrid Newkirk and PETA

I watched the interesting, rather grotesque documentary, I Am an Animal: The Story of Ingrid Newkirk and PETA. The only reason I'm commenting on it is because it's been stuck in my brain ever since--thanks in part to my moral/ethics class at Kwantlen. The documentary followed PETA founder, Ingrid Newkirk, through her daily activities, from the grassroots level to the more controversial, international campaigns. We all know about PETA right? Probably more famous for having celebrities pose nude for their cause than anything else. But let's not forget throwing buckets of red paint on fashion models wearing fur coats or setting up strategic protests in front of high-end fur stores. PETA is a strange mix of narcissistic publicity and well-intended morality.

In John Vaillant's The Golden Spruce, the point is made by the author that as consumers, North Americans take an ignorant, and therefor superficial satisfaction with the products we buy. We never consider the means and components involved in a product's manufacturing. He's speaking of wood products in this case, but it completely translates to our consumption of food as well. I've met some pretty intelligent people who seem completely retarded when it comes to food. They'll eat anything, almost in hedonistic fashion--in complete hypocrisy to their intellect. At times, I fall into the same camp.

What made the PETA documentary so effective was the behind-the-scenes look at fur hunting, slaughter-houses, farms etc. The kind of stuff a lot of you probably have already read about in Fast Food Nation. I watched footage of wolves being killed by having their heads stomped on, only to be skinned alive and left bleeding on a heap of likewise treated animals. Gore everywhere, I watched pigs killed by farmers with crowbars, cattle being left to die in six inches of blood. It created a visceral response, one of repugnance and anger. Anger because when I watched what people were doing to these animals, the unnecessary savagery of it, the satisfaction they seemed to get from it, I recognized a quality in them I could not reconcile with my own ethics.

Here's the rub: we can argue to the death about whether or not meat is healthy for human consumption--and I love the taste of meat. But, the real question, and there is no way getting around this, is can a thinking person, one who considers them self moral and considerate and conscious of the world around them, consume products from companies that allow these sorts of practices? The answer is, of course, no. Even if the argument can be made that the footage I saw was of isolated events (which I doubt), the same question is still raised.

To be fair, PETA has always made the fundamental mistake of passing a sort of universal indictment on the meat industry. I grew up close to farms, have seen cattle butchered for meat, and it was not the horror show I saw in this documentary. It was civil and clean, bearing no resemblance to the assembly-line mechanism PETA indicts. And there are plenty of farms like the one near my childhood home. But this doesn't actually justify eating meat does it? It would be the same universal error I claim PETA makes. I can't say that my childhood experiences are enough for a blanket endorsement of slaughterhouses nation-wide. Each side of the argument has its exceptions.

No, the real answer lies in being aware of where my food comes from. As I said before, I've always eaten meat--though it's mainly chicken and fish these days, and I've never spent a lot of time thinking about its source, about the process it goes through to get to my dinner plate. The HBO documentary convinced me I need to be more conscious in this regard.

Movies of 2008

To echo my friend Sam, 2008 has not been an outstanding year for film. I was uncertain whether I would even be able to comprise a list or not this year. Thankfully, the "let's-get-these-out-in-time-for-awards-consideration" group managed to bulk up an otherwise meager collection. Here are my favorites, this year in order:

1) The Wrestler - Darren Aronofksy's film about a washed-out professional wrestler (played by Mickey Rourke). A more tragic hero you will not find. No romanticizing here. Rourke moves his character through the film like a dying quarter horse. Painful to watch at times, but the story invokes so much empathy without manipulation. The acting is genuine with only a few exceptions of contrivance (oddly enough both of the scenes Rourke was given permission to re-write in his own words).

2) Slumdog Millionaire - A close second for me. High marks for one of the most original stories I've ever come across. Setting, characters, music--everything works together. Danny Boyle (director) works magic in this one...and the child actors are outstanding. The only reason I place it second is because I'm a sucker for pared-down films that feel raw around the edges. This one is more polished than The Wrestler, but probably the best under-dog story since Rocky.

3) In Bruges - Usually I run in the other direction when Colin Farrell is in a film, but with Ralph Fiennes in it I had to check it out. The trailers do not do the film justice. Humor aside, the story works through themes of tragic and grief in a bizarre mix of contrition and violence. Best dialogue in any film this year.

4) Religulous - Not a perfect film by any means, but I admire Maher's tenacity. He puts those unanswerable questions to the major world religions and gets some hilarious results. His conversation with a priest outside of the Vatican made the entire film. To hear the priest concede to so many of Maher's points, in such a funny manner, was a pleasant surprise. Maher shoots himself in the foot a little, sometimes going for the cheap laugh or repeating himself ad nauseum. In some ways he's a bit of a one-trick pony. Still, one of the better films this year.

5) The Bank Job - Bit of a surprise for me. Must have been the impeccable retro 70's setting. No anachronisms that I could find. Great dialogue, good--albeit slightly predictable plot. It's one of those smooth films you don't realize you like so much until the end.

I know I'm supposed to mention Iron Man and The Dark Knight. Whatever. Good, not great, in my mind. Dark Knight actually got dull for me on the last viewing, though I thoroughly enjoyed it the first two times. Iron Man was a bit better, but the whole "battle-of-the-robots" bit was silly and anti-climactic.

Other films I wish I could have watched in time for this post: Doubt, Revolutionary Road, The Reader, The Class, Burn After Reading, Nothing But The Truth.

Sadly, I have to confess falling out of touch with international films this year. Chalk it up to parenthood, I guess. Von Trier was supposed to release Antichrist--a Creation story only with Satan creating the world. I've heard nothing else about it. Frustrating for me as I enjoy foreign films.

There you have it. Agree or not.

Movies Await 2008

Here's a list I'm determined to check off. These films all boast good casts and, above all, great directors I admire.

The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky)


Gran Torino (Clint Eastwood)


The Class (Francois Begaudeau)


Doubt (John Patrick Shanley)


The Reader (Stephen Daldry)


The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (David Fincher)

David Milch and Language

Taking my cue from Sam's analysis of HBO's The Wire and Deadwood--the two finest shows to ever grace television (along with Rome, a flawed but relatively close third), I found an interview with David Milch regarding his thoughts on creating and writing Deadwood. Incidentally, if you haven't seen any of these shows, you are less of a person. Seriously. There should be a social restriction on when you are allowed to wander freely from your homes.

Deadwood takes top spot for me, in part due to my own nostalgia for Westerns films. What sets it apart from everything else is its dialogue. Milch's use of language is what Shakespeare would have written had he grown up a few hundred years later, in the wide, brutal expanse of America. Profane, artful, and bearing an internal rhythm that rivals Milton's Samson Agonistes. Even if the diction is a little too complicated for legitimate representation of the West in those days, it has to be closer than the strange minimalist responses we've all grown up with.

In the article, transcribed from a live interview at Bartos Theater with David Thorburn, Milch explains his emphasis on obscenity as follows:

As for the obscenity in Deadwood, I was trying to identify what organizing principles exist in a place without laws. Because Deadwood was a criminal community, built on land that had just been ceded to the Indians, they didn't want to pass any laws, since allowing law to exist would undermine their claim to the town. Language therefore had to serve two functions: to beat down any expectations of civility, and to show how words generate meaning through the context and emotion with which they're used. This is how one word can bear the weight of an entire story if the emotions and the context are there. In Swearengen's scene with Wu, I wanted to show how even with all the stereotypes about Asians, and the language barrier, a kind of order could develop.

And his use of profanity:

The guardians of the classical movie Westerns were offended, and asked me to prove that the language was accurate. The great Westerns were made under a strict moral code that prohibited obscenity, since the Jewish immigrants who ran Hollywood didn't want to rock the boat. There was a period in the late 'teens and early twenties when films started to become racy. They developed the Hayes code, which strictly regulated the language used in the films. When artists are faced with those kinds of strictures, they can either choose not to participate, or to find a way to internalize them in a way that serves the story. The image of the laconic cowboy was the result of the Hayes code; a character that not only used no profanity, but few words of any kind. The stoicism invoked a set of values. When people bond with works such as films, the works take on a kind of reality, so people don't say “I like Shane, ” they say “That's not how they talked in 1870.” That's not my problem. I did my research, and from what I read, in the West, obscenity was used to establish dominance, like apes beating their chests. With no law, any question could have lethal results. Language developed as an alternative to law.

Go out and find these shows, people....

Kurosawa is Overrated (Japanese Culture Through Film)

One of the highlights of this semester, if not the past year or so, has been sitting in a classroom, watching Japanese films--for bloody credit. Supplemental readings and lectures are provided too, but it's the films I find the most remarkable.

Director Akira Kurosawa garners a lot of attention in North America. He's influenced the likes of Sergio Leone, George Lucas (king of crap), and Spielberg, so maybe that's why. I haven't seen all of Kurosawa's work, but I shit you not, what I have seen pales in comparison to the other Japanese films viewed this semester. What makes Kurosawa films sub-par, in my mind, is their inability to present their themes or moral compass with subtlety--something I think can arguably be considered Western influence. Unlike Miyazaki, who infuses his themes directly into the story, leaving the viewer to draw from the scene what he or she can, Kurosawa beats us over the head with heavy-handed dialogue and obvious imagery. The films are entertaining, sure. But so is Bloodsport--and there's nothing great there by any stretch of the imagination.

Case in point, after viewing Sanjuro and Yojimbo, I decided to try of Kurosawa's more recent films, Dreams. Experimental in comparison to the linear story-lines of his Samurai epics, Dreams tells eight chapter-like tales through the form of dream sequences. Sounds inventive, I know. And to a certain extent is is. I mean, what other form for story-telling is so unrestricted? To a degree, Kurosawa uses this to his advantage. Visually speaking, this film is astounding. Each scene is careful and lush, drawing metaphor from setting as much as from the story nuance (what little there is). Why then does the director insist on falling into what I like to call the Spielberg trap?

Spielberg weakens a lot of his own films by assuming his audience is stupid and spoon-feeding them the "just in case you didn't quite get it" explanation at the end. Watch Minority Report and tell me otherwise. Great film right up until the last half hour or so. Same with A.I. In Dreams, Kurosawa goes the same route. A beautiful village, along a river dotted with water-mills, is a useful enough metaphor for pastoral elegy without having a protagonist lectured to about the perils of modernity by an old wise man.

There are exceptions. Two of the chapters are simply gorgeous. Kurosawa's indictment of war, told though the eyes of a soldier confronted by the ghosts of all his dead comrades, is a work of art. So is the following chapter where an artist steps literally into the world of Van Gogh's paintings, walking through their landscapes and conversing with the artist himself (played by Martin Scorcese). So it's not like Kurosawa doesn't have the knack. He's just too influenced by Western stupidity. His films embody what is wrong with American cinema.

I'm not saying avoid Kurosawa. Far from it. All of his films have something redeemable about them. But you can't consider yourself reasonably knowledgeable about Japanese film-making until you've sampled from the truly great. Directors like Ozu or Takehashi. Try the following films and see if you disagree:

Twenty-Four Eyes
The Taste of Tea
Always: Sunset on Third District
Early Summer
Spirited Away


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Paul Newman Dies

Funny thing about Mr. Newman, I've never considered him one of the best--just one of my favorites. Part voice, part character, part icon I suppose. My favorite story of him is when he took out a newspaper ad to apologize for his lousy performance in The Silver Chalice, the kind of action that suggests self-deprecation, humility, persistence. Not that all of his work is a shining beacon of light over the vast darkness of Hollywood. But he does have so many great performances.

Look at Cool Hand Luke, Nobody's Fool, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, or Road to Perdition. With the exception of Cool Hand Luke, none of these films come close to perfection but his performances in each and every one of them is remarkable, full of nostalgia and a confidence from an older, better era of film-making. Old-school charisma or, as the slogan on the cover of my Nobody's Fool DVD says: Worn To Perfection.

I don't know the man outside of his film characters, but the records of his charity work are equally if not more impressive. The loss is two-fold; not only do we lose another link to a dying era in film-making, we lose a humanitarian. And Lord knows there's not too many of them around either. So, I doff my hat to Mr. Paul Newman. A person worth remembering.




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Philip Seymour Hoffman

The man owns every scene he's in. An absolute beast.

Click Here.

I couldn't find an embed script for this one. Have to make do with a link.

Watchmen

I know I've said this ad nauseum, but 300 is a terrible film. Pointless, silly, a wretched misuse of cinema--aside from the one moment I concede to my friend Sam, when the mighty elephant goes splat. But that's a lot of horse shit to sit through to get to that one moment.

Now, this new film Watchmen made by the same people looks like it has promise. Great graphic novel. And I must confess I still enjoy The Smashing Pumpkins. But I worry about the dialog. In 300, someone was announcing their home town every two minutes, usually while expectorating giant wads of spit over their finely combed beards. I guess the writers were concerned the audience would forget the characters' origins (like we cared). I love when the Persian leader pleads to their Greek sense of logic, to which Leonidas responds something to the effect of "We're Sparta". My, that's clever. Woo them with your logic, oh great king.

I hope these filmmakers try for something beyond style with this next one.