Whoops. I hadn't meant to go so long in between updates. But here I am again, new year and all. Whee. Same deal as last time. The scale's still the same, the orange still means I had seen the film before, and so on. Let's go.
The Scale
90-100: Blissful, orgasmic cinema. This is something extremely special.
80-89: An excellent, unmissable film. I probably own this (or will) and you should, too.
70-79: A very strong film well worth seeing.
60-69: This is good. It has some problems, but it's still an enjoyable piece of work.
50-59: The gray area. Certain things work about this, other things don't. It depends on mood and taste.
40-49: A mediocre or lackluster film. There's nothing offensive about this, but it's just very uninspiring.
30-39: Plain bad. Don't go near this, please.
20-29: Incredibly terrible. Only worth a viewing if self-torture is desired.
0-19: Hooooo mama.
Better Luck Tomorrow (Justin Lin, 2002) 84
Wow, this was excellent. I saw it for the first time when I was in high school and remember liking it then, but I seriously wasn't prepared for how well it holds up. If anything, I liked it even more the second time. I finished it feeling shaken, nerves rattled. Even though it's all pretty understated and frequently very funny, there's something rather disturbing at work here, and it gives the film a darkness I find difficult to describe. Maybe it's because I can relate to the characters way too well: the "we have everything, so now what?" mindset was frighteningly relevant during high school. Not only is it easy for me to see their motivations for doing what they do, it seems inevitable that everything in this film should happen just the way it does happen. The damn thing just works really, really well; I'm incredibly grateful for it (and the things that might annoy people -- for instance, the complete lack of adult authority figures like parents, teachers, and police -- are the things I consider among its greatest assets). The blurb on the DVD case chooses the three best possible words: funny, sexy, scary. In equal measure. A great film and, given a few more viewings, a potential favorite. (If I'd seen this when it came out and you'd asked me, I would've said Justin Lin was an extremely promising filmmaker. As it turns out, he's responsible for the more recent Fast and the Furious movies. Sigh. I guess a man has to decide between making art and making a living, doesn't he?)
The Day the Earth Stood Still (Scott Derrickson, 2008) 32
I finally have a definitive answer: "Klaatu barada nikto" is, in fact, extraterrestrial for "really fucking bad remake." Words can hardly do justice to how atrocious this truly is. The only reason I'm springing for the 32 instead of anything lower is because John Cleese, no matter how small of a part, is a badass. But the rest of this is trash. Keanu Reeves gives a performance that probably would've been thrown out of a Keanu Reeves impersonation contest for being too wooden, Will Smith's offspring is constantly annoying, and Jennifer Connelly spends the entire time looking like she's wondering, "Wait a minute, I can actually act. What the HELL am I doing HERE?" Oh, and the story sucks. Nothing happens. Until the end, which isn't actually an ending because it doesn't resolve anything. Man, this was terrible.
Doubt (John Patrick Shanley, 2008) 72
All told, this was probably my 11th favorite film of 2008. In other words, this is the one that got screwed for inclusion on the illustrious best-list. So it goes. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that it's a very small film. That is, unlike Benjamin Button or Slumdog or any of the other late-year Oscar hopefuls, it seems to exist in its own self-contained universe. It doesn't have much to say about anything outside its bubble; it's strictly concerned with its characters. This isn't a bad thing, mind you; it just wants a bit for that all-encompassing "oooh, this is life!"-type universality that Fincher's film embodies. That being said, everything about the production is very good. I know the story is supposed to be open-ended and ambiguous about answering the central conflict, but in my mind at least there's very little "doubt" about which series of events actually occurred (and, to my way of thinking, the film works better this way). Just the way Shanley presents his characters (Streep in particular) really makes me opt strongly for one particular viewpoint. But hey, there are clues a-plenty for either interpretation. That's why it's called Doubt, you see. I could be wrong. But I don't think so. See it and decide for yourself. It's a good one.
Frost/Nixon (Ron Howard, 2008) 75
Yup, the central historical/political film of this particular Oscar season actually managed to make it onto my end-of-year Top 10 List. And if you scroll down to #6 in the next-most recent entry I posted here, you can read all about what I thought of it! (Except now you know the numerical score, too.)
Hero (Zhang Yimou, 2002) 69
Let me take a moment to set the record straight on this one: Quentin Tarantino did not direct Hero. In fact, the man had nothing whatsoever to do with it. He was just the go-to guy who put up the money for its American distribution (which, no doubt, we all thank him and his pocketbook for; the US was actually among the last countries this thing ever got released in!). In reality, it was directed by Chinese filmmaker extraordinaire Zhang Yimou, who probably in large part because of this film is undoubtedly one of Asia's most famous living directors. And while I still prefer both of Yimou's more recent martial arts excursions (House of Flying Daggers and especially Curse of the Golden Flower), it's impossible to deny this is a very good film. Few men have a sharper eye for the visually arresting and downright beautiful than Yimou, and every last frame of this thing is something I wouldn't be ashamed to hang on my wall. The he-said/she-said narrative is a bit of a jumble and lacks any particular emotional resonance, but of course that's not really why you'd watch a film like this. It's purty, the fight scenes are awesome, and it holds up to repeat viewings. 'Nuff said.
Lifeboat (Alfred Hitchcock, 1944) 59
A clever idea, even if it does outstay its welcome a bit. See, there's only so much mileage you can get out of a trapped-on-a-lifeboat story (nevermind that Life of Pi is one of the best novels I have ever read), even when Hitchcock is captaining it. Somewhere in the middle, it feels like the film starts to repeat itself. It never becomes particularly tiresome or boring, as Hitch always has a few tricks up his sleeve, but it also had me wishing that things had been shaken up a bit more than they were. But it does still arrive smoothly at its very World War II message of "kill all the Germans" (or is that the message?), and not all is lost by the time the credits roll. (Also, this was apparently taken from a story written by John Steinbeck. Interesting. I guess he had a special fondness for the "slightly monotonous story about likable people drifting aimlessly in a vehicle" plot device.)
Magnolia (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1999) 63
Way back in the day (this must've been 2002 or early 2003, because I don't think I was even in high school yet), before I had seen many movies and was still young and impressionable, I saw Magnolia and pretty much thought it was the best thing ever. Oooohwow a super long movie with a crazy amount of characters and like seventeen intersecting storylines? The thing's gotta be a masterpiece. So it went. And now, older and more jaded, I sat down to watch it for a second time to see if it still holds up. Does it? Well, kinda. While by no means a bad film, it's definitely not the end-all cinematic miracle I seemed to think it was. For one thing, the length and scope of the deal masks the fact that each individual story is utterly flat. By putting them together, there is a sort of sweeping catharsis; separately, none of the stupid things really go anywhere. Also, paradoxically, the thing's too long. 188 minutes is a crazy epic length for any film, and unless you're Kurosawa or Coppola or something, that's just too long. By the end, the thing really starts to feel drawn-out. Still, it's one hell of an ambitious movie and it's hard not to give it credit for that. Anderson was only in his late 20s when he made the thing, and I'll be damned if I'm responsible for anything so impressive by the time I turn 30. Especially something with such a ballsy final act. Seriously, it rains frogs.
The Man Who Wasn't There (The Coen Brothers, 2001) 66
In which the Coen Brothers, whom I am convinced could successfully write and direct any genre of film, make the closest thing to straight-up 40s film noir that modern cinema has ever seen. Seriously, they've got this down to a science: the black-and-white cinematography, the atmosphere, the shadows, the dialogue; it's really something. In fact, it'd be just about perfect if the story didn't completely self-destruct by the end. For the first hour, the film feels like it's going to be incredible; Billy Bob Thornton is creepy, and the tension keeps getting built up quite skillfully. And then something happens. I don't know what. But the train derails, and it threatens to take the entire film with it. Luckily, a fair portion manages to stay on track and the film emerges overall as a strange but enjoyable anomaly. Few filmmakers would take it upon themselves to even make an homage to classic noir, much less construct a life-size replica of it. It just goes to show what the Coens are both capable of and willing to do. Predictably, it tanked at the box office. Oh well.
Sabotage (Alfred Hitchcock, 1936) 67
Very old-school Hitchcock doesn't really work as an engaging suspense tale (it's clear he hadn't hit his stride just yet, although the signs are definitely there), but is nonetheless a skillfully made and entertaining piece of work. It also proves once again that the man had an incredibly bizarre sense of humor, as when a meeting between two criminals is halted so that they can stare into an aquarium tank and remark that a tortoise looks like it has a mustache. It's also unusually short, which I suppose was customary for the time (what with those pesky film stocks and all), so that doesn't allow it a whole lot of time to breathe or create any lasting mood, but that's all right. It's a fun movie. Despite its central plot points of bombing and death, it's light entertainment. It's enjoyable to watch. Though armed with the knowledge that Hitchcock would spend the next 25 years making films that were far superior, I still liked it quite a bit.
The Spirit (Frank Miller, 2008) 36
If Sin City ever met the old-school TV Batman by way of Re-Animator, the result would probably be something like The Spirit, Frank Miller's ludicrously misguided comic book adaptation. It's awful in the same way Richard Kelly's Southland Tales was awful: it thinks it's really awesome and ambitious, but it's really just a hilarious trainwreck. And I qualify my use of "hilarious": it's not that the movie itself is funny. It tries to be, but it isn't. It's the fact that it thinks it's funny that makes it so damn funny. There's a big difference. Samuel L. Jackson hitting Gabriel Macht over the head with a toilet and screaming "TOILETS ARE ALWAYS FUNNY!" by itself is not amusing. However, the fact that Miller even put it into the movie is goddamn hilarious. See what I'm getting at? The movie is a long series of one WTF after another. It's so bad it almost works. Almost. Did I mention it also thinks it's a hardboiled film noir? Well, it does. And that, much like just about everything else in this movie, is a bad move.
Trainspotting (Danny Boyle, 1996) 74
In large part because Danny Boyle is currently riding the gravy train with, in my opinion, the single best film in theatrical release at the moment (Slumdog Millionaire), I decided to go back and bust out his breakthrough film Trainspotting for the first time in a couple years. It's largely as I remembered it: a fundamentally character-driven, storyless, but consistently entertaining black comedy about heroin addiction and the terminal low-lifes who suffer from it. If that makes it sound like I'm ripping on it, I'm not. That's just an honest description. I like it quite a bit. It's a fun, stylish flick that I feel illustrates a particular lifestyle pretty well without having to go to the heart-wrenching depths of, say, Requiem for a Dream (even the most disturbing scenes here, such as Renton's in-bedroom detox, have nothing on the last act of Aronofsky's film). Not to mention its soundtrack, studded with the likes of Lou Reed, New Order, and (especially) Underworld, is just plain awesome.
The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky, 2008) 63
Honestly, if the credits (and hype) hadn't told me that Darren "Pull Out All the Stops and Then Some" Aronofsky directed this, I would've had no clue. Compared to films like Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain, this thing hardly seems directed at ALL. It's very minimal, but that's good. It's what the film calls for. There's really not too much to say about it: born loser one-trick pony spends 105 minutes realizing he's a born loser one-trick pony and that, no matter what the stakes, he has to stand by that trick. There's your whole movie, right there. For what it is, it works. It's a bit thin, but then it doesn't try to do all that much. The Oscar Hype Machine is working overtime for Mickey Rourke, whose sure-to-be-nominated performance is definitely the reason to see the film (at the end of the day, though, I still greatly prefer Sean Penn's work in Milk and Frank Langella's lauded turn in Frost/Nixon). That, and -- genre differences aside -- it's still a hell of a lot better than The Fountain. Just sayin'.
I'm enjoying these posts. I'm pretty sure you can expect them to keep happening. They're fun. Later.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment