I’ve seen a multitude of films over the past fortnight (including Paris, Je t’aime, Shrek the Third, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Gloria, Of Human Bondage, Punch Drunk Love and welcome rewatchings of Adaptation, Moulin Rouge and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind ) and my typing fingers have been itching to review something but inspiration kept failing to strike. Finally, a suitable subject on which to expound hit me like a gunshot in the stomach - Terrence Malick’s Badlands which I watched late Friday night. Perhaps later than I should have, lying flat on my bed with the laptop on my stomach, sleepy head propped up by pillows so I could see the screen. But my lethargic state only endeared the film to me even more than it would have otherwise - I was so undistracted by anything other than what was directly in front of my nose that I was free to wallow in the expansive shimmering scenery that rolled across the screen. It’s a rich, ponderous film that overwhelmed me with it’s beauty before digging me sharply in the ribs; a heady cocktail of dangerous substance. I felt like Sissy Spacek’s Holly, a dreamy-eyed 15 year old, swept up in the glamour and freedom of murder.
In the film, Spacek is seduced by a local garbage man who keeps to himself, a whippet-thin local boy who struts around brooding like James Dean. I can’t even begin to describe what a thrill it was to witness Martin Sheen, decades before the White House came a-knocking, looking younger than he has the right to. He plays the homicidal lunatic with such cool detachment and reckless abandon but such sweet naivety it’s hard not to fall in love with him. Based loosely on the story of Charles Starkweather, a 1950s serial killer (in the film named Kit Charles) who fell in with a teenage girl, murdered her father and set off on a road trip through America. Terrence Malick changed the names (and probably a lot more besides), but factual verification means nothing in a case like this; this film is what cinema was made for. If I had seen it on a large screen, it probably would have knocked me out cold.
When something affects you, it’s hard to detach yourself so completely you can write about it in a rational manner. I’m trying to say intelligent things about the film, but all I can do is throw superlative adjectives at it and hope for the best. It’s rare that a film ever gets everything so right - be it the quiet grandeur of the cinematography showcasing the magnificence of the American scenery, the spot-on casting of Spacek and Sheen, the intentional misplaced jollity of the score, the otherworldly feel captured in Spacek’s innocent voice-over…sigh. The more I think about the film, the more I like it. Despite it’s obvious moral issues, Kit is actually a decent fellow with sound advice (if you ignore the fact he murders folks) to spare, he genuinely cares about Holly and illustrates the importance of staying true to one’s self.
When I was younger, all my favourite kid’s books were set in the USA. I was snobbish about most Irish children’s novels - I wanted to be friends with Ramona Quimby, not Rosie. Sesame Street was my ideal home (how dare they take it off air? who cared if not all the lessons applied to us across the ocean?) The allure and mystique of the U.S. never really left me, not even when two disastrous presidential terms sullied the nation’s reputation in the eyes of the world. It became ridiculously fashionable to denounce America and a lot of people got off on feeling superior to them. This anti-American intent grew and grew until some people were acting as petty and bigoted as the traits they claimed to despise. I don’t mean to overly praise the country, lord knows they’ve majorly fucked things up recently, but this is the land that gave me Arrested Development and The West Wing, Paul Auster and Douglas Coupland, Bette Davis and Jimmy Stewart, Nirvana and Tori Amos. It’s been a dream of mine for years to visit New York (although I fret that my experience could hardly live up to my expectations) and to go on a sprawling road trip; in short I am brimming over with good things to say about the country and somehow Badlands crystallised all this into one film. It’s the ultimate road trip, chewing up pop culture and spitting it out, reminiscent of both Bonnie & Clyde and Thoreau’s Walden, showcasing youth, death, murder and the importance of living life to the very full, toying with the audience’s expectations. It’s at once both relentlessly cinematic and somehow broader than a screen. It’s a living, breathing thing. When it came to it’s perfect close, I was left watching the credits pass by, as similarly dazed as I was by Jindabyne.
It’s rare that something can hit you as much as this did me, but when it does you’ve got to be grateful. Boy, am I ever grateful for Badlands.
Showing posts with label america. Show all posts
Showing posts with label america. Show all posts
Monday, July 16, 2007
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
January Films
Harvey
Watched this up in Sligo with the folks, who I think were a little apprehensive. Dare I say their doubt was completely unfounded? Yes, I do! Jimmy Stewart is the perfect choice for the loveable Elwood P. Dowd, an amiable gentlemen who's best friend just happens to be a six-foot tall bunny rabbit (the eponymous Harvey). Touching, genuinely funny and cute without being irritating, this is a must see.
Vertigo
Okay, I love Hitchcock as much as the next person. And I especially like it when Hitch is directing James Stewart (see: Rear Window and the criminally underrated Rope). I also like the sinister stories about how this film reflects Hitch's desire to mold every actress into his ideal of an ice-cool blonde. Unfortunately, I also liked the hilariousness of this film...which I doubt was the desired effect.
All About Eve
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
Bette Davis again, this time paired up with her "arch-nemisis" Joan Crawford. I'm slightly skeptical about the whole Davis/Crawford fued story. I don't doubt they disliked each other ("Joan Crawford has slept with every male star at MGM except Lassie", Bette Davis) but I'm also fairly sure that part of their supposed hatred of each other was fabricated by the studios. The casting in this sinister, yet amusing film is inspired though, with Davis (slathered in make-up and looking fairly demented) cackling away over her crippled sister.
Kill Bill Volume I
Bright, super-stylised, violent, joyful pastiche of every film Quentin Tarantino has ever loved, ever (including some of his own). I knew that this film lacked some of QT's trademark sparky-dialogue, which I did miss. However, I settled down to enjoy blood spurting from every corner, Uma Thurman holding court in a yellow tracksuit and, my personal highlight, the amazing soundtrack (constant rotation I tell ya, constant rotation).
Guys & Dolls
It's Marlon Brando! Singing! In really bright technicolour! "Luck Be A Lady" is the stand-out song, Frank Sinatra is a little annoying and it doesn't enter the same ballpark as Singin' in the Rain or West Side Story. It's still a fun, colourful picture with some neat dialogue.
The Usual Suspects
I hate Channel Four. It was on one of their inane countdown of the top 100-whatevers that the central twist of this film was divulged to the nation....before I had seen it. Undeterred, I caught it on FilmFour earlier this month and although I enjoyed and admired it, the overall impact was slightly lessened by the fact that I already knew who Keyser Soze was! Argh. Oh, fun fact: year ago, Gabriel Byrne, one of the Suspects, used to deliver the post round where my dad lived. He had the hots for one of my aunts and used to ring the bell in the hope she'd answer. Ah, in a paralell universe, I am Gabriel Byrne's niece.
His Girl Friday
For some reason, I watched this whole film thinking the Hildy Johnson character was played by Katharine Hepbrun. Probably I was getting it confused with Bringing Up Baby. I got a bit of a shock when the end credits rolled with "Rosalind Russell". Ah, fuck it, they're both from Connecticut. Justified. I was laughing too hard to notice who the hell she was played by at any rate. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
Bad Education
Almodóvar does Hitchcock, while retaining his love for transvestites and the like. Out of all his films I've seen, the cinematography is probably the best so far (the football game, the swimming pool shots, the scene at the lake) and Gael Garcia Bernal makes a thoroughly convincing woman.
The Pursuit of Happyness
I've already written about this: nice turn from Smith, cute kid, uplifting message blah blah blah.
Bringing Up Baby
Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn in The Best Comedy Film. Of All Time. Ever. In The Universe. In My Opinion. Okay, but seriously, this is a total gem. Screwball, slapstick, innuendo, irony, puns and a leopard. All tied up in a crazy plot (try to explain it to somebody, sounds utterly stupid, doesn't it?) with Cary Grant having the time of his life and Katharine Hepburn falling down and into rivers and off dinosaurs and through bushes and in love. Hah!
Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down!
Almodóvar again. The earliest of his that I've watched. It's funny, sexy and a little dark. Antonio Banderas is a delight!
Mr. Smith Goes To Washington
Jimmy Stewart again. Idealistic, big-eyed senator Mr. Smith with his genuine love for America and his eager plans doesn't stand a chance in Washington. For climatic, filibuster scene, Stewart dried out his throat with bicarbonate of soda. Now THERE'S the kind of man we need taking an active part in the running of this country. Eh, that country, rather. America.
Now, Voyager
It's Bette Davis! (Yay!!) With big eyebrows and frumpy dresses! (Boo!!) Smoking like a chimney! (Duh!!) Did someone just scream "Melodrama!?" Yes, indeedy, the mother of all melodramas. The plot's slightly implausible (from slightly insane frump to slim beauty in three months?) and the continual break-downs may grate a little if you're in the wrong mood, but it's still a classic. And you can't deny the ending: the lighting of the two cigarettes, "Don't lets ask for the moon Jerry, we have the stars!" and the swelling music as the camera pans up to the moonlit sky...excuse me, I've got a little something in my eye..
Bobby
...you're going to have to excuse me for a good while, folks. By the end of this Emilio Estevez film I was a complete wreck. This nearly beats the finale of Doctor Who in the Makes-Catherine-Cry polls. This film, along
with Mr. Smith goes to Washington and The West Wing, does the difficult job of making me feel hopeless patriotic towards a country I've never been too. While some of the interlocking characters and storylines don't quite work (Ashton Kutcher's stoner treaded the fine line between dispensible and vomit-inducing), the ultimate point was poignant and well-crafted. The use of the music, especially Simon & Garfunkel, was noteworthy in the quiet manner it scored the tragedy. I swear, the next film I see in the cinema better not make me cry...
So there we have it, every film I watched from the 1st-31st of January. Pas mal, pas mal.
Watched this up in Sligo with the folks, who I think were a little apprehensive. Dare I say their doubt was completely unfounded? Yes, I do! Jimmy Stewart is the perfect choice for the loveable Elwood P. Dowd, an amiable gentlemen who's best friend just happens to be a six-foot tall bunny rabbit (the eponymous Harvey). Touching, genuinely funny and cute without being irritating, this is a must see.
Vertigo
Okay, I love Hitchcock as much as the next person. And I especially like it when Hitch is directing James Stewart (see: Rear Window and the criminally underrated Rope). I also like the sinister stories about how this film reflects Hitch's desire to mold every actress into his ideal of an ice-cool blonde. Unfortunately, I also liked the hilariousness of this film...which I doubt was the desired effect.
All About Eve
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
Bette Davis again, this time paired up with her "arch-nemisis" Joan Crawford. I'm slightly skeptical about the whole Davis/Crawford fued story. I don't doubt they disliked each other ("Joan Crawford has slept with every male star at MGM except Lassie", Bette Davis) but I'm also fairly sure that part of their supposed hatred of each other was fabricated by the studios. The casting in this sinister, yet amusing film is inspired though, with Davis (slathered in make-up and looking fairly demented) cackling away over her crippled sister.
Kill Bill Volume I
Bright, super-stylised, violent, joyful pastiche of every film Quentin Tarantino has ever loved, ever (including some of his own). I knew that this film lacked some of QT's trademark sparky-dialogue, which I did miss. However, I settled down to enjoy blood spurting from every corner, Uma Thurman holding court in a yellow tracksuit and, my personal highlight, the amazing soundtrack (constant rotation I tell ya, constant rotation).
Guys & Dolls
It's Marlon Brando! Singing! In really bright technicolour! "Luck Be A Lady" is the stand-out song, Frank Sinatra is a little annoying and it doesn't enter the same ballpark as Singin' in the Rain or West Side Story. It's still a fun, colourful picture with some neat dialogue.
The Usual Suspects
I hate Channel Four. It was on one of their inane countdown of the top 100-whatevers that the central twist of this film was divulged to the nation....before I had seen it. Undeterred, I caught it on FilmFour earlier this month and although I enjoyed and admired it, the overall impact was slightly lessened by the fact that I already knew who Keyser Soze was! Argh. Oh, fun fact: year ago, Gabriel Byrne, one of the Suspects, used to deliver the post round where my dad lived. He had the hots for one of my aunts and used to ring the bell in the hope she'd answer. Ah, in a paralell universe, I am Gabriel Byrne's niece.
His Girl Friday
For some reason, I watched this whole film thinking the Hildy Johnson character was played by Katharine Hepbrun. Probably I was getting it confused with Bringing Up Baby. I got a bit of a shock when the end credits rolled with "Rosalind Russell". Ah, fuck it, they're both from Connecticut. Justified. I was laughing too hard to notice who the hell she was played by at any rate. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
Bad Education
Almodóvar does Hitchcock, while retaining his love for transvestites and the like. Out of all his films I've seen, the cinematography is probably the best so far (the football game, the swimming pool shots, the scene at the lake) and Gael Garcia Bernal makes a thoroughly convincing woman.
The Pursuit of Happyness
I've already written about this: nice turn from Smith, cute kid, uplifting message blah blah blah.
Bringing Up Baby
Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn in The Best Comedy Film. Of All Time. Ever. In The Universe. In My Opinion. Okay, but seriously, this is a total gem. Screwball, slapstick, innuendo, irony, puns and a leopard. All tied up in a crazy plot (try to explain it to somebody, sounds utterly stupid, doesn't it?) with Cary Grant having the time of his life and Katharine Hepburn falling down and into rivers and off dinosaurs and through bushes and in love. Hah!
Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down!
Almodóvar again. The earliest of his that I've watched. It's funny, sexy and a little dark. Antonio Banderas is a delight!
Mr. Smith Goes To Washington
Jimmy Stewart again. Idealistic, big-eyed senator Mr. Smith with his genuine love for America and his eager plans doesn't stand a chance in Washington. For climatic, filibuster scene, Stewart dried out his throat with bicarbonate of soda. Now THERE'S the kind of man we need taking an active part in the running of this country. Eh, that country, rather. America.
Now, Voyager
It's Bette Davis! (Yay!!) With big eyebrows and frumpy dresses! (Boo!!) Smoking like a chimney! (Duh!!) Did someone just scream "Melodrama!?" Yes, indeedy, the mother of all melodramas. The plot's slightly implausible (from slightly insane frump to slim beauty in three months?) and the continual break-downs may grate a little if you're in the wrong mood, but it's still a classic. And you can't deny the ending: the lighting of the two cigarettes, "Don't lets ask for the moon Jerry, we have the stars!" and the swelling music as the camera pans up to the moonlit sky...excuse me, I've got a little something in my eye..
Bobby
...you're going to have to excuse me for a good while, folks. By the end of this Emilio Estevez film I was a complete wreck. This nearly beats the finale of Doctor Who in the Makes-Catherine-Cry polls. This film, along
with Mr. Smith goes to Washington and The West Wing, does the difficult job of making me feel hopeless patriotic towards a country I've never been too. While some of the interlocking characters and storylines don't quite work (Ashton Kutcher's stoner treaded the fine line between dispensible and vomit-inducing), the ultimate point was poignant and well-crafted. The use of the music, especially Simon & Garfunkel, was noteworthy in the quiet manner it scored the tragedy. I swear, the next film I see in the cinema better not make me cry...
So there we have it, every film I watched from the 1st-31st of January. Pas mal, pas mal.
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