David Fincher's Mank was the best film of the eight nominated for Best Picture this year - click on the link below to read my review. If you're interested in my opinions on the other seven films, they're here too.
Sunday, April 25, 2021
Mank
This afternoon I finally got to the theater to see Mank, and I am glad that I saw it after re-watching Citizen Kane not too long ago, as the former has enriched my appreciation of what is considered by many to be the greatest film of all time. The story of Mank is quite straight forward; the screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz ("Mank") was hired by Orson Welles to write a screenplay, which eventually would be made into the film Citizen Kane. Mank wrote the screenplay based on the eccentric newspaper tycoon, William Randolph Hearst, someone who Mank had developed a relationship with. The screenplay of Citizen Kane was seen a betrayal of Hearst, as Mank cast him in a very unflattering light. The main performance in Mank are also quite straightforward, with Gary Oldman in the title role, playing the screenwriter as a mostly-functional alcoholic, who just so happens to be bed-ridden for the entire time that he's writing the screenplay. The music in Mank is also quite straightforward, composed by Atticus Ross and that other guy from Nine Inch Nails, creating a sound that may be the best dramatic 1940's film score ever recorded. And if that wasn't enough, Mank in its entirety is also quite straightforward, directed by David Fincher, everything that made it to the screen is flawless. Take for example the scene where Mank, and the actress Marion Davies (played by Amanda Seyfried) walk through William Hurst's estate; it is clear that we are to be reminded of Xanadu from Citizen Kane, but Fincher references the background images only as needed to support the story, and never at the expense of the conversation that is taking place. When I mentioned before that Citizen Kane is considered by many to be the greatest film of all time, you may have noticed that I qualified the statement; I personally don't think it's the greatest film, but I also cannot find any flaws. Of course being flawless, and being the greatest don't necessarily have anything to do with each other. Mank is a flawless film that has enriched my appreciation of another flawless film, I guess that's pretty high praise.
Promising Young Woman
I was surprised when it was announced that Promising Young Woman was nominated for Best Picture, as my impression of the movie (before seeing it) was that it was a one-note revenge fantasy anti-man flick. I was wrong, it has more than one note. Actually, I was impressed by the range of emotions that were displayed in the main character, played by Carey Mulligan. There are the emotions that you would expect in a woman who has taken it upon herself to protect vulnerable women from despicable men; anger, distrust, hurt, and numbness. But Mulligan makes the character sympathetic by showing other emotions, which aren't expected in someone so hardened; joy, optimism, and mercy. The result is a revenge fantasy anti-man flick that's also a well made film, checking-off the previously mentioned boxes of story, character, and action. The director Emerald Fennell's stylistic approach is very interesting, and also elevated the film out of its genre. The look is best described as Sofia-Coppola-esque, with one of my favorite moments coming towards the end of the film, as one character's reaction to the Pepto Bismol colored furnishings was priceless. I had to smile at the music selection; the "man" theme, and the cover of Britney Spears' Toxic were perfect choices, helping to establish the atmosphere, and were in service to the story. After seeing the film, I'm not at all surprised that Promising Young Woman was nominated for Best Picture; in a year where absolutely nothing happens in half the films nominated, it was refreshing to see a film that saw something through to the end.
The Trial of the Chicago 7
I have to give the filmmakers credit, with The Trial of the Chicago 7 one of the most embarrassing moments in the modern political era has been spun into the best courtroom drama since Coppola's The Rainmaker. A review of this film exclusively regarding its technical merits would be overwhelmingly positive; the director Aaron Sorkin demonstrates a mastery of storytelling as he weaves together the trial with events leading up to the trial, all while wrangling a large cast of character. Sorkin keeps the dialogue tight; I never felt lost, but I also never felt like I was being talked down to. The casting is spot on, with standout performances by Eddie Redmayne as Tom Hayden, Sasha Baron Cohen as Abbie Hoffman, and Mark Rylance as their lawyer. Of course it would be unfair of me to give The Trial of the Chicago 7 a pass after so recently being critical of Judas and the Black Messiah. After all, the events of these films overlap, and two of the primary characters from Judas are prominently featured in Chicago 7. Although there are some similarities, and while the progressive leftists are clearly meant to be sympathetic characters in Chicago 7, Sorkin didn't create a revisionist film, rather he is offering a view from the leftists' points of view. I feel comfortable drawing this distinction in part because of some research that I have done after watching the film. At the time of Tom Hayden's death, the New York Times printed an obituary (you can read it here) detailing Hayden's accomplishments, and the political stances that he took, to include his involvement in the events depicted in The Trial of the Chicago 7. While it's incredibly important that we don't find ourselves among the throng of people admiring the emperor's new robes, we should be open to hearing other points of view.
Saturday, April 24, 2021
Judas and the Black Messiah
Once upon a time there was an emperor, who ruled over an empire that encompassed the known world. To mark the 50th anniversary of his ascension to the throne he decided to throw himself a extravagant banquet, and for the occasion he commissioned a new set of robes from the best tailor in the land. The tailor, knowing how unreasonable the emperor was, fretted over the design, and stayed up every night for weeks trying to decide what material would be best. The tailor's indecision escalated into inaction, which is known in certain circles as "tailor's block". The day of the banquet arrived, and the tailor had nothing to show for his sleepless nights. But a strange thing happened that day. When the emperor and his entourage arrived at the tailor's shop, the tailor had a stroke of genius... The tailor welcomed the emperor and his party into his shop, and asked them to please be seated. Then he told the emperor that he had received a special fabric from somewhere beyond the boundary of the empire; a fabric that could only be seen by a person of good character. The tailor told the emperor that he knew that it was unbecoming to speak highly of one's own work, especially in the presence of someone so important as the emperor, but this had to be the most beautiful robe that he'd ever made. Then the tailor turned to a rack of robes, took out an empty hanger, and bowing before the emperor, extended his hands, and presented the hanger to the emperor. For a moment the emperor sat there, just staring at the empty hanger. Then he caught out of the corner of his eye, his closest advisor, also looking at the hanger; he had a smirk on his face, or maybe it was a look of wonder... The emperor reached out and accepted the hanger, and rising to his feet he exclaimed, "this is the most beautiful robe I've ever seen!" A moment later, one of the emperor's aides chimed in, saying "that's the most impressive cross stitching I've ever seen!" One after the other (and in some cases, at the same time) each member of the emperor's entourage praised the magnificent robes. Long story short, the emperor wore those robes (and nothing else) to the banquet that night. Depending on who's telling the story, either some young peasant boy blows the whole thing wide open, or the story ends with the robes getting lost at the dry cleaners. In either case, the moral of the story is that people who are woke won't be satisfied until we all agree with their bullshit.
When I watch a movie where a terrorist is portrayed as a hero, I can choose to cheer, or I can maintain my integrity.
Sound of Metal
The last scene in Sound of Metal is from the point of view of the main character, a man who has been learning how to be deaf, and has finally reached a major milestone in that journey. The last scene is meant to be poignantly introspective, a moment of peace and understanding, but the end doesn't come. Then a few moments later, the end still doesn't come. Then finally, the movie ends. My plan for this review was to suggest that the ending is representative of the entire movie, and I was going to argue that the movie was too long, and spent too much time trying to convey simple messages. But as I began to write, the thought came to my mind that the ending was intentionally representative of the entire movie, and the point is that sometimes it takes a long time to drive a simple message home. More so than any of the other films that I've reviewed recently, Sound of Metal succeeded in making me sympathetic to its main character. Even with all his flaws, I found myself wondering how I would handle loosing my hearing. I definitely identify with his initial denial, and the strong desire not to reach out for help. I've probably mentioned this in a past review, but as I'm getting older I try not to let my first impression of a film be my final impression. Years ago I saw the film Blackhawk Down in the theater, and I hated it with all my being. I told everyone who would listen how bad the movie was, and how frustrating it was to watch. The opinion that I formed, and the adamant stance that I took, have kept me from re-watching the film to this day. That being said, I have this sneaking suspicion that Ridley Scott intended on making a film about the horrible situation that those soldiers found themselves in, and likely made the most frustrating war movie that he could. If that is true, then I've been judging the movie all wrong these past twenty years. In conclusion, either Sound of Metal held on fifteen seconds too long, or it had a perfect ending; I'll choose to believe the latter.
Nomadland
There are four takeaways that I would like to share after viewing Nomadland:
1. I have seen YouTube videos by people describing the techniques for van camping, which is the practice of living out of a van, car, or RV without paying a camping fee. The videos I've watched primarily give advice on where to park overnight, how to avoid drawing unwanted attention, and how to make the inside of the van as comfortable as possible. One specific video I watched explained the importance of ventilation when heating the van overnight, to avoid carbon monoxide poisoning. Watching those YouTube videos was a good prologue for Nomadland, which is basically a mocumentary about van camping.
2. I've now seen Frances McDormand relieving herself twice, which is precisely two more times than I had hoped.
3. Frances McDormand reciting a sonnet by Shakespeare on a beautiful night in the desert almost makes up for Takeaway No. 2, but not quite.
4. I have many complaints about Nomadland, first and foremost being that it was shot unnecessarily in a documentary style. That being said, I found McDormand's performance to be compelling, and I respect that the director, Chloé Zhao allowed the performance to stand on its own, and didn't depend on exposition to explain the character's motivations.
Minari
Every movie should fall into one (or more) of the following categories:
1. Story (see Apollo 13)
2. Character (see As Good As It Gets)
3. Action (see Jurassic Park)
Obviously the great films span all three categories; for example, Braveheart excels at each, and beats almost every single-category movie at their respective game.
The film Minari doesn't belong in any of the three categories; it has not plot, its characters are unremarkable, and nothing happens. Minari is about a family that has moved from California to Arkansas so that they can carve out a piece of the American dream by owning their own home and land. As might be expected, there are challenges and hardships that accompany the transition. One of the first nights in their new home there is a tornado warning, and not surprisingly everyone is frightened. The father takes up farming in an attempt to provide for his family, the wife's mother moves in, the son has a heart condition, and the daughter wants to fit in with her peers. I should have started this paragraph by saying "spoiler alert", because I just described the entire film. The interesting thing is that I actually enjoyed the film, and I am glad to have seen it. From time to time it's good to take a break from movies that have plots, characters, and action. Sometimes it's good to just take a glimpse into another family's life, and look for the lessons that can be learned.
Thursday, April 22, 2021
The Father
If David Spade were to review The Father, he would likely say, "I really liked The Father when I saw it back in 1997, under its original title Lost Highway." The film is expertly crafted, and Anthony Hopkins unsurprisingly delivered an excellent performance, but the techniques used to portray the effects of dementia on the main character end up feeling somewhat gimmicky.
I find that as time passes after I first view a film, my initial reaction melts away and is replaced with an impression of the given film. This impression is peppered with distinct memories that support why I feel the way I do about the film. For example, when I think of Chariots of Fire I can't help but feel joy; joy that comes from the music, from a runner wiping the sea-spray from his face to reveal a huge grin, and the line, “I believe God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.” When I think back on watching The Father, my first thought goes to Fincher's Fight Club, and spatterings of films I've seen by Lynch. Inevitably a director will make artistic decisions that do not work for every viewer, but a good director would be careful not to misuse techniques that evoke such strong memories of completely unrelated films. Right now I am imagining an ending to The Father in which the daughter enters the apartment, places her scarf on the coat rack, picks up the letters that are strewn haphazardly on the entry table, and turns to see her father standing in the kitchen doorway. Only instead of it being Anthony Hopkins, there dressed in a heavy grey sweater is a tall and brooding Daniel Day-Lewis. Cut to black. Ok, let's see if I can save that as my new memory of The Father.
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