 Possibly Gary Coopers' best role Director: Fritz Lang Writer:Corey Ford, Alastair MacBain (book), Boris Ingster, John Larkin (story), Ring Lardner Jr., Albert Maltz Cinematographer: Sol Polito Producer: Milton Sperling by Jon Cvack The second to last film I saw from Lang was Spies (1928), which while a bit too long, blew my mind with how many genre conventions the film contained, having been in 1928. While Cloak and Dagger didn’t necessarily advance film language and structure with the same magnitude, it provided a competitive addition to the WWII spy thrillers per the likes of Notorious ('46), The Third Man ('49), and Night Train to Munich ('40), blowing the latter out of the water by offering an engaging and thrilling tale of the nuclear arms race; a topic that given the film’s release in 1946 and being based off the nonfiction book of the same name and published in the same year, was logically underway prior to America dropping its first Atomic bomb on Japan. As with most of Fritz Lang’s movies, the film balances commentary with engagement, serving as a harbinger of where the nuclear arms race could go. The story follows scientist and Professor Alvah Jesper (Gary Cooper) who’s recruited by the OSS to go behind Nazi enemy lines in order to retrieve Dr. Polda (Vladimir Sokoloff) who’s being held by the Nazis in order to expedite the nuclear development. Immediately we get a taste of Jesper’s philosophy toward the weapons, wondering when the world governments will see the value of pouring billions of dollars into research and development toward curing polio rather than creating weapons of mass destruction. Nevertheless, the government’s demands are what they are and in order to prevent the Nazis from getting the weapon first, Jesper needs to head behind enemy lines. The premise is simple enough, and yet Lang is able to miraculously combine Hitchcockian suspense with Orwellian grammar, providing a strikingly modern take. For instance, when Jesper arrives in Switzerland, there’s a photographer that looks to be not so subtly taking pictures of certain individuals. Aware of the play, Jesper holds up his briefcase to block his face. Later we learn that it was this exact move that pinged him, as only someone who didn’t want to be photographed would have anything worth investigating. Jesper quickly gets in contact with Polda, learning that his daughter has also been captured under threat of execution if Polda doesn’t continue the research. Jesper gets into contact with Katerin Lodor (Helen Thimig) who’s part of the resistance and helping to get Jesper behind enemy lines. However, we soon learn that she’s a American double agent and Nazi, which Jesper catches whiff of, cornering Katerin, threatening to turn her over to the OSS unless she tells him precisely where Polda’s daughter is, leading him to narrowly escape to Italy, with Lodor getting killed, where he meets the gorgeous resistance fighter Gina (Lilli Palmer). Robert Zemeckis’ Allied (2016) was the most recent example of the genre, and it’s insanity to think that the film would hang so far below Cloak and Dagger both in craft and substance. While Zemeckis focused far too much on the romance, Fritz Lang, while still having Gina fully made up and attractive, never lets the romance pull focus. When they’re first introduced to each other, we get what is now a classic scene of a the resistance fighters hiding in the back of the truck, stopped at a Nazi checkpoint, given the go ahead, only for the truck to stall and the Nazis begin checking the load. It’s moments like this that you understand how fast such scenes go nowadays, as although there is no grand shootout, Lang take his time building the tension as the Jesper, Gina, and the fighters have the Nazis’ flashlight slowly pan across the back of the truck, with the brilliant detail of never having the light catch their faces (as movies often do, leaving you to wonder how the person using the flashlight doesn’t see them). With Gary Cooper’s offering his classic quiet-cool, every man performance, we also see a more human side as he can’t help his attraction to Gina, making pass after pass, unable to keep his eyes off her. Her morale has been completely destroyed by the war, abandoning the common insolent behavior that’s masking obvious attraction and instead offering a slow burn that culminates in a lengthy scene (what had to be about fifteen minutes) when the two share a hovel while a cat screams outside the door and the pair try their best to contain their feelings and urges. While I’m often left wondering how marriage declarations could be so easily and quickly offered when the onscreen couples only knew each other for a few days (as is so common in pre-1980s cinema), in this case Jesper’s love made perfect sense. He’s aware of humankind's frailty in the nuclear age, never offering overt cynicism (aside from his intro), though sprinkling it into the role. For Jesper, a mix of Gina's beauty and passion to fight, represents all that’s good in the world. The troupe heads behind enemy lines, providing all of the gun fights and furtive assassinations that the best of the genre offers. Lang is able to find tension in the smallest moments, such as when Gina and him head out into the Italian streets, discovering their being followed, with Gina using her nice legs to distract the man, allowing Jesper to come from behind with a gun and lead the tail into a room. In an absolutely brutal fight sequence, the man turns around, grabbing Jesper’s face and digs his nails in, with Lang holding the camera enough to make me squirm, all while the Italian street music continues to play outside. Jesper breaks free, fighting equally dirty and bending the man’s fingers back in another squirmy moment. The gun is dropped and knowing they can’t fire and attract more attention, Jesper fights as quietly as possible, eventually strangling the man to death. It’s easy to watch the scene and think that you’ve seen it all before (down to the man kicking the gun away to prevent Jesper from getting it back), though it’s understanding how few films from the period provided such a devastating fight sequence, often relying on large theatrics and bad choreography to reach the same end. Thus, when the film ends in a shoot out between the resistance fighters and the approaching Nazis, resulting in a - per usual - narrow escape, again it’s not so much that it’s the most original sequence so much as being one of the earliest of these types of sequences that would go on to impact every film from the subgenre from there on out; complete with another brutal conclusion when the Italian resistance fighters use grenades to sacrifice their lives in order to save Jesper and Gina. Perhaps the most popular piece of trivia associated with the film (wikipedia doesn’t even include a synopsis) is that there was another reel remaining in the original cut - in which after the escape Jesper led a group of paratroopers behind German lines to a factory operated with concentration camp labor, with dead bodies everywhere, leading Jesper to declare, “This is the Year One of the Atomic Age and God help us if we think we can keep this secret from the World” and offering a deeply pessimistic conclusion to a relative popcorn action thriller. While I’m not surprised that the scene was cut, once again Lang’s work falls into the stuff of legend. I recall when Metropolis ('27) still contained missing reels until the full cut was discovered in 2008 in Argentina. Hearing that such a gruesome scene was actually filmed and included leaves me hoping that it one day turns up and we see Lang’s original vision. To think that Gary Cooper and his All American persona had a role in its creation makes it all the more incredible. I can only think of a few films that come close to matching Lang’s level of quality - Spellbound ('45), Saboteur ('42), Notorious, The Third Man, and Odd Man Out ('47). And while the latter two remain better pictures, the fact that Cloak and Dagger was made before them makes me wonder how much Carol Reed was influenced by the film. In terms of spy-action-thrillers, this is one of the best from the period. BELOW: One of the most intense murder scenes I can recall from the period Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page
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 Ebert did not like this scene Director: Jonathan Mostow Writer:Jonathan Mostow and Sam Montgomery Cinematographer: Douglas Milsome Producer: Dino De Laurentiis and Martha De Laurentiis by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... Ebert took most issue with the bank scene, both for the donuts/money connection and the overall strategy, thinking Russell acted too awkward for belief. I suppose I see the point, but I also think it wasn’t about creating tension in the bank so much as capturing the tension, desperation, and transformation in Jeff’s face. Thus why it was shot in close ups. Yes, if Mostow went wide it could have been awkward, and yet I also think of all the times I’ve heard a very intense discussion whispered between a patron and employee as they’re both trying to figure out a situation; it might look awkward, but rarely do I assume the patron has lost their spouse. I grew to love the way Russell’s expresses himself with his eyes, thinking back to his prowess in Backdraft ('91). This scene allows that ability to soar, as he tries with all his might to make a smart decision, trying to stay clear and articulate, all while the stress overwhelms him. And so begins the most exciting action sequence of the movie where Russell unleashes his complete fury, in which after he drops off the money he is duct taped and driven by Earl out of town who explains how they’re going to kill his wife. Jeff had grabbed a pen at the bank and stabs Earl, then tying him up into the seats, with a thin strand of duct tape around his neck and head cushion. Jeff then speeds off, demanding Earl tell him where his wife is. When Earl refuses, Jeff slams on the breaks, strangling Earl every time he says no. It’s such a simple idea for a torture scene, and yet I’ve never seen it before or since. Jeff gets the information and heads off to get to his wife, and while it’s during these last twenty five minutes that the film begins to dip, it wasn’t as bad as I recalled. I remember turning it off at times as a kid, as though the mystery had been solved and now it was just about killing the bad guys. I do wish they could have have preserved the mystery a bit longer, perhaps not revealing so quickly where Amy was so much as showing various places she could be, leaving the viewer to guess. When Jeff follows Red back to his house and the crew appears, Jeff finds his wife locked in a cellar, grabs a gun and heads inside where everyone's eating breakfast as though it's an average day on the farm. Red’s kid then enters the room with a loaded rifle in hand and in J.T.’s creepiest moment, moments after he tries to comfort his son, he tells his boy to pull the trigger and kill Jeff. I remember being a kid and wondering what I would do if my father said the same. After an exciting shootout and a great special effect involving the semi-truck driving through an old camper, we returned to its Hitchcockian roots, offering a Big Climactic Set Piece 2.0 in having a semi truck try and push a pick up off a bridge with Jeff and Amy inside, while Amy gets her leg stuck and Jeff and Red fight while hanging from the lorry. It was interesting to read that Ebert didn’t mind the scene so much as the conclusion. When after Red falls, remaining paralyzed on the rock bed below, Amy turns the wheel in such a way that the semi-truck falls and smashes a paralyzed Red who was bound to die. Ebert thought it was overkill. I suppose they didn’t need to have Red remain alive from the fall, but if possible, I’d probably want to be put out of my misery by being smashed. Of course, in this day and age, the glaring offense is Amy’s relegation to a woman with a bit of personality in the beginning and entering into complete passivity by the end. Even after she’s finally rescued from the refrigerator and nearly suffocating to death, she then gets her leg stuck in the seat, forced to wait yet again for Jeff to save her. There’s an argument to be made about the movie being about men enforcing or locating their masculinity, thus the complete lack of women, but it’s just not a very good one. It left me wondering how it would have worked reversed, and while I think a passive and weak man would have been just as offensive, the right woman could have played the role (Charlize Theron immediately comes to mind). Ultimately, it could have worked better if both characters had personality. Nevertheless, a great thriller from the era. BELOW: Hitchcock would be proud. Ebert thought it was overkill Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Some of Kurt and JT's best roles Director: Jonathan Mostow Writer:Jonathan Mostow and Sam Montgomery Cinematographer: Douglas Milsome Producer: Dino De Laurentiis and Martha De Laurentiis by Jon Cvack I had seen this movie close to half a dozen times growing up. I recalled the eerie first act in which a couple’s car breaks down in the middle of the desert and the wife hitches a ride with a trucker to get some help, never returning, forcing the husband to walk to town where no one had seen her. I loved the beginning, though remembered losing interest as the story carried on, tanking as they get to the barn and the mystery is unraveled. I figured I’d turn it off once I lost interest and instead discovered an incredible 90s Hitchcockian thriller that I was anxious to finish up. The yuppie couple involves Jeff and Amy Taylor (Kurt Russell; Kathleen Quinlan), who are driving cross country in their brand new Jeep, coming from Boston and moving to San Diego, narrowly hitting an old beat up truck and later meeting the aggressive driver at a gas station. It’s here we get the first taste of Russell’s stellar performance and nuance; with his squinty eyes speaking volumes as he provides a fine balance between passive with the slightest hint of underlying aggression. I had forgotten where this character goes, and knowing it would only evolve, it was fascinating to see Russell’s impatience and obsession take over. As with any good screenplay, it’s the seemingly insignificant details that all add up in near perfect order. After the confrontation, Amy shows off some of the junk food she bought at the station, particularly the donuts which are offering a giveaway of either $90,000 or 90,000 donuts (before even getting anywhere, this seems like a grossly disproportionate prize, as they should have at least offered 90,000 donut packs as otherwise they’re worth pennies on the dollar). Jeff mentions selling the donuts for thirty cents each to pay off the car. Meaning it’s worth about $27,000. He then says something about the poor state of their finances and we learn that while the couple is comfortable, they have very little in liquid assets - as it’s all tied up in the car and likely the home they’re moving to. Like the donuts, this becomes a seemingly minor detail that becomes important as we piece together the story, which I didn’t at all notice the last time I watched this, and wouldn’t have understood growing up watching it. The Jeep then starts to putter then stall, forcing them to pull to the side of the road. Jeff and Amy can’t understand the problem, as it’s a brand new car. Being in the middle of the desert and unsure of what to do, a semi-truck comes roaring down the highway, driven by Warren “Red” Barr (J. T. Walsh), who has one of the purest bad guy faces that has ever brazed the screen (unfortunately I learned he died only a year later of a heart attack at the age of 54). It’s with that face that his polite offer to drive Amy back to town sits so uneasy. Amy takes off and Jeff waits, hanging by the car for hours until finally checking the engine again, discovering that someone removed all of the electrical wiring. He hooks it back up and heads to town where we get one of my favorite types of scenes - The Person Entering the Diner Looking for Someone (seen in Back to the Future ('85) or The Killers ('46), for instance). We meet Jack McGee in an awesome role as the bartender, who declares that he hasn’t seen anybody, leaving me wondering long after whether or not he had anything to do with the situation, possibly getting a kickback, or if he just hated yuppies. With no avenues left, Jeff leaves, soon coming across Earl once again, forcing him off the road and providing us our first taste of Savage Jeff. The Sheriff then arrives, played by Rex Linn and offering yet another amazing supporting performance. And in the film’s best scene, close to up there with any Hitchcock film, we watch as Earl pretends he’s never he’s never seen Jeff before and Jeff then Breaks Down (get it? I actually think this is a smart and clever title), demanding the Sheriff search the truck. He does and looks to the rear cabin and back of the truck, which holds nothing but a few boxes. It raises such simple and juicy questions - what happened to the wife, and why doesn’t Earl know who Jeff is? Is this in Jeff’s head? Is it a supernatural element? Is Earl a twin? I can’t remember what I initially thought when first watching this, but as a kid, I know I had an uncanny type of feel, as though there was something beyond any of that; maybe involving the entire town. It’s a question that so few films have answered well (Joy Ride ('01), most of Hitchcock, pre-mid millennium de Palma, etc.) and so many have failed at (Identity ('03) being the most tragic for how great the movie was until the explanation). I believe it’s this that made me have a different experience, for as a kid I couldn’t understand the nuanced motives, hoping for a better answer, and now accepting that it’s much more about the journey, as the ending is far from the greatest, but relatively high on the scale of satisfaction. Jeff returns to the diner, again asking about his wife, demanding the bartender turn over the receipts so he can check the work when the bartender pulls a gun on him, forcing Jeff out where he meets a seemingly impaired young man, Billy (Jack Noseworthy) who asks if he’s looking for his wife, saying he knows the men who took her and that the police are in on it. Jeff drives off, turning down the wrong road that leads to a dead end, giving the feel of an inescapable town - an idea that Identity would explore half a decade later and be unable to resolve. Breakdown makes the idea work by avoiding any need for truth. The extraordinary journey could be just as much an experience or vision of hell (perhaps for living a selfish life), as it is true life. Earl’s pickup truck appears and he takes out his rifle, ready to kill. With nowhere to go, Jeff rolls over the hill and speeds down toward a roaring river, hoping to jump it and landing right in the middle of the current, taking on water and escaping, hiding in the woods until Billy bludgeons him in the head and he falls, waking up with Billy, Earl, and Red all standing above, with Red demanding Jeff to get all the money that his wife said she had - $90,000. Jeff pieces together the puzzle and heads down to the bank. This is a big detail that I had completely failed to comprehend as a kid, figuring he had the money and simply faked how much he took out (which is pretty cynical way to for a kid to remember something, if I did). Jeff has only about $9,000 in his bank account, and that’s with maxing out his credit card. That is, the $90,000 was the way for his wife to send confirmation that he was alive (something Jeff doubted up until that point). Continue to Part 2... BELOW: Gotta love unnecessarily elaborate 90s action scenes Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  After three films, I'm starting to find Fred Astaire kind of annoying Director: Mark Sandrich Writer: Allan Scott, Dwight Taylor, Ben Holmes, Ralph Spence, Károly Nóti Cinematographer: David Abel Producer: Pandro S. Berman by Jon Cvack This is the first of ten musicals from Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers that I’ve seen, and while I wish I had more to say, it was this complete lack of thoughts that made me realize how disappointing the film is. The first musical I had seen from Astaire was The Band Wagon (1953), which was a smart, mildly meta narrative that deconstructed theater, film noir, and theater, combining tropes and conventions at a volume that would never be seen again until the 90s. It’s rare for such a popular film to fall so flat with me; where I can at least appreciate what it did for the genre or its position in history. Unfortunately it failed the DVD Clock Test, where I kept on glancing over to see how much longer I had to go. Top Hat involves American performer Jerry Tavern (Fred Astaire) who arrives in London to star in a show produced by the neurotic Horace Hardwick (Edward Everett Horton; in a role that makes you realize how long this character type has existed). While Jerry is practicing in his hotel room, he wakes up aspiring dancer Dale Tremont (Ginger Rogers), forcing her to head to his room and complain where she mistakes him for Horace the Producer, hoping to get a role in a show. Jerry falls in love with Dale, following her to Venice where they meet Dale’s friend and Horace’s wife Madge (Helen Broderick). With Dale still thinking Jerry is Horace, Jerry proposes to Dale, enraging her and so begins the famous rom-com formula that extends for an hour with minimal laughs and a lot of song and dance numbers. Having just watched The Love Parade (1929) and learning that it was the first to integrate song numbers into a narrative - at times awkwardly - it’s no surprise that a movie made only six years later would experience the same gawkiness. The story and how it transpires simply doesn’t warrant an 95 minute runtime, and the numbers aren’t extravagant enough to completely distract. Even the classic “Cheek to Cheek”, while by far the best scene of the movie, caused me to wonder what movie incorporated this song in a creepy way (it was The Green Mile ('99)). When the movie ended I was left with that empty feeling that just-okay movies provide - with no resentment or joy to be felt. It was a cinematic experience where I’ll soon forget most of the details and avoid returning to for decades. Maybe I’ll like it the second time. BELOW: Astair/Rogers' most famous number Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  One of cinema's most punchable faces Director: François Truffaut Writer:François Truffaut, Marie-France Pisier, Jean Aurel, Suzanne Schiffman Cinematographer: Néstor Almendros Producer: Marcel Berbert, François Truffaut by Jon Cvack Love on the Run closes out the Antoine Doinel feature film series, which I didn’t know was a series until I finished Bed and Board (1970). It's a far more experimental film than the others, relying on both original flashbacks from the first four films in the series and flashbacks shot for Love on the Run specifically, where even in the Criterion Bonus Features, Truffaut admits it’s not a very good film, progressing Antoine Doinel more into the shape of a cartoon than an actual character. The story picks up nearly a decade after Bed and Board, where Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Léaud) is now cheating on his wife Christine (Claude Jade) with her best friend Lillian (Dani; a famous French singer, thus the singular name) along with bumping into Colette from the second film (Marie-France Pisier), now a lawyer. Antoine has gotten a job as a proofreader and has written a fairly autobiographical novel about most of the women from the first four films, including Colette, who then confronts Antoinel, thus kickstarting another affair, all while he divorces Christine. The women all end up engaging with one another to learn who Antoine actually was and who he loved, providing one of the most cringey examples of Bechdel test failure; as the women linger on and on about Antoine and his many foibles and charm rather than entering into any meaningful conversation with each other. What makes it so hard to bear is that Antoine Doinel is one of the most unlikeable characters in the history of cinema. For as much as I might laugh or smile, this guy often lies, insults the intelligence of all his partners, and is ruthlessly self-seeking. As Colette declares on the train, Antoine appears incapable of satisfaction with anything beyond the chase; growing bored with the women, as though competing to see how many others he can get away with; worst part being that he’s attracted to nice girls who fail to see this incorrigible selfishness. Truffaut has admitted that Doinel is a version of himself, though just as John Updike had Harry Angstrom, or Philip Roth had Nathan Zuckerman, both as the far darker versions of themselves, Antoine Doinel feels like a character born from Truffaut’s worst punched up personality traits that allowed for this terrible person to graze the screen. Coincidentally I’m around the same age as Doinel and am positive that if I got to know this person I would hate him. Having learned about the series so late, I was surprised to learn that The 400 Blows (1959) kicked it off. Even though I remember little beyond the closing freeze frame, I recall it as a story of rebellion, and although Antoine Doinel is played by the same person, it feels so different in hindsight. I’m not sure if I’m wrong or right, and it makes me excited to return to the film. I’m hoping he’s a better person and maybe it’ll justify how he devolves into such a narcissist. If Love on the Run accomplishes anything, by using so many flashbacks, it made me understand how long time has spanned, as as I first saw The 400 Blows and Stolen Kisses back in college, nearly a decade ago. It made me want to return to the films, having faith that maybe how I feel about Doinel across the series will evolve over the next ten years. BELOW: Slim pickings on YT for this film, so here's Truffaut on the auteur theory Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Gotta give kudos to how they cut in JFK without showing his face Director: Pablo Larraín Writer: Noah Oppenheim Cinematographer: Stéphane Fontaine Producer: Juan de Dios Larraín, Darren Aronofsky, Mickey Liddell, Scott Franklin, and Ari Handel by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... One of the earliest moments from Jackie involves her giving a Emmy-award winning documentary tour of the White House, in which she’s forced to wear her iconic red dress and maintain a perpetual smile while answering questions about the White House decor and furnishings (with a couple questions about their commitment to art). Similar to No, Larraín shot this is with what looks to be the same exact black and white film that the actual documentary utilized, allowing us to fully grasp how well Portman sunk into the character and how out of the spotlight, we see that Jackie enjoyed smoking, drinking, and other more masculine activities, knowing she could never reveal them to the public, at times demanding the journalist leave out such details. The movie accomplishes what all great biopics do in showing an imperfect woman. Jackie had coveted the position as much as anyone else; and while her role was relegated to more superficial aspects, she was forever aware of their place in history. As she declares in an interview with the journalist, her voracious appetite for reading history forced her to muse on what place they would have. In a great moment while riding in the ambulance with Bob Kennedy, she asks the driver if he’s ever heard of James Garfield or William McKinley, to which the driver says no, the way most people would say no. While known in their era, they have now joined the majority of presidents who fail to stand out. With JFK having been in office for just shy of three years, his only major achievement was the Bay of Pigs, along with getting us involved with Vietnam. He had plans to run on big ticket items such as Civil Rights, though I also recommend you look up the hypothesis as to whether or not JFK would have gotten the bill through, given LBJ’s more formidable politicking and experience. Jackie fears that, in the annals of history, the Kennedy name won’t matter, and when you consider how little he accomplished, it does make you stand in awe that he’s achieved such a notorious position in modern history; and yet I can’t help wondering if that’s because of their age, looks, and young children who appeared as the perfect family (JFK’s philandering aside; though the point is mentioned by Jackie). The film’s critics are those seem equally turned by Malick’s earlier work, seemingly unable to accept a more poetic film than conventional narrative. I don’t know much about Jackie’s life, but the film’s not about that. While it could have easily been adapted as a traditional three-act narrative, with punched up conflicts between the Kennedys and LBJ and extravagant funeral set pieces, instead Larraín directs our intention to grief and the way it affects an individual. To examine the universal idea within such an esteemed person is to provide a link between us and the position. As mentioned at one point, what we learn is that all of these iconic figures of modern history are still humans; feeling similar conflicts of melancholy, confusion, selfishness, and rage. One of my favorite scenes involved Jackie alone in the private residence, getting drunk, smoking, and taking pills, while playing records, dressing up in various outfits, and having one last night in the White House. At less than three years, she’s forced to abandon all her hopes and ideas, whether for what the White House could be (as a mecca of art and culture) or for the policies that would progress the country forward. Rarely have I felt such empathy for a character, imagining myself as equally irresolute and confused, devastated by having to accept that the dream that was real and coveted had been suddenly stripped away. As her discussion with a Priest progresses (John Hurt; in the film’s second best performance), I was in awe of thinking what difficulty a man of God would have in consoling the situation; only able to provide the same advice that he would likely offer any person of any class; to accept that a piece of you will be forever broken and what’s most important is to try and fill your life with appreciating the remaining moments of happiness you’ll one day grasp. The movie is heartbreaking and yet beautiful to watch, with images that have continued to haunt me for days. BELOW: Such a simple and beautiful scene Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The wardrobe in this movie alone makes it worth the watch Director: Pablo Larraín Writer: Noah Oppenheim Cinematographer: Stéphane Fontaine Producer: Juan de Dios Larraín, Darren Aronofsky, Mickey Liddell, Scott Franklin, and Ari Handel by Jon Cvack I’ve been anxious to check out Jackie since discovering it was directed by Pablo Larraín, who made No (2012) four years earlier; another historical drama in which an ad man gets involved on the 1988 Chilean plebiscite, deciding whether or not dictator Augusto Pinochet should stay in power for another eight years. While the story itself was engaging enough, it was the photography that etched the film into memory, shot entirely on old video news cameras that made it look as though I was watching a film that was shot during the period. Jackie is shot with comparable complement, utilizing Super 16mm film to match the actual footage from the period, along with breathtaking set design from Jean Rabasse that looked like they somehow gained access to the actual White House and all its amenities. The film takes place from the moment JFK was shot, all the way up through one of the first interviews Jacqueline Kennedy (Natalie Portman) gave about the horrific event, including the physical transition from Kennedy’s administration and into LBJ’s; providing an intimate look into Jacqueline’s determination to handle the situation as best she could. From the interview, the story begins with Jacqueline on the plane, covered in blood, as LBJ (John Carroll Lynch) is being sworn in. John Carroll has large boots to fill after both Bryan Cranston in HBO's All the Way and particularly Michael Gambon’s brilliant performance in HBO's other LBJ bio-pic Path to War (from my count, LBJ has been portrayed in five films, as of 2019). However, counter to those films, we receive a more superficial look at the man who unfortunately is portrayed as at least mildly excited for the position, offering little in the way of empathy for the Kennedy’s grief. The film moves on to follow Jacqueline as she works with Bob Kennedy (Peter Sarsgaard) to make the funeral arrangements, with Jacqueline determined to provide her husband the grandest procession the country has ever seen, going so far as to have an assistant research Lincoln’s funeral, which included Heads of State from the world over, all led by horse drawn hearse down the eight blocks to Arlington Cemetery. Though when Lee Harvey Oswald is suddenly assassinated, the LBJ administration cautions her about security, advising against the Kennedy’s walking such a relatively long distance. We watch as Jackie drifts between melancholy and madness, seemingly incapable of making a decision without second guessing herself and forcing everyone to change the plans. What the film does so well is take an objective look at the woman and what it means to be a Kennedy. As I’ve mentioned before - most recently in Street Fight (2005) - what I find most interesting about politicians, and especially the presidency, is the expansive ego it demands; in which the candidate has to believe that they are the one who can lead an entire nation against the vast challenges it faces. In the modern era, and matters of seniority aside, a person is not often chosen to be president so much as possesses the faith they could be. Working in entertainment where egos run sky high - and for things which do not matter in any comparable way - I have trouble grasping the idea of someone thinking they can guide the country in the correct direction; that their ideas are the ones the people should vote for. Given the increasingly expensive cost to run, it often demands that the individual comes from wealth; with only a fraction having come from more modest means (I highly recommend reading McCullough’s "Truman" to gain insight into a modern example of how things use to be). The Kennedy wealth, stemming from Joseph P. Kenny, Sr., came from banking and investments, some originating in bootlegging and others arguing insider trading (back when the SEC, in its lenient stage, was far more lenient). Currently, there’s yet another Kennedy serving in congress - 36 year old Joe Kennedy III, who’s allegedly inherited between $15-55 million. While I agree with much of the man’s politics, there’s something I find gross about the Kennedy dynasty; the way I find both the Bush and burgeoning Clinton dynasties gross. In a country that was founded on the principle of all people being created equal, families of this sort, with their vast wealth and name recognition, make it increasingly difficult for the average person to reach higher office. Continue to Part 2... BELOW: Probably one of the top ten accents ever designed Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Was trying to find a cool Gotham City/Chicago hybrid image, but its slim pickings on the Google front Director: Christopher Nolan Writer: Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer Producer: Charles Roven, Emma Thomas, and Larry Franco Cinematographer: Wally Pfister by Jon Cvack Throughout junior high and during the first couple years of high school I use to kick off most summers with the Indiana Jones trilogy, starting the series in June and ending before the fourth of July. I recall hot summer mornings, with the air conditioner running high, and my mom coming in and out of the house, refilling her water as she floated in the pool (she was a special ed teacher). Before Indiana Jones it was Star Wars, inspiring to me to head straight to my toys and act out stories from its universe. And of course Back to the Future (1985) was a movie I remember from my earliest days of cinema, going so far as to provide a very distinct melancholy when I initially finished the trilogy, knowing that the story had concluded and that I could no longer live in the world; distinctly sad that such a story could never be possible. The thing all of the great trilogies have in common is their ability to transport the viewer across approximately nine hours of time, all of which should be new and thrilling to watch - a limitation that relatively low budget television is simply unable to accomplish. A great summertime trilogy is filmmaking of the highest order, creating content that is loved by all - both lovers of cinema and the general moviegoing public. There are of course single films that provide the same - Jaws, Jurassic Park, The Goonies, Stand by Me, etc. - but an entire action/adventure trilogy where the worst film is one of the greatest compared to most of its peers, is an incredibly rare accomplishment. Having craved these types of films over the last few summers, The Dark Knight Trilogy has earned an equal position on the pedestal. I don’t rush to these films as I’m now so precious about over watching certain classic movies that, like a fine bottle of whiskey, I take them in small doses; often years apart. Having just seen Dunkirk and catching Interstellar in the theater for a second time, I’ve admired Nolan’s commitment to realism, as it functions almost as a foil to Spielberg, with the pair both achieving equally impressive work with complete different styles. Nolan’s Batman is someone who took on a Christ-like story of returning after a long period of meditation, hardship, and training, ready to live his mission in life. I was surprised to see Christopher Nolan was only thirty years old at the time of production, as I swear the guy looks to be in his forties. Christian Bale embodies the spirit of who I consider Batman (though I do hope Michael Fassbinder one day gets the chance to try it out). I think of all the other ways it could have gone, getting a more traditional dark and attractive man, and how easily the story could have become gaudy. The same goes for the rest of the cast - Liam Neeson, Gary Oldman, Cillian Murphy, Tom Wilkinson all take on relatively supporting roles, sinking into them with such ease that I forgot how incredible the ensemble was. Like Nolan, Katie Holmes embodies the spirit of Rachel Dawes, providing my one major criticism of the trilogy when she was replaced by Maggie Gyllenhaal. Growing up with Dawson’s Creek, which I still think is her best work, this role was a close second. Like any great film the story takes on political significance, serving as a harbinger, if not a looking glass self to its Chicago setting. Gotham City has been overrun with corruption and crime, controlled primarily by mob boss Carmine Falcone (Wilkinson) who’s got the majority of police and the court on his payroll. Rachel Dawes watches as power is increasingly grasped and exploited, especially in the courts as they once again allow psychologist Jonathan Crane (Murphy) to send another murderer to the psychiatric hospital, pleading insanity. While it’s never specifically mentioned (not even in the comic book from what I recall), there’s an impression that Bruce Wayne’s father had a significant/informal role in managing the city, leaving me wondering why he wasn’t just the mayor, kind of like an altruistic version of Donald Trump. Thus when murdered and Wayne Enterprises is controlled by the Board of Directors, it’s clear that their commitment to the community is displaced by a determination to make themselves rich by making the company public. Bruce’s return comes amidst the chaos, as he hopes to take all he learned about the criminal underworld in order to apply it toward battling the enemy. He utilizes the Military R&D department with the help Lucius Fox (Freeman) in order to gain access to the equipment he requires, assembling his bodysuit, tools, weapons, and of course, the batmobile, all while preparing a base with the help of Alfred (Caine) in the underground cave system beneath Wayne Manor. While Alfred is wary of the risk, he demands that Bruce at the very least make public appearances; to which Bruce abandons his charm in favor of a lewd persona in order to curtail any suspicions that he might be Batman. We learn that Jonathan Crane is the Scarecrow after he betrays his arrangement with Falcone, putting on the mask and giving us a first taste of the absolute fear it commands. While I had once been turned off by the VFX, knowing their position in the complex plot, I now found Nolan’s balance between artificial and practical effects incredible; especially when Batman turns the poison on the Scarecrow who sees the Batman as a charred skin demon, expectorating black sludge with every word. It’s assisted by the fact that Nolan seemed to have known that this film was all about setting up the universe in order to provide us one of cinema’s greatest sequel by drifting from exposition and into character, all before moving onto the relatively weakest final film of the series (though still a great movie), which also had the greatest action sequences (brought about by its ~$250 million budget; $100 million more than Batman Begins). We learn that Crane had worked with Falcone’s men to steal a shipment off a barge that was due for Wayne Enterprises - the military division specifically - which was able to convert all water to steam across miles of piping, allowing the Scarecrow to pour hundreds of gallons of his fear potion into the water supply and take the weapon to the middle of Gotham’s lower class denizens whilst releasing Arkham Asylum’s most dangerous and psychotic criminals. WIth repeated viewings allowing me to recall more details from the other films, the idea of chaos versus purpose extends across all of the films. While I’d have to watch The Dark Knight Rises (2012) again to retrieve the proper details, The Dark Knight’s (2008) Joker simply wanted to watch the world burn. Scarecrow gives the same impression, until we learn that it was Bruce Wayne’s instructor Ra’s al Ghul’s (who trained him to join the vigilante League of Shadows) intention to destroy Gotham in order to put an end to all of the crime and corruption. Similar to his demand for Bruce to behead a convicted murderer, Ra’s al Ghul wants Batman to understand that his city is past saving. Just as Bruce refused to kill the convict, he also refuses to watch Gotham destroy itself. Unfortunately I can’t recall and cannot find exactly what Ra’s wanted from Scarecrow, but Scarecrow gets away while Ra’s is killed in an absolutely brilliant El-train sequence - which is all the more impressive having been from Chicago and watching the ways Nolan’s utilized the city. One of the greatest features of Batman is his stoicism combined with absence of superpowers. We never get the impression that he actually likes people other than Alfred, Gordon, and Rachel. His commitment is toward eradicating the evil that led to his parent’s death, not necessarily because it’ll keep Gotham safe (though he might say it), but mostly because it'd make him feel vindicated. In some ways the film plays as a nightmare (or maybe Hell, in sticking with the biblical structure) - looking at one man’s life of pain and alienation whilst endlessly battling against great forces of evil; unable to ever fully escape his fate. It’s the reason I don’t want to get into the comics, as the seemingly infinite scope would never end, and yet it’s what makes Nolan’s trilogy so perfect. It’s a novel length version of the rise and fall of Batman. BELOW: An incredible Chicago/Gotham City hybrid Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The snow ain't the only thing that's white about this film Director: Taylor Sheridan Writer: Taylor Sheridan Cinematographer: Ben Richardson Producer: Matthew George, Basil Iwanyk, Peter Berg, Wayne L. Rogers, Elizabeth A. Bell by Jon Cvack Taylor Sheridan’s directorial debut took Best Director at Cannes, offering one of the earliest Oscar buzzed films of the year. Impressed with Hell and Higher Water (2016) and blown away by Sicario (2015), I was excited to check out the latest of Sheridan’s looK at the flyover states, which capped off his unofficial American trilogy. Unfortunately, the forfeiture of two great and veteran directors fell victim to the same results that ambitious actor/writers often experience. The film opens in the Wind River Indian Reservation with a US Fish and Wildlife Service hunter Cory Lambert (Jeremy Renner) who’s investigating a calf that’s allegedly been mauled by a mountain lion. Lambert tracks down the animal on a snowmobile, wearing white fatigues and having a lot of cool guns. Miles into the middle of nowhere he comes across the body of a dead eighteen year old girl, Natalie Hanson (Kelsey Chow), who has asphyxiated on her own blood as her lungs froze while running for miles in -20 degree weather. Lambert heads back to tell the local Native American chief Ben (Graham Greene; no last name for some reason; important to note for later), who then wait for the FBI, where sure enough, a young white and attractive woman, James Banner (Elizabeth Olsen) shows up, flying in from Vegas and completely ill-prepared for Wyoming - somehow smart enough to become an FBI agent but not smart enough to check the weather in a place that seems fairly obvious to check the weather for. She also fails to comprehend or agree with Cory's theory; again making me question her FBI credentials. At the autopsy, we get our first taste of the poor direction, as although Natalie has clearly been raped, there is no definitive sign of a murder. This enrages Banner who can’t more field officers unless it’s a murder (which left me wondering how strict the FBI actually would be in this situation; if she called a colleague and explained the legality versus the reality of the situation it seems somebody, at least one person, would probably show up, or at the very least, keep tabs on the potential of a sexual assault; especially after the subsequent attempted murders). After the news, Banner storms out of the autopsy, and in a long wide shot we watch as she looks so heavily like she's acting pissed rather than seeming actually pissed; mostly because she moves in the way someone pretending to be upset would move (head down, hand on chin, staring down, etc.). I don’t blame Olsen who has done some incredible work, so much as Sheridan for refusing to see that it was more important to contain Banner’s rage; namely that maybe a lack of physical reaction would be the more powerful choice, especially given Olsen's powerful eyes. At this point, with her lack of foresight, insight, or self-control, she seems like a needlessly weak woman. This doesn’t mean I needed some badass Fed woman so much as a person that’s not entirely worthless to the investigation. Immediately I was thinking about Clarice Starling and Foster/Demme’s ability to create a character that had complex deficiencies and yet who was determined to do good, both for the sake of the families and to prove her own worth. Banner evolves to greater strength, yet in the end, she’ll rely on Lambert to save her life and kill the bad guy. Which brings me to Lambert, who’s divorced, has to take his kid for a few days amidst all the chaos; all while trying not to argue with his Native American ex-wife Wilma (Julia Jones) who we don’t really get to know anything about (which will also be important later). Lambert and Banner go off to solve the case, uncovering a complex rape-murder web that took place in an oil company’s onsite trailer housing site, all operating on the reservation. On the way, they meet some drug addict Native American kids, one being Natalie's brother, who’s living in a crumbling trailer and learns the news of his sister’s passing by piecing together a grammatical error on Lambert’s part, providing an exchange of what I’ve had to have heard a hundred times in Walker Texas Ranger. After Lambert uses the word "was" in describing Natalie, the brother cries out - “Was?...Was?!...What do you mean ‘was’?! [crying]...What do you mean ‘was’?!” and so he cries. These might seem like minor details, but in a film that should be exploring a significant issue; that is the plight of modern Native American communities, it instead falls into trope and melodrama, pulling you straight out of the movie. In the end we learn that Natalie had a boyfriend Ben (Jon Bernthal) who really loved and cared for her, though when post-coital in bed one night, his oil buddy friends came back from the fields, with one completely fucked up and crossing the bro line, trying to peek at a naked Natalie, causing a fight to break out where him and his buddies then take turns raping Natalie, in one of the most brutal rape scenes I’ve seen in a long time. There was a recent open letter about ending rape scenes in film and television, and counter to giving movies with characters who smoke an R rating, I completely support a mission to try and phase these moments out in favor of newer ideas. When I really think about it, with the exception of historical/biopic pieces, I can’t really see why we’d ever need to show a rape in a film ever again. It’s not that rape shouldn’t be included in the story, so much as I don’t think it ever needs to be explicitly shows. It’s a bold statement, and sure I can think of highbrow films that have done it appropriately, but all too often it’s done for shock effect, providing a plot device that has been explored all too often. Filmmakers need to return to the ways of implying rather than showing these horrific scenes, as after decades of watching them, I just don’t think there’s much more progress to be made in the ways of portraying sexual assault. After being raped, Natalie Hansen then escapes, running as far as she could in the freezing cold until she collapsed and died. This is all told in flashback, and even now I’m not sure if the characters knew this information, or just we, the audience, understood it. After the brutal scene, a fairly cool and completely implausible shootout takes place between the oil men and the State Police, local Officers, Ben and Banner. I could not buy that anyone would think that shooting a bunch of Federal and State police would possibly lead to anything more than a few weeks freedom, and again it seemed like there could have been more motivation than simply that the oil men didn’t want to get caught; something should have motivated such a tremendous risk. Why wouldn’t they just play it cool, wait for them to leave, and as their walking away, they mow them down? It was a classic case of plot serving. And yet ultimately, what’s most enraging about the film is the end title card, mentioning how Native American communities don’t keep track of missing person statistics and so no one knows how many Native American women are missing. It’s such an ambiguous fact that means nothing; a shallow gesture to the struggles of the Native American culture; especially because in the end, the only two Native American portrayed in the film was Lambert’s ex-wife Wilma and Ben (with no last name), who we learn close to nothing about, and Natalie, who we saw dead, then dressed in her underwear and then brutally raped. Why couldn’t Banner have been a Native American FBI officer, or any person of color; someone that would’ve been more intimately connected to the victim? The same applies to Lambert - given his job as protecting the Native land from lions, why couldn’t he have been a Native American? It played so heavily like the 90s Southern race-procedurals, Ghosts in the Mississippi (1996) or Mississippi Burning (1988), in which the white people come to town to save the black community. For a film that concludes by raising awareness about a highly underrepresented section of America, I'm not sure how much whiteness could be pressed into the story. BELOW: Here's the thing - this is a great scene; it just doesn't make any sense at all Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Perhaps more aptly titled The Algiers Motel rather than Detroit Director: Kathryn Bigelow Writer: Mark Boal Cinematographer: Barry Ackroyd Producer: Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Matthew Budman, Megan Ellison, Colin Wilson by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... As terrifying as Platoon’s Mai Lai portrayal was, it didn’t go on for the majority of the film; it was a scene within a larger film, which I think could have benefited Detroit. The more appropriate portrayal would have focused on the shocking trial, where even with nearly half a dozen witnesses, mostly black, testifying to what happened, the officers were found not-guilty and simply relieved of duty. In the end, we hear that the filmmakers don’t know what actually happened that night, relying solely on the surviving participants. Unfortunately, having sprinted through the trial and its proceeding, I couldn’t help but take this fact and wonder what else was left out. We see how the witnesses’ individual histories and unrelated character impacted the trial, but with the absence of hard facts, I was left wanting more from both sides. What was the officer’s defense? What was the strategy? How did the media respond? How did the community respond? Countless questions began popping up, leaving me to think that this story would have been much better served by abandoning the extended torture and murder of those involved and toward what happened with the trial and what it all meant. The movie might have been better and less effectively titled The Algiers Motel than Detroit, as I was hoping to see more of all the events that occurred; the injustices throughout the city and the way the politics played a role between the governor, mayor, community leaders, National Guard, and police; allowing us a well-rounded view into these tragic days. I was left depressed in the end; in a way that I don’t think is needed right now. The black community and those on the left don’t need to see such grotesque actions in a film in this era; they see them every month, if not more; with officers often excused with equally similar slaps on the wrist. To see that this has been going on since 1967 and essentially for all of time, often in much worse terms, doesn’t add much to the conversation. Seeing how the system worked and the ways in which it was used to favor officers against the black community is something that would have provided value. And thus the film seems relevant solely for conservatives, who refuse to see a problem, and yet would very likely take issue with the closing statement regarding the facts. And if not for a political audience, I’m not sure who this is for, as even someone removed from current affairs would likely have a hard time watching this. It’s a very well made film, telling a story that’s better to exist than left unexplored. All problems with focus aside, it contains some of the finest performances from an ensemble cast in years. One of the strongest performances from Will Poulter, who masterfully conveys the sheer hate, bigotry, and blatant disregard for the law in order to maintain his white supremacy, all without the slightest degree of empathy. He’s one of the most vile characters I’ve seen graze the screen this decade. To show the world what the dregs of humanity actually look like - that it stands to infect anyone from any race, should power and opportunity present itself - that is what’s most terrifying to see. Just as most have no clue what would possibly cause them to set fire to their own community, we also don’t know where or when evil will infect humanity. BELOW: Truly one of the most vile characters of the decade Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page |
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