 Took me about an hour to realize it was Margot Robbie Director: Craig Gillespie Writer: Steven Rogers Cinematographer: Nicolas Karakatsanis Producer: Tom Ackerley, Margot Robbie, Steven Rogers, and Bryan Unkeless by Jon Cvack The film is told with the frenetic pace found in films like Wolf of Wall Street (2013), Boogie Nights (1997), The Big Short (2015), or even this year’s Molly’s Game; though as with most attempts at replication, especially from a director who has rarely dabbled in this style, it felt a bit too borrowed. The film is introduced in the present day with all of the major players involved, including Tonya’s mom LaVona Fey (Allison Janney), her abusive ex-husband Jeff Gillooly (Sebastian Stan), and Hard Copy reporter Martin Maddox (Bobby Cannavale) who first began covering the story. LaVona Fey’s profanity is only broken by the endless amount of cigarillos she plows through each day; scolding Tonya for the tiniest mistake, going so far as to make her piss her pants before progressing to actual abuse. For some reason this gets a pass amongst today’s social media warriors, as similar to Sam Rockwell’s racist character from Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing, Missouri (2017)who has a confusing and rapid redemption, when you really think about LaVona Fey as a person, aside from Allison Janney's fantastic performance, it’s not exactly a person we should be laughing with. Tonya soon grows and Margot Robbie takes over the role; providing one of those rare moments where while I recognized the actress I couldn’t put my finger on it; absolutely blown away to discover the same woman from The Wolf of Wall Street. She soon meets Jeff Gillooly, who counter to LaVona, is portrayed as an awful human being who I despised throughout the entire film. The two have a tumultuous relationship, similar to Gosling and McAdams from The Notebook (2004), except with fists, knives, and guns involved as he physically abuses her. Regardless, Tonya is unable to leave him, even after ending up in the emergency room, filing for a divorce, and ultimately getting a restraining order. Tonya continues competing throughout the film, though due to her cheap wardrobe and heavy metal music and foul mouth, is never able to get the scores she needs to advance to the Olympics; that is, until she lands the first triple axel during practice, earning a berth at the 1992 Winter Olympics where due to either being hungover and out of shape or a faulty skate blade she falls and comes in fourth. Unfortunately, sponsors don’t care about those who come in fourth, forcing her to become a waitress where she lets her body go and returns to Jeff. As with any underdog story, she’s approached by her old coach from the past who insists on giving it one more go. However, this is also where the story shifts, as Jeff (now her manager) and his friend Shawn Eckhardt (Paul Walter Hauser) attempt to sabotage one of Tonya’s top competitors, Nancy Kerrigan. Unknown to Tonya, what starts out as a bomb threat evolves into hiring a couple of low-level crooks who botch up the plan by bludgeoning Nancy in the knee with a lead pipe, destroying her entire career, rather than disrupting the moment. The investigation picks up steam, and given how stupid Jeff, Shawn, and their co-conspirators are, the police get the evidence they need to convict, bringing down Tonya, though not before she skates for last time in the 1994 Winter Olympics, coming in eighth place. Not knowing anything about Tonya and the criminal plot, it was a fascinating story that could have used about a fifteen-minute trim; though similar to my feelings about Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri, it at times felt like the film was poking fun at a bunch of stupid working-class people rather than keeping the focus on the story’s strongest and most interesting character that is Tonya Harding. Ultimately I would have rather spent the final forty-five minutes watching Tonya’s banishment from competitive skating and entrance into the world of MMA fighting than following her abusive ex-husband’s criminal conspiracy and give him any more attention than he’s already received. I knew it would never work out, that he and his co-conspirators would make stupid mistakes, and eventually get caught because that’s how they’re portrayed throughout the entire film; and so rather than following Tonya’s incredible story, I was forced to now follow characters who I despised. Like Tonya who landed slightly off and lost her chance at the gold, the film makes a similar and slight mistake that prevents it from achieving the same. BELOW: Relegating one of the more interesting pieces of Tonya's story into a quick two minute outro 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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 They need another film Director: Aaron Sorkin Writer: Aaron Sorkin Cinematographer: Charlotte Bruus Christensen Producer: Mark Gordon, Amy Pascal, and Matt Jackson by Jon Cvack I was in LA sharing a 300 square foot studio apartment when I watched the first episode of The West Wing. Not since The Sopranos have I been so immediately hooked by a show. It pioneered the walk and talk, making the lightning-quick Mamet Speak more accessible and setting a precedent in which characters sitting and talking are rarely more engaging than having them move; somehow using sentimentality to provide hope for what our government could do. It was while working my way through the series that The Social Network (Bill Camp) was released. Combined with Fincher’s gritty style, it provided the perfect duo; creating one of the greatest films from the 2000s, and even more importantly, documenting one of the most significant technological/coshifts in history. It’s clear from Molly’s Game that Sorkin learned a lot from Fincher, even admitting that he’d call to ask for suggestions. The film embodies the same pace and energy as their collaboration, yet while Fincher was willing to show the depths of selfishness and greed, Sorkin took the opposite approach, maintaining the mile a minute talks and montages, instead opting for the goodness in all of its characters; flirting with a sentimentality that just doesn’t work with the subject matter. The movie opens up with the year’s strongest introduction by far, as Molly Bloom’s (Jessica Chastain) voice over kicks in over the images of a Mogul Skiing competition in which a nineteen-year-old Molly Bloom could qualify for the Olympics. Bloom opens with a question polled to the world’s leading athletes and coaches - what is the worst sporting event to lose? The Super Bowl? Game Seven of the World Series? Or, in this case, accidentally hitting a tree branch during the Olympic qualifications that tore off her boot and caused her to crash onto the ground? During which Bloom explains how she’s one of the smartest and most talented people you would ever meet, and how the accident led her to a life organizing illegal poker games. She decides to take a year off before applying to law school, arriving in Los Angeles where she meets up with a young and ailing real estate developer Dean (Jeremy Strong) who arranges high buy-in poker games with some of LA’s biggest businessmen and celebrities. Bloom uses her quick wit to grow the game, upping the stakes and making more money for both herself and Dean, until Dean goes on a losing streak, blaming Molly and eventually firing her. Refusing to back down from such a lucrative endeavor - especially being only in her mid-twenties - Molly decides to steal the players and start her own poker games. The general rule of law is that it’s legal to host the game so long as you’re not taking a cut of the earnings. To get around the law, Molly worked in tips, in which obviously only the largest tippers would be invited back. She ends up getting involved with a whole host of characters, from true life celebrity referred to as Project X (played by Michael Cera; allegedly based on either Tobey McGuire, Ben Affleck, or Leonardo DiCaprio); a blue-collar player and addict Harlan Eustice (Bill Camp) who gets a million dollars in over his head, falling victim to his gambling addiction; and then the Russian Mafia, who are soon indicted by the FBI, bringing down both Molly and her business. Similar to The Social Network, the narrative cuts between past and present, where after the intro, Molly is now in her mid-30s and arrested in the middle of the night. Prior to her arrest, she wrote a book called “Molly’s Game” (of which the movie is only loosely based). All of her savings have now been seized, as per conspiracy charges, the government can lien her bank accounts. We learn the nefarious method is a way to force the defendant to reach a bargain, as unless they can find a lawyer willing to work for free, they would literally be unable to afford to go to trial. Molly is forced to go around town begging lawyers to represent her, eventually coming across successful New York attorney Charles Jaffe (Idris Elba), where the two proceed to discuss the case, trading intellectual jabs as a good Sorkin duo. Molly mentions that she’s owed over $2 million, promising to give the money to Jaffe in exchange for pro bono representation. While I was a little confused over where this arrangement goes, during an awkward exchange during the initial court proceeding where Molly needs to offer her plea, Jaffe continues to shift positions with another defendant (who’s for some reason sitting between Molly and himself), he agrees. The movie was close to great, but unfortunately, Sorkin’s directing skills just couldn’t match his writing; he’s just too good at characters, and while he did a solid job in creating an energetic story, there were just far too many sentimental moments that I imagine other directors would have flagged right away. The clumsy court scene offered the first taste, later expanding to a scene where Molly runs her hands across the legal books, imagining the life she could have had, which seemed all too obvious by this point. Another was the final reconciliation with her father, who offers a lightning-quick therapy session, offering three reasons they didn’t get along that made a respected academic into an armchair psychologist, all while the scene could have ended with a simple hug rather than another verbal sparring match. What Fincher brought to Sorkin was an ability to show rather than tell in moments when telling would be too maudlin to risk. Yet my biggest issue with the story is the overall message it contains; showing that a white rich woman from a good family can break the law with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Whether or not you like Molly, she started taking a rake from the game, knowingly got involved with criminals, all while participating in illegal gambling. I can’t imagine a person of color or an individual from lesser means being granted the same immunity. Molly is celebrated for her intelligence and charm; as though because she had a skiing accident and was ridiculously smart and motivated that it’s a reason to hold her up as a paragon of virtue rather than for the criminal she is. On account of her lending over a million dollars to Harlan, at least one family was destroyed. We don’t know how many others were affected. Molly could have gone on to do anything else with her life, and instead, she’s celebrated for surviving the immoral path. Something about it doesn’t sit right for me. As the father says, her whole family had reached tremendous success, with one son going to play for the Philadelphia Eagles and the other becoming a doctor. There’s a strong hint of elitism at play which has left a bad taste in my mouth since the credits rolled. BELOW: 2017's best intro Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  There're like three images on Google from the film, so here's one of them Director: Volker Schlöndorff Writer: Wolfgang Kohlhaase and Volker Schlöndorff Cinematographer: Andreas Höfer Producer: Arthur Hofer, Emmo Lempert, and Friedrich-Carl Wachs by Jon Cvack A strange washing over moment in our nation’s history was the rise of left-wing terrorism throughout the 70s with groups like the Weather Underground in the United States or Red Army Faction (RAF) in Germany, inspiring such narratives as Sydney Lumet’s Running on Empty (1988) Best Foreign Film Nominee The Baader Meinhof Complex (2009). While the Weather Underground never killed anyone through their bombings, the RAF murdered 34 people. It’s hard to fathom domestic political terrorism in the states today, not to say Mass Shootings can’t be connected to the idea or to discount Oklahoma City, but to imagine bombs being planted on a regular basis by an underground militia is a bizarre concept; something I imagine might receive significantly more action from the right than our current domestic terrorism issue at hand (I’m writing this a couple of weeks after the El Paso shooting). When hearing these stories I often try to think what it’d take for me to become weaponized; to turn my politics into violent action in order to prove a point that I hold dear. I already find extremism frightening when it comes in the form of words and tiki torches, let alone the rise in white supremacist attacks and promotion. While home for Christmas, my mother received a cryptic letter looking like it was written by a four-year-old. She thought it was funny and I smiled until she opened it and discovered a flyer for a KKK organization in Indiana. How they got our address is creepy enough, and then I see on Facebook that this stuff is floating all over the Midwest. Both far extremes contain hate in their hearts; where at a certain point it doesn’t matter whether it’s because of the color of a person’s skin or because of that person’s hate that the other believes murder is justifiable. I always wonder at what point such a shift occurs, knowing it exceeds even the wildest, most intense and heated political debates and toward direct, irrational action. What Volker Schlöndorff’s film asks is what does someone do after all of the mayhem? The Legend of the Rita involves Red Army Faction terrorist Rita Vogt (Bibiana Beglau) who carries out a series of bank robberies, kidnappings, and guerilla attacks in West Germany to continue the fight against capitalism. The group has been together for a while, going so far as to break Rita’s boyfriend out of prison, escaping to East Germany where they meet their benefactors who feel as though they’re battling Nazi Germany. Unfortunately, the change is slow, if not irrelevant, and Rita knows that the cause is dying. They either can continue to keep fighting, living a perpetual nomadic existence and hope they’re never caught, or give up and try and reintegrate into society. Having entered into my thirties, I’ve reached a strange crossroads in which I feel the idealism of my youth, in which I believed anything was possible both politically and professionally, has now faded a bit. The dream isn’t completely dead, but there is a demand to accept that there’s a very good chance my life will settle with the majority; the dreams of writing and directing remain, but I also know that to continue the pursuit means giving up what could potentially have devastating consequences in the future. I’ve given up seeing my parents and sister more than once a year; a good-paying job with benefits and that could help with retirement; and a life that might possess more opportunity to create memories through travel and adventure. I don’t mind the decision. I’d be a liar if I said it doesn’t cross my mind on a daily basis that maybe I should go get a regular job in order to provide for those other things that I’ve given up for the last seven years. I’m giving myself a decade to see where I get, though in full honesty I don’t feel like I’m all that close. And I’m sure that’s how many people feel. Some never trying at all, others giving it a year or two, some going longer. Not everyone can actualize their dreams as there are simply too few spots and too many people. Beyond the immorality, I understand committing yourself fully to something in the hope that it could result in something grander and then having to accept that it likely will not happen. In the case of Rita, it was seeing West Germany gain the upper hand as authorities close in on their organization. She volunteers to go back to East Germany, taking up the very occupation she despises in the capitalist system: working in a factory, operating as a cog in the machine, completing the same menials task for eight hours a day, making hardly enough to buy the booze that will help her forget the monotony. She befriends an alcoholic Tatjana (Nadja Uhl) whose mind has been rotted by the repetition. The two eventually fall in love until an old lover is killed and makes the news. She takes up another identity at a state daycare center where she meets a graduate student and pro-communist Jochen Pettka (Alexander Beyer). During a trip to the Soviet Union Rita meets a past RAF member who, similar to the Tatjana, is struggling under the commaunist rule. Quickly things start to fall apart, as the West Germany authorities work with the East Germans to find the terrorists; leaving them vulnerable in the land they were fighting for and Rita ultimately doomed. In Goodbye, Lenin! (2003) the filmmakers show a pair of siblings that try to save their communist mother from the oppressive Soviet regime by creating an alternative communist world in West Germany; essentially convincing her that she was still living under the state. It was one of the first films that demonstrated political relativism to me and the ways in which anyone desperate or impressionable enough can remain loyal to the most dangerous ideas. In the BBC documentary The Power of Nightmares (2004), the filmmakers show how religious extremism in any form can demand blind and dangerous obedience, whether on the Christian or Islamic Right. On Wikipedia, a user made an interesting editorial that Rita never despises the East German system; that regardless of her friends and loved ones who were struggling, she couldn’t accept that it was the better option against capitalism; and she was willing to die for that idea. While the film does a pretty good job of demonstrating the inner struggle of holding on to the end of a rope, it never really demonstrates why her loyalty remains so strong. Then again, what reason could there possibly be, other than providing some bizarre sense of purpose? In a time like this, when political tribalism is reaching an all-time, The Legend of Rita is a gripping example of where this form of blind obedience can lead; not just to the deaths, but to the slow decay of someone who’s so reluctant to work with others in order to try and create something better; in which the fear of change leads to doom. BELOW: Slim pickings on the YouTube, so here's a trailer Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Yeah, more a story about a couple of white people who fall in love Director: Scott Cooper Writer: Scott Cooper Cinematographer: Masanobu Takayanagi Producer: Scott Cooper, Ken Kao, John Lesher by Jon Cvack George W. Bush had passed Native American Heritage Day while in office, placing the civil holiday on the day after Thanksgiving, with its first official recognition on November 24, 2017. It’s a noble gesture, and while widely supported by the Native American community, certain detractors have criticized the day for being one commonly associated with gluttony and excess; along with being tacked onto a day that most already had off. Like many, I first gained an understanding of the Native American genocide in Howard Zinn's The People’s History of the United States. Years later, while on vacation with my parents at the Grand Canyon, I picked up Jake Page’s In the Hands of the Great Spirit which documented the 20,000 year history of the American Indian, prefaced by the author saying he wanted to avoid the politics. Serving as a much extended version of Zinn’s chapter, it portrayed the Native Americans who once Columbus landed, were subjugated and systematically murdered by the white invaders; second to the genocide was the perpetual breaking of promises by the American government - granting land under binding agreement and then taking it away, with the amount granted and guaranteed constantly dwindling as the population and cultures faded exponentially. In one of the most historic Oscar speeches of all time, Marlon Brando had a Native American woman accept the award on his behalf, denouncing portrayals of Native Americans in movies and drawing awareness to the cause. While there were efforts made to revise the previously “Savage Indian” - often serving as the barbaric villain in most Westerns - the 90s were dominated with historical revisionism, with films like Dances with Wolves (‘92) and Pocahontas (‘95) focused on the white men who would enter these communities and save the Natives who couldn’t save themselves; similar to films such as A Time to Kill (‘96) and Mississippi Burning (‘88) that placed white men as the saviors for southern African Americans; implying they couldn’t save themselves. In the year 2017, as cinema has made massive strides in providing proper and better representation for women and most minority groups, I couldn’t believe that another film could possibly come out that would express white guilt over America’s treatment of Native Americans, while essentially leaving Native American culture and characters completely out of the narrative and discussion. Hostiles is very much an apologetic film that mistakenly reflects upon the “I” rather than the victim. In this case, we get to hear how bad white people are and how guilty they feel and how bad they are while completely ignoring any insight or focus on the true victims. Once again, the Native Americans characters serve as nothing more than ornaments, offering the same generic anecdotes and metaphors that we’ve seen in throughout the last thirty years; never caring to develop them into full characters or to allow them to guide the story. The story opens with a family in their lone country home attacked by Comanches who kill and slice the scalp from the husband while the wife Rosalie (Rosamund Pike) taking the children into the woods for safety. At Fort Berringer, we meet Captain Joseph Blocker (Christian Bale) who’s ordered by his Commanding Officer to escort an Apache Chief and his family (including Golden Globe nominees and Saulteaux to the reservation (the latter played by Adam Beach who has maybe a dozen lines in the nearly two hour movie). Blocker despises all Native Americans, having seen what some had done to his men, refusing to take the order until his pension is threatened to be revoked. He acquiesces and picks a crew of soldiers including Private "Frenchie" DeJardin (Timothée Chalamet; who compared to this year’s Call Me By Your Name (2017) is grossly underutilized); fresh West Point grad the Lieutenant Kidder (Jesse Plemons; who’s looking to be the next generation’s Philip Seymour Hoffman), and his old friend and alcoholic Master Sergeant Thomas Metz (Rory Cochrane; as one of the film’s best and most interesting characters). They head out with the Native Americans, eventually coming across Rosalie, whose children have died since hiding out. Rosalie now harbors violent bigotry against any and all Native Americans. From here we know the film is going, as both Blocker and Rosalie eventually come around to the Apache family and as the Apache characters offer stereotypical allegories and broken english anecdotes about animals and spirits which demonstrate that they’re not all that bad. From there, for the majority of the two hour and fifteen minute running time, we follow the caravan around, moving from gorgeous New Mexico vistas to campfires to arguments and conflicts and monologues, all shot in close ups, with the sitting/lying down/standing, with the camera never moving, then repeating, until eventually a pit stop at another Fort puts them in control of an even more overt bigot Sergeant Charles Willis (Ben Foster) who wishes nothing more than to slaughter all Natives; who has more lines and interaction in his brief twenty or so minutes of screen time - spouting nonstop racist vitriol - than most of the other Native American characters combined. I’m not entirely sure what the purpose of the film was. It frames itself as an apology for white supremacy, yet refuses to develop its Native American characters as anything more than the generic stereotype we’ve seen in westerns for the last thirty years. Even Adam Beach is relegated to a meaningless role, to the point where I doubted that a man of his stature could possibly have agreed to take such a minor and offensive bit part; making me wonder if he had more screen time and was simply cut to offer more of its two hour plus runtime to the white characters explaining how guilty they felt. In a time when African Americans and Women are finally getting the change they have deserved, I was surprised that this movie escaped liberal twitter. A film that offered the same self-centered monologues to those groups should have received the wrath of social media warriors. It just goes to show how much further the plight of Native Americans need to go; where even the far left seems to forget about them unless coupled with environmental issues. Worse, this is the second film this year to make the same mistake; following Taylor Sheridan's Wind River (2017). Fifty to a hundred million Native Americans were killed because of white man’s arrival and it’s a truth that continues to be swept under the rug and forgotten by even the most ardent liberals. With opefully this film demonstrates the problem and soon things get corrected. It is long past due. BELOW: Nearly fifty years later, and Hollywood has still done little to correct the problem Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Nine fingered Frodo Director: Peter Jackson Writer: Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, and Peter Jackson; The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien Cinematographer: Andrew Lesnie Producer: Barrie M. Osborne, Peter Jackson, and Fran Walsh by Jon Cvack After finishing the books and the series for a second complete time (along with watching Game of Thrones crash and burn), I’m more confident in saying that Lord of the Rings is one of the greatest stories ever created. As mentioned in my thoughts on The Two Towers (2002) and while watching the Fellowship of the Ring's BTS features, they mentioned how J.R.R. Tolkien never intended to create an allegorical story about WWII; going so far as to say how much he resented the device. And yet it’s impossible not to see the parallels with World War II: about an alliance of nations from across the country, uniting to battle an existential threat. In college, much of what we learned was ideological analysis; that is, studying the ways in which film expressed a particular zeitgeist. The most fascinating to assess are often horror films, ranging from Dracula and the growing pre-war xenophobia, or Saw and its gore porn reflection of a post-9/11 world. It’s not to say that these filmmakers deliberately created film to capture the underlying fears of a country so much as that they showed the types of stories that audiences wanted to see. I’m sure there were other fantasies written in the 1950s and up through the end of the 20th century which contained similar ideas, but few had spoken to the international spirit so heavily. The power of any great story is to transcend a moment in time, universalizing its characters and ideas in which the story can extend throughout history, from as wide as the world to as specific as the individual. All Axis and Allie comparisons aside, it is about the willingness of even the most seemingly insignificant forms of humanity to push themselves as far as possible; serving as much as an underdog story as the Grand Hero’s Journey action/adventure tale. Tolkien poured the vast majority of his creative life into creating Middle Earth, and I imagine, for something so vivid, that to belittle its scope by simply calling it an allegory it was no wonder why Tolkien might be offended. While it’s core is has the comparison, it expands beyond a singular moment in time and into a story that I think will achieve the timelessness of Shakespeare. The film begins differently than the books, having saved The Two Towers’ Shelob’s lair and instead opening on the history between Smeagol and Deagol as they’re fishing in a boat, when Deagol catches a fish that pulls him into the lake and drags him underwater where he finds the ring. Smeagol’s envy and desire are instantaneous and he kills Deagol. The film then turns to Isengard, where the Ents have destroyed the fortress, with Merry and Pippin enjoying the spoils while Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli return. Unfortunately, this first twenty minutes or so fell victim to the same problem seen in the other films, in which some of the digital effects have failed to aged; specifically when Gandalf and Saruman battle it out (which is all the more infuriating given that this was changed from the book). While the same ratio of about 25% of the VFX in this film need a significant remastering, I was even more blown away by how much holds up and continues to compete with the computer generated craft I see in most effects-heavy films stories today. Jackson is masterful at the sweeping vistas, combining practical sets with VFX, creating movement down to the tiniest detail. Merry and Pippin are later separated once again, with Merry pledging his allegiance to Theoden while Pippin pledges his to Denethor of Minas Tirith, who proves to be an even more dishonorable man than his son Boromir. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli recruit the help of Theoden to assist Denethor knowing that Sauron’s army is about to attack Middle Earth’s last stronghold. Eldron meets Aragorn, explaining that Arwen is now dying, after refusing to leave middle earth for the Undying Lands where she could finally recover. Eldron provides him with Isildur's’ sword Andúril, allowing him to regain his rightful position as King of Gondor. Knowing that that even with Theoden’s reinforcements they are short by tens of thousands of troops, he decides to risk his life and head down the dangerous Paths of the Dead in order to recruit the Army of the Dead, which is somehow connected to the Rohan Dynasty in which thousands of ghosts knights are forced to remain undead unless greeted by the heir of Gondor (being Aragorn). It’s here that you have to admire the story’s depth, as the mixture of plot, character, history, and myth all combine into a story so rich that I think it’d take me at least a couple more times to fully grasp its intricacies; never regressing into irrelevant tangents, but rather incorporating them altogether. I’d recommend going through Wikipedia, starting at the synopsis and clicking all of the names, places, and creatures which will take you down some of the most incredible wormholes.. Looking up the Rohan history alone took me through an elaborate 500 year history, demanding a study of the map of Middle Earth in order to piece it all together. Like any epic story, it’s the images alone which burn into your mind - of Denethor’s inability to see beyond his own failure, willing to kill both himself and his remaining son as a result; of Éowyn riding into battle with her father, who dies in battle; of Sam and Frodo journeying through Mordor, with the ring growing increasingly heavy, if not impossible to carry; and of course Gollum biting off Frodo’s finger as he refuses to throw it away in the fires of Mount Doom, proving how integral Sam was to the entire journey. As fantastical as they all are, Tolkien and Jackson’s greatest ability is garnering our empathy and compassion, in which we look past Frodo’s corruption, inches away from allowing the destruction of Middle Earth, along with making us feel for Gollum’s jealousy, willing to sacrifice his own life for the relatively worthless object that he covets. I even feel for the vile Denethor, wondering how I’d react if having lost a son and all signs pointed to a complete destruction of the people I was supposed to protect. I’ll always harbor bitterness for Jackson leaving out The Scorching of the Shire, as it played even better the second I read the chapter. It offered such an unnerving moment, maintaining the slightest degree of cynicism, as though Tolkien was telling us to forever beware of letting our compassion get the best of us by letting evil go free or unchecked. I suppose it works without it, focusing on the larger issue of returning home after such significant change. In some ways it hits even harder, as for anyone who has moved away from home could attest. Eventually it just doesn’t feel the same, making you wonder where you could ever end up that would actually feel like home again. In many ways it’s the saddest part of the story, as for all Frodo sacrificed he could never return home again. It’s here that I think the connection to WWII is most apparent, as I consider the hundreds of thousands of soldiers who saw and did things that would never allow them to find peace; which the world at the time could never understand. I’m not confident that within my lifetime the world could avoid another war. While I’m fortunate to have avoided my own involvement up to this point, I do fear for future children if the time ever comes. In that case, Lord of the Rings provides some comfort; as a tale that will remain forever relevant; serving as both a harbinger and a model for what to do should it ever arrive. BELOW: Not as good as Helm's Deep, but pretty good Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  PTA adds cinematographer to his writer/director/producer credits and knocks it out of the park Director: Paul Thomas Anderson
Writer: Paul Thomas Anderson Cinematographer: Paul Thomas Anderson Producer: JoAnne Sellar Paul Thomas Anderson, Megan Ellison, and Daniel Lupi by Jon Cvack I’ve delayed writing on three separate Paul Thomas Anderson films now, twice with Inherent Vice (2014; though in fairness I genuinely didn’t think I could talk about it with any competent understanding) and There Will Be Blood, which got delayed by weeks, with the details too stale to recall without another viewing. Or I think I was just too intimidated to try. Paul Thomas Anderson is the most interesting working filmmaker alive right now. He was 25 years old when he directed Hard Eight (1996) and only 27 when he directed Boogie Nights (1997), creating one of the greatest films of the 90s. His initial movies simply made filmmaking look fun, combining the highest level of craftsmanship with an accessible, though profound story; the formula for what creates perfect cinema. What Paul Thomas Anderson achieved for cinema is what David Foster Wallace achieved for literature. They merged high art with engaging and exciting stories, and even that feels like a completely inadequate description. Many wonder what David Foster Wallace would have done if he didn’t pass away so soon, having only written two and a half novels. From many of the stories I’ve read it sounded as though he didn’t want to keep doing the same thing and either was too scared of what else he’d have to do. In some ways, Paul Thomas Anderson’s later films show where great artists go. The Master (2012) and Inherent Vice aren’t the best Paul Thomas Anderson films. I remember never being more excited for a movie than The Master, leaving disappointed, thinking I missed something, revisiting, later realizing it was simply a different direction for a filmmaker that had spent most of his career making “cool” movies, evolving with There Will Be Blood (2007; another perfect film), and maturing beyond that. Next to There Will Be Blood, The Master is his one of his most beautiful films, containing images iconic enough to remain in my head forever after - of the ship and beaches and the subjects in the mall photography; all of which felt larger than most anything I’d ever seen, as though the filmmakers traveled back in time. I was particularly excited for Inherent Vice, though having read Gravity’s Rainbow (1973) and The Crying of Lot 49 (1966), I also knew that the film was going to abide by the same seemingly incoherent structure. Yet the idea of Paul Thomas Anderson working with the author - and legendary recluse - Thomas Pynchon, no matter his difficult books, was fascinating to consider. Combined with more moderate complexity of Carver and Hammett’s hard-boiled fiction, I knew it’d be a tough one to follow and while I got further along with the second viewing than the first, I still had another thirty to forty minutes to go and just couldn’t follow the story by then. I have a feeling that when I figure it all out it’s going to be incredible. Whatever the opinions, it’s clear that The Master and Inherent Vice were harbingers of a new voice and insight, pointing toward a maturity that only age could bridge. In many ways Phantom Thread is the opposite of Anderson’s early work, abandoning the larger multi-narratives that pushed cinematic craft to the furthest levels in favor of a more deliberate and intimate camera, ensuring that every image was a perfect work of art. There are many great tales about absolute obsession - Frankenstein (book 1823; movie 1931), Moby Dick (book 1851; movie 1956), The Shining (1980), October Sky (1999), and I’m sure I’m leaving out a bunch of obvious others. When I think of obsessive authors I think of the stories about Kafka, J.D. Salinger, Charles Bukowski, or Donna Tartt. I think anyone who pursues a serious creative endeavor would understand the obsession that comes with it. Others remain in that obsession forever; never to find success. When I consider what it must be like for an artist to have an open canvas to create whatever film you want (within reason, I’m sure), I can only compare it to how the subjects of Ken Burn’s "Baseball" (1994) describe the fan's passion for watching a seemingly ordinary person do such extraordinary work. Given that PTA seems like an overall cool and laid back guy, creating accessibility in which you connect to the storyteller as sharing a worldview or humor (often both). David Foster Wallace had the same aura, and both their work often feels as though it's speaking directly and intimately with the viewer/reader. One thing you often hear with successful artists is that the professional anxiety you expect to go away with success only takes a different form, creating an obsession to maintain or keep improving upon your best work. I think Magnolia (1999) is the best possible version of that type of movie he could make; arguably the best multi-narrative drama ever created. There Will Be Blood is now considered one of the greatest American Films ever made, and the New York Times just voted in the current best film in world cinema of the 21st century. I consider the pressure to try and create something better. In two interviews, Anderson mentioned that the Phantom Thread story came to him while sick in bed, as his wife Maya Rudolph cared for him with great love and concern. Watching the film, it’s clear that this is a fairly personal project, with A.O. Scott pointing out that the film seems very much about his own experience as an artist. The story involves successful fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) who lives with his sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) in a London mansion. Reynolds is a charming though obsessive man, demanding full control over his creations and employees. He meets a waitress at a diner in the English countryside named Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps) who he brings back home to his manor. I should mention that I had a bit of a situation when watching these first five minutes. I noticed the white sections of the frames and the brighter highlights flashing rapidly, evidently with the projector misaligned (or maybe just an issue with a strong highlight on raw film?). I went outside to tell one of the employees to which a young man informs me that - in case I didn't know - I was actually watching a projected version film. I said I understood that but it’s so apparent that I joked and said I felt like I was going to have a seizure. He then says he can take me to someone who can help, which I welcome as he’s not being at all helpful, but actually meant he could call a doctor who could help me with having a potential seizure. I then went back to the theater as Alma and Reynolds head inside the manor. The images were dark enough to mask the problem, or maybe they fixed the projection. Either way, I was snapped out of the movie for a few minutes, and in the way any great film is designed, I felt like I missed a huge part of the plot. Once fixed, I discovered one of the prettiest films I’ve ever seen in my life. Reynolds gives Alma a tour of the home, slowly making his way up to the design studio, where he fits her for a dress. Alma is enamored, until his sister Cyril shows up, seemingly out of nowhere, to take the measurements and check on Reynolds who then snaps into an obsessive routine, barking out measurements to Cyril, criticizing Alma’s body and posture. Watching Daniel Day-Lewis as he offers the tiniest signs of aggression and control, all through a squint of an eye or fake laugh, adds such a thrill of tension. Knowing nothing about the movie, I had no clear where it was headed; whether Reynolds would end up murdering Alma or Cyril or anybody, or if they’d rise up and tour the world, tracking their relationship as fame and fortune entered the picture. The movie gets you lost in its narratives, images, music, and performances, causing me to lose complete track of time. Reynolds and Alma’s relationship evolves as PT Anderson explores the minute conflicts and feuds that dominate any relationship, all with the added bonus of having brilliant writing and performers to create strikingly real fights that simultaneously feel like a fairy tale. At its most fundamental level, Phantom Thread is about companionship; exploring the flaws between two people who love and need each other very much, even for selfish reasons. It’s also a film that serves the essential function of cinema - making you feel something good, and ideally something you’ve never felt before. It’s a story that demands repeated viewings, as only by dissecting the minute details could I ever confidently express how this film made me feel. It’s comprised of such beautiful, simple moments, all taking place within a wide spectrum of creative layers, in which every single element shines, from the costumes and makeup to the photography and score. Everything is functioning at the highest level of cinema, and I have a feeling it could be regarded as one of this century’s all-time greats; for turning away from the day’s hottest topics and into a story that allows one to escape into one of the most beautiful and vivid worlds ever created. BELOW: An artist's egomaniacal volatility Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  A beautiful movie that's close to great Director: Sofia Coppola Writer: Sofia Coppola; based on A Painted Devil by Thomas P. Cullinan; remade from Don Siegel's 1971 The Beguiled Cinematographer: Philippe Le Sourd Producer: Youree Henley and Sofia Coppola by Jon Cvack This was the first film that made me realize the Left was facing a serious obstacle from liberal twitter. Sofia Coppola was derided for portraying the Civil War without including any black characters; excluding a black slave character from the original story on account of Sofia believing the character was underdeveloped and gratuitous. Thus even with seven strong female characters* within a feminist narrative the film was deemed inappropriate and flew far under the radar. It was from checking out the bonus features that I learned The Beguiled is actually a remake of the 1971 film of the same name, starring Clint Eastwood; the difference being that Coppola shifted the perspective to that of the women. The story involves a young girl Amy (Oona Laurence) who’s wandering through the woods, looking for mushrooms and coming across Corporal John McBurney (Colin Farrell) who’s been shot in the leg and on the precipice of death. Amy returns back to a beautiful plantation estate, where we meet Martha Farnsworth (Nicole Kidman) who runs it as a girl’s school. All of the men have gone due to the war, and it’s here I want to pause to wonder how this can be considered whitewashing when it’s simply true to the era. The story is about a bunch of middle/upper middle class women that had their sense of morality tested by a man. The fact that they are white has nothing to do with anything other than being historically accurate to Civil War era class structure (however tragic). Critics shouldn’t disparage this film which integrates feminist ideas. They should demand future filmmakers create stories with a more diverse point of view that can properly tell those stories. The school’s one teacher is Edwina Morrow (Kirsten Dunst) who teachers five younger girls, including the teen verging on adulthood, Alicia (Elle Fanning). Corporal John McBurney is an incredibly attractive man; not just a character who happens to be played by an attractive man. What makes the film so strong is Coppola’s willingness to show the women’s weakness; that just like men, they too can be seduced or attracted to another in a way that could completely break down their own sense of self-control or respectability. We’re never completely sure what McBurney’s exact intention is, whether he hopes to hide out at the house forever and take control, reinstating some type of patriarchal system, or whether he too is lonely and simply in need of companionship. For the first half of the story we see the girls compete for his affection, then progressing as McBurney expresses his affection for Edwina, pronouncing his love and urging she come to his room one night. When she arrives she discovers him in bed with Alicia, leading her to push him down the stairs, further shattering his damaged leg, subsequently requiring amputation. It’s here that the film achieves the greatest nuance, as nearly all of the characters spiral out of control - McBurney couldn’t overcome his cowardice or desire, Edwina couldn’t control her jealousy, and Martha couldn’t control her paranoia. Ultimately, we can never be sure that there was no other option with McBurney. For as much I’d like to believe Martha, I got the slightest hint that she in some ways wanted to punish him for choosing Edwina and destroyed her chance of escape. When McBurney wakes up in terrible pain and freaks out over having lost a leg, it kind of makes sense that he would get wasted and that being liquored up could make him also paranoid about being held prisoner at the house, therefore grabbing a gun to protect himself. Then again, he clearly wanted to stay. Then again, he could have left with Edwina earlier, if not for going to bed with Alicia. As much as I’m sure some would like to paint Alicia as the victim (which by current law she is) the relationship is less weird given the period, giving me the impression there was very much a mutual attraction, as suggested in earlier scenes. When he finally decides to leave with Edwina it all seems fair, but then Martha’s own paranoia gets the best of her, convincing the youngest girl, Amy, who opened up the film to go and find the poisonous mushrooms to kill McBurney. Even with that bursting suspense, the dinner scene, while pretty good, never reached the level I was expecting, as though the whole film was built for that moment, which ended all too quickly. I would have liked to see the overall structure flipped, in which the last third’s incredible tension and character development occurred earlier, even if spreading on throughout the film. It just felt like so much time was wasted, leaving far too little for the closing moments. *NOTE: During Sundance I saw an interview where one of the female filmmakers criticized this phrase, as though it suggested all female characters need to be “strong” rather than possessing a broad spectrum of personality. I use “strong” to denote the depth and complexity of a character; that is, a strong character stands in contrast to a "weak" character who would be one with zero personality or presence, capable of being removed from the story without issue e. What’s known as the “lampshade.” BELOW: Solid dinner scene (though not much else is available) Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Only Spielberg could make blocking an office an absolute thrill Director: Steven Spielberg Writer: Steven Spielberg Cinematographer: Janusz Kamiński Producer: Steven Spielberg, Kristie Macosko Krieger, and Amy Pascal by Jon Cvack The documentary The Most Dangerous Man in America: Danielle Esberg and the Pentagon Papers had gained an Oscar Nomination back in 2009, making a big splash, offering prescient insight into a similar scandal that would again erupt a year later with Chelsea Manning’s intelligence dump to Wikileaks. Like Ellsberg’s leak, Manning's demonstrated how numerous drone strikes wengaging with the enemy took down innocent Iraqi civilians with some of the military operators laughing callously. This was in addition to over 750,00 documentaries about the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, known as the Iraq and Afghanistan War Logs, demonstrating that the United States failed to report hundreds of cases of rape, torture, and abuse, along with a huge underestimation on the amount of civilian casualties. I recall it being a big deal when it happened, yet with Obama in office and his winding down of the war, and with his popularity still high, little was made of the revelations, even though they - from what I remembered - corroborated what we'd been long hearing about the war from the previous six years or so. It makes me wonder what the overall general reaction was to the Ellsberg leak at the time. The country had just gone through a terrible last few years, including a violent battle for civil rights along with the assassination of JFK, Robert Kennedy, MLK, Malcolm X, and Fred Hampton. I wonder if it was similar to our current period, with each week functioning like a reality show/soap opera, in which I find myself anxious for what’s about to happen next, certain that it couldn’t possibly get any worse. It drowns otherwise huge scandals - everything from the Stormy Daniels payoff to Scott Pruitt’s overhauling of the EPA, or that most major government agency positions remain empty and what that means for National Security. For those unfamiliar with the story, Martine veteran Daniel Ellsberg was working at the private Rand Corporation security firm where researches wrote mountains of reports on the state of the Vietnam War, relying on hard data as ordered by Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. It demonstrated that - in grossly simplistic terms - each president since John F. Kennedy to LBJ and then Nixon had known that the war couldn't be won, all while continuing to escalate troop strength, drafting nearly 650,000 young men, and claiming 58,220 lives. Each year I age this becomes all the more terrifying and infuriating. To think the average age was 19 years old truly paints my heart to consider, claiming lives which had only their foot in adulthood, forced to grow up with death all around them. I wish such a view didn’t remain a left/right issue, but as my uncle and Vietnam Marine veteran said when asked about Ken Burns’ movie and the horrors it presented, it's all liberal revisionism. I understand the sentiment. His unit was hit particularly hard, with two books written by John J. Culbertson about his platoon - "A Sniper in Arizona" and "Operation Tuscaloosa"; both offering terrifying accounts. To have to accept it was all for nothing seems like a difficult pill to swallow for those who gave so much. Ellsberg leaked the intelligence documents to the New York Times who was instructed by the Nixon administration to cease from publishing any further stories, allegedly it infringed on their first amendment rights. The Washington Post then received the same intelligence documents, creating another legal battle against the United States government. I had just finished the documentary Spielberg (2017) a few days prior, which highlighted how resistant critics were to regarding him as an artist due to the first decade of his career dominated by wildly successful and popular films. It was with The Color Purple (1985) that he showed off his “artistic” craft, though remained accused of sentimentalizing the source material. I find the whole debate absurd, as Jaws (1975) alone contains more insight and higher craft than most Best Picture nominees. The purpose of cinema is to transport you, and whether you're left feeling excited, bummed it's over, or an urge to talk about the ideas explored (ideally all three) films that provide any individual trait have accomplished what the art form demands. I wasn’t necessarily excited to see The Post, as I felt The Pentagon Papers had been discussed ad nauseum since the documentary's release, even being adapted into a narrative back in 2003 with James Spader (I don’t believe I’ve seen this, though it sounds familiar). I was picturing a story that would focus on the man and his trial, rehashing what has been told countless times before. I should have assumed the title indicated otherwise. The story focuses primarily on two individuals - Washington Post owner Katharine Graham (Meryl Streep) as one of the few women newspaper owners in the world, who fell into the position after her husband died. Her editor in chief is the renegade and former government employee Ben Bradlee (Tom Hanks) who wants to get the paper away from covering Nixon’s daughter’s wedding and other social gossip, and into revealing the truth behind the Vietnam war. Katharine Graham is days away from taking her company public, requiring one final meeting with the bank and board of directors in order to secure the deal. She’s introduced rehearsing her speech to her lawyer and friend Fritz Beebe (Tracy Letts) who gives her a few tips. Later at the meeting we see that Katherine is the one woman amongst at least a dozen and a half white men who wish to talk business; ideas that she hadn’t yet learned or considered before her husband’s death. When it’s her turn to speak, she freezes up and Fritz immediately cuts in. It’s here that the Spielberg touch shines, as we see an otherwise charming man who simply wants to help his friend. We then move onto the newsroom where I think I had some of the most fun at the movies in a long while. Spielberg and Kaminski shine as they move the camera around, shot in Panavision 70mm which transports us back in time. The film reminded me of the The Master(2012), as though Spielberg had much admired what PTA achieved and decided to turn the same style to a more specific and energetic environment. It’s here that I would point to Spielberg’s uncanny ability to block scenes as he follows characters up and down the newsroom, entering and exiting doors, adding an additional punch to the snappy dialogue which has characters talking over one another. Every frame is deliberate and maximizing information, framing characters perfectly so that even the smallest line uttered pulls your eye to someone you might have been lost in the extensive frame. In one shot, a package is delivered to a portly and timid reporter who looks inside, discovering something big. The camera follows him from his desk and into Ben’s office who’s having a meeting and waves him off, causing him to go to the Deputy Editor in Chief, who looks at the package and then leads the reporter into Ben’s office, where there are now five characters all perfectly balanced in frame, with the reporter explaining what happened while Ben and the others - including David Cross who fades away into his greatest role as reporter Howard Simons - all talking over one another, while Ben creates a plan of attack. It’s difficult to pull off deliberate steadicam shots that feel completely necessary. Spielberg has other long takes, but it was though he was saving the technique for when live time was required, and chaos demanded our eyes drift between the characters as though we were the intern in the room, listening. In another scene at Ben’s house, and in a much faster one take, we follow the characters as they walk in and out of the doors, talking to the lawyers in one room, sorting out the papers in another, all while Ben tries to manage the entire situation. It all achieved perhaps one of the greatest tests of great cinema: having to go the bathroom and holding it for a quieter moment, but the film is so great that you don't want to get up until you just can’t take it anymore. As crass as it might sound, consider how it incredible it is to respond to a movie like this; in which you’re willing to remain uncomfortable to see just another few images, as they’re simply that engaging. BELOW: Ellsberg on leaking in an age of Trump Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Little boys and trains knows no bounds Director: Yasujirō Ozu Writer: Kogo Noda and Yasujirō Ozu Cinematographer: Yūharu Atsuta Producer: Takeshi Yamamoto by Jon Cvack I figured it was safe to assume that Early Summer would follow the style of Ozu’s other seasonal titles, focusing on a family as one of the members dealt with a woman who was reluctant to leave home. Late Spring (1949) follows an aging widower whose aging daughter refused to leave his care, The End of Summer (1961) flips the narrative, focusing on a widow who recruits her friends to match up her daughter, with Early Summer removing the more interesting co-stars, replacing them with a pair of matchmakers, creating a rom com structure with a melancholic romance. It involves 28-year old secretary Noriko Mamiya (Setsuko Hara) whose boss Satake (Shūji Sano) recommends as a match for his forty old friend and businessman. Not too interested, Noriko delays the decision as most of the members from her extensive family begin pushing her to accept. Soon she meets a childhood friend Kenkichi Yabe (Hiroshi Nihonyanagi), a doctor and recent widower, whose wife died a few years and brother was killed in WWII. Soon he’s called to a remote village for work, bringing Noriko along and the two soon get engaged, devastating her family. In the end they accept the decision, happy that she’s happy, watching her off as she travels off to start her new life, walking off through the barley fields. It’s this last point that someone on Wikipedia really lays into, editorializing that this closing image represents the “impermanent nature of life.” I personally just saw it as an art house version of a fairly classic romance. A girl is told to marry a successful businessman versus an impecunious doctor who’s dedicated his life to serving others and the family eventually comes around. Most of Ozu’s “seasonal” work I’ve seen has masterfully integrated these ideas into the narrative, combining older and younger characters that fully capture the finality of life and universality of what it means to be human. Early Summer was the first time I was bored with the filmmaker, as considering this story anything more profound than a 30s/40s American rom com is stretching the praise. What Ozu did so well with his other films (and I’m only about halfway through his filmography) is taking ridiculously simple stories and providing characters that create volumes of insight. Early Summer almost feels incomplete; as though failing to ever getting the full polish included on all his other work. It’s worth checking out, if nothing more than for realizing that he can repeat the same story for a third time, and with only minute differences, and make it feel far more empty. BELOW: Those closing barley fields - beautiful image or profound meditation on the impermanence of life? Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Director: Susan Lacy Cinematographer: Ed Marritz and Samuel Painter Producer: Susan Lacy, Jessica Levin, and Emma Pildes by Jon Cvack NOTE: This was written about eighteen months ago before I got onto a pretty good gig directing full time. Before starting this blog, I wrote on movies for about a year and a half both out of embarrassment to put up anything. It created a backlog that's about eighteen months old from when I watched the film. It’s been a slow January, which is what I expected after a freak professional accident offset plans I had for continuing work on what began as a YouTube series, evolved toward a documentary, and then crashed and burned through a simple and stupid mistake. I can’t go into the details, other than to say it was an interesting, and at times, uneasy month and change. Although I’ve gone through it before, there’s something about freelance that prevents me from ever being comfortable; where no matter how much money was made or great of a project, and all the other projects before which led to that, I become convinced I’ll never work again. I once ran into a guy I went to school with on a train from Chicago in the middle of the night who was a political consultant, bouncing from campaign to campaign, and expressing the same discomfort. One of the grim realities I discovered with Road to the Well (2016) was that none of the people on the festival circuit have made many gains from their success. One friend of mine is approaching 40, living with his parents, trying to pay off the debts of his third feature film. All of us had faith in the idea of becoming the next 20-something indie filmmakers from the middle of nowhere who made a low budget feature that opened up the gates. What most of us somehow failed to grasp are the literally thousands of others whose films didn’t get into Sundance, or any top film festival, or couldn’t make it through post production because they didn’t have the money. The Onion articles are almost too easy to see - Filmmaker Living in Parents’ Basement, Hopeful his Fourth Micro Budget Neo-Noir Thriller Will be Festival Hit. The common criticism is that we should have just made something better, or at least have had a face in our projects; the former being ambiguous enough to be meaningless, and the latter being a matter of money and patience. Or my personal favorite being that, “It was always tough,” as though everything is the exact same in a world where no one buys DVDs, goes to the movies, and video games, new media, and television are at an all time popularity. A little over ten years ago, Sundance received about three to four thousand submissions. The year we submitted they said they received over 13,000 submissions. It’s objectively harder to get noticed, with a bar of quality being raised higher than most middle to lower close filmmakers are capable of achieving when scraping together a hundred thousand dollars or so. Even Sean Baker, while shooting Tangerine (2015) on iPhones, still had a $100,000 budget and he had made four features beforehand. He came up through that golden 90s period, and while I’m sure he’d say it was hard, again I know of at least two films that I believe should be far more successful than mine. My one friend’s Dependence Day (2016) is a raunchy mumblecore comedy, which at the very least, matches the quality of Swanberg, West, and others, and yet has had an underwhelming release, which isn’t to say it won 't one day blow up, so much as I’m surprised that even he, who made the most commercially competitive film, didn’t find the success I was anticipating. I had heard about Spielberg from a couple close friends, both who mentioned a scene specifically, in which Spielberg, George Lucas, Brian de Palma, Martin Scorsese, and Francis Ford Coppola would all hang out, critiquing each other’s work, creating a magical competitive spirit which would go onto produce some of America’s finest films. It’s a beautiful moment that makes me wonder if we’re all too late; that if it was simply a different time; that we all missed it by just a hair, and we’re all chasing something that’s becoming increasingly difficult, if not next to impossible. Watching Ken Burns Baseball (1994) the subjects often mention the magical feeling of going to the field, seeing a person just like you making a living playing such a seemingly simple game. They were able to watch their heroes stand in the field, waiting for their moment to perform, failing most of the time, and succeeding when it mattered. Ever since I’ve begun seeing filmmakers in the same way; that people like Scorsese, Coppola, de Palma, Paul Thomas Anderson, Tarantino, etc. all have the ability to make up stories and then go off to create them is one of the most magical ideas I can fathom. Making a film was the greatest professional/creative/personal experience I’ve ever had. For the first time in my life it felt as though I was doing exactly what I was made to do and what I had spent most of my adult life planning for. To accept that the vast majority of first time filmmakers will never go on to make another film is a difficult pill to swallow. Spielberg opens by discussing Lawrence of Arabia (1962) and the way in which the film completely transported him as he witnessed craftsmanship of the highest order creating a perfect piece of art. I haven’t returned to Lawrence of Arabia since I first worked through the AFI’s Top 100 and so while I don’t share his enthusiasm, if I could point to any one film that changed my life and perception of cinema as a profession rather than interest it’d be Jaws (1975). Like most great filmmakers (and as portrayed in the film), it’s Spielberg’s passion for cinema that indicates why he’s such a fantastic filmmaker. He had grown up Arizona, with his dad moving out after his mom had an affair, causing Stephen to increasingly turn to cinema to get his mind off the situation. He mentions how it was never the finished product that offered satisfaction but rather the process of filmmaking - solving problems, and trying your hardest to work a little to create as much as possible. In terms of my own experience on an ultra low budget picture and my current directing gig on Solve, I can 14 hour days never fly by faster than on set, as we were battling the clock and elements. What you discover is that the fun is as much in the problem solving as witnessing the film in your head come to life, as the latter rarely arrives. There isn’t a serious filmmaker in the world who doesn’t know the story of Spielberg taking the Universal Backlot tour, sneaking off the tram and finding an office where he pretended to work for weeks until one of the execs noticed and brought him in as one of the youngest television directors on the lot. He was only 20 years old. After a string of successful television episodes, proving that he had what it took, he was offered to direct his first feature at age 24 or 25 - the ABC television movie Duel (1971). Its success then led him to direct Jaws at only 29 or 30 years old. Being 31, I’m increasingly blown away that a first studio movie made for $50 million (adjusted for inflation), going 100 days over its 55 day schedule, merging high craftsmanship with popular storytelling, still regarded as one of the finest creature features ever made (let alone greatest films), was made by someone years younger than me. It’s here that I don’t resent what he achieved, as to this day I don’t think there’s been another filmmaker like him, who’s able to combine incredible craft and insight with accessibility, enough to please both cinephiles and mainstream audiences. Off the top of my head only Hitchcock or Billy Wilder could take such a position. Spielberg is in an anomaly; a person who was able to work his way through the complex Hollywood labyrinth at an early enough age to develop his craft that would lead to such a meteoric ride. The documentary goes on to explore some of his films, and while I’d like to say his most noteworthy, it leaves some out or offers only tangential thoughts (Hook (1991), Saving Private Ryan (1998)) while digging deeper into those most could care less about (Minority Report (2002), The War of the Worlds (2005)). The film could have easily been a four part series, going through each film one by one, offering us all of the trivia and anecdotes that filled each production (the development of Indiana Jones with George Lucas; the production of Saving Private Ryan; working with Robin Williams and how they developed the character; and so on). Nevertheless, it was fascinating to watch his evolution as a filmmaker, moving on from his more popular subject matter before finally showing up critics by turning to more serious content. I watched The Post (2017) while working on this essay, which was absolutely incredible; and while I’m waiting for my hype to die down, it could be one of his finest dramas. It’s a return to his ability to show rather than tell, following and blocking characters with high energy. Unfortunately, his biggest weakness is having too strong a dependence on VFX in his latter career, in which films like Minority Report, AI (2001), The War of the Worlds, and The Crystal Skull (2008) all lose that Spielberg touch in teasing audiences with information, and instead showing them outright. Having returned to the original Indiana Jones trilogy, you need look no further than The Last Crusade (1989) or The Temple of Doom (1984) to understand this point. It’s tangible and exciting, and exactly what cinema is about. That a person like Spielberg could exist - who in his own words “dreams for a living” - in which amidst the ugliness of big money can go on to create some of the finest works of art of the past fifty years is one of the most beautiful ideas I can think of when it comes to modern art. What bums me out is wondering about all those kids on the downside of privilege who will never have the opportunity. I often wonder how many have been arrested or kicked out for trying to replicate his story of sneaking off the tram. Now most colleges of film or media production programs, with equipment so cheap that anyone can make a movie, with studios risk adverse, relying on the independent companies to filter out talent, who rely on film festivals to scout out talent, who require the filmmakers themselves to make their own art, and compete with tens of thousands of others on a playing field that is anything but equal. The top film programs have their own networks, and in a industry where money often buys solutions, it’s the middle and lower classes that can’t compete with the wealthy. Watching Spielberg you realize how miraculous it is for a person like him to exist and how precious his art truly is; when someone who loved it most who make it to the top. BELOW: I had probably seen this movie over a dozen times before I realized this is a single take. It's the epitome of immersion 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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