 In Wilder's case - go anamorphic for comedy Director: Billy Wilder Writer: I. A. L. Diamond and Billy Wilder Cinematographer: Daniel L. Fapp Producer: Billy Wilder by Jon Cvack I somehow once started this film awhile back, though for whatever reason I never finished it. I’m not entirely sure why that was. I recalled the oddity in having the film integrate the actual Coca-Cola brand in such a politically charged satire, and that it was the perfect type of role for James Cagney. As I round Billy Wilder’s filmography, I’m left in awe of the range the man had - up there with Kubrick and Spielberg in exploring close to the full genre spectrum, with Wilder returning most to comedy the way that Spielberg did with action-adventure. One, Two, Three is about a Coca-Cola executive C.R. "Mac" MacNamara (James Cagney), hungry to become the head of the Western European division, though currently serving in West Berlin, hundreds of feet away from the divide. Mac’s assisted by Schlemmer (Hanns Lothar), who can’t seem to shake snapping his boots together like his former Nazi self after every single delegation, and his gorgeous secretary/paramour Fräulein Ingeborg (Liselotte Pulver) who’s character and purpose provides some of the film’s most cringey moments. This all goes on while Mac’s wife Phyllis (Arlene Francis) cares for the two children, hoping that Mac could take a transfer back to Atlanta, even if it means giving up his climb up the ladder. Feeling a promotion is around the corner, Mac’s boss W.P. Hazeltine (Howard St. John) calls to let Mac know that his 17 year old daughter Scarlett (Pamela Tiffin) is coming to town and will need a bit of supervision. Mac reluctantly agrees, greets her at the airport, and more or less forgets about the task as he tries to close a deal with some Russian officials, knowing how much business a deal with the Soviet Union could bring in. Mac’s negligence soon leads Scarlett to go missing for two weeks, returning married to a dreamy firebrand socialist Otto Ludwig Piffl (Horst Buchholz) who’s in love with Scarlett as much as overthrowing capitalism and scolding Mac’s ethics. The couple is now determined to return to Moscow and start a family. Sure enough, H.P. then calls to reveal that he’s coming to town the next day to visit Scarlett and check on business. Thus begins a comedy of errors as Mac attempts to preserve the deal with Russia while getting them to hand over Otto, who Mac then tries to turn into a capitalist in rushed time, making him over and providing him with an executive position; all while Mac’s wife decides to take the kids and return back to the states. This was the third film Wilder made after Some Like It Hot (1959) and his second after The Apartment (1960). It’s a good film, but what feels like a story that’s going to ascend into some grand political thrilling comedy, levels out with fierce, though entertaining, banter between the socialist and capitalist. In a couple of behind the scene videos extras included on the disc, Wilder mentioned how he never wanted to make anything overtly political throughout his career. I’m not positive whether he thought this film was exempt from that philosophy, but even if it was one could argue it’s simply an outsider’s look at politics, rather than promoting any particular point of view. Throughout the film, the socialist seems just as selfish and narrow minded as the capitalist. Even the ending, in which we see Mac successfully pull off the gag of Otto’s descent from royalty and that Otto learns to love the fruits and power of wealth, Wilder goes one step further, having H.P. offer Otto the Head of Western Division Header Quarters; leaving Mac nothing more to do than return to his wife and kids, which seems like a healthy thing to do, but then you’re wondering if Otto wasn’t provided the position, whether Mac would’ve just as easily let them go back to Georgia. Such is the genius of Billy Wilder. Looking through his filmography, it’s astonishing how much range he had. It makes little sense to me how Frank Capra and John Ford hold such distinction in American cinema’s history. Billy Wilder is amongst the greatest in world cinema from the period - joining the ranks of Ozu, Kurosawa, Bergman, and Fellini - and arguably one of the top ten greatest filmmakers in all of cinematic history (a list I’ll have to actually make). One, Two, Three begins a slow fade out as Wilder never returned to his peak of cinematic prowess. Or in other words, instead of making timeless perfect films he goes on to make just some very good movies. One, Two, Three’s worth it for the performances and photography, which creates ultra wide images for an otherwise simple setting; demonstrating Wilder’s leverage when today’s world would never call for such extravagant design. There isn’t a particular morality to the story, and while I want to say it’s cynical, it plays more like warning against taking oneself too seriously. We’ve satirized our politicians in every way possible over the last few decades - from the idealism of "The West Wing" to the farce of "Veep" - but it’s long past due to take a look at the firebrands who elect the candidates and how silly some ideas can be. BELOW: Meeting some commies Like what you read? 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 Don't hear much about the Norwegian-American experience Director: George Stevens Writer: DeWitt Bodeen; based on I Remember Mama (1944) by John Van Druten Cinematographer: Nicholas Musuraca Producer: Harriet Parsons and George Stevens by Jon Cvack A friend recommended I read "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" (1943) last summer which I added to a book list and later received as a birthday present. For those unfamiliar, it’s the coming of age story about a young girl growing up in New York City, taking place from 1910 through the mid 20s, and it was one of the best pieces of fiction I read all year. The story reminded of the greatest of coming of age stories, Little Women (1933; I haven’t read the book, though I know it’s regarded as the very best), Persepolis (both the book (2000) and the movie (2007)), or even Now and Then (1995); providing the rare glimpse of a universal story told from a female’s perspective. Coincidentally, the one thing they all have in common is a central character who grew up to be a writer. I Remember Mama is a tragically underrated story of the same form, told from the perspective of a young and aspiring first generation Norwegian-American Katrin Hanson (Barbara Bel Geddes), opening up by explaining how she had always wanted to be a writer while staring out a window as she completes the last lines of her autobiography. The story flashes back to 1910 as Katrin, her siblings, and father Lars “Papa” Hanson (Philip Dorn) sit before the true head of the household, Marta “Mama” Hanson (Irene Dunne). She’s going over the finances, hoping to put some money away in the “bank” and hopefully one day buy herself a new coat. Their eldest son Nel (Steve Brown) then asks to go to high school, and needing the materials and lunch money, the bank once again gets drained for the needs of her children. Like Diner (1982), the film then enters into a series of relatively unrelated anecdotes about each of the characters. When Marta’s sister Aunt Trina (Ellen Corby) announces she’s marrying an undertaker, the fiance then requests a dowry. Though given that they have no money, they have to more or less hold in their laughs at the idea. When Katrin’s sister Dagmar (Ellen Corby) gets mastoiditis, landing her in the hospital (which my quick glance seems to be a weird infection of the skull before antibiotics could cure it), it further eats into their limited funds, until by some miracle, Marta’s alcoholic brother Uncle Chris (Oscar Homolka), who while rambling drunk most times, is also quite wealthy and opts to pay for the operation and save the girl’s life. In a later chapter, after Katrin nabs a role in "The Merchant of Venice" at a local theater, Marta again gives up her brooch to buy an heirloom dresser set as a reward. Katrin then learns that she traded off the dresser for the coat, once again. Upset, she gives the dresser set to Christine, which upsets her mother even more; providing a deeply touching moment when a child grasps what it means to be an adult. As a right of passage, Nel and Marta offer Kristin her first cup of coffee. Overwhelmed with emotion and embarrassment, she runs out of the room to be alone. Uncle Chris then falls ill, providing a grueling, though heartfelt scene as he shares his last moments with his sister and wife, even allowing Kristin in to visit where he explains that he unfortunately has no money to leave as he’s donated it all to help those in need. He then shares one last drink with Marta and his wife, requesting that they lower the blinds to prevent the afternoon sun from falling upon his face; and in that brilliant way the classic era of filmmaking occasionally accomplished - in which the images are as beautiful as anything created today - we watch as the sun splashes against his face while the blind’s shadow draws down upon his face and he fades off to death. The story rounds out as Katrin begins to send her stories out for publication and experiences the initial rounds of seemingly endless rejection. She rounds up most of her stories, though on the verge of destroying them and quitting forever, her mother stops her; asking why she can’t just go visit a famous author she loves, which being a teenager, is the stupidest idea she’s ever heard. Matra tries any way, finding the famous gourmand author Florence Dana Moorhead who she asks to provide any notes she can. Florence resists, until Matra explains her expertise in Norwegian cooking, detailing recipes and offering an exchange, which Florence accepts. Returning the manuscripts with a note, Florence explains that, like most early writers, she is much too concerned with attempting to replicate her favorite writers and their stories rather than finding her voice and writing what she knows, leading her to her creative eye toward her family. After writing a short story about her family, it gets accepted by some publication which pays her $500, which even by today’s standards, seems like an extravagant sum of money for a young writer (according to inflation this would equate to about $5000 today; not too bad). Her mom can finally buy the coat she always wanted. The family then listens as she reads it aloud. Shortly before this moment director George Stephens plays out a long sing taken, with the camera positioned in the hallway, as each member of the family enters and exits rooms; the father and son working on an weighted-rising bathroom window through a gutted wall, which keeps falling at precisely timed moments as the family converses; even though it appears no one’s operating it. As simple as the coming of age element is, the craft of the movie is incredible; with each scene providing a brilliant blocking of characters and composition. I was left thinking of when, if ever, a movie like this could succeed again; entirely focused on the immigrant experience. It seems as though the success of both the play and the film was in conveying the immigration experience. Similar to "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn", providing that particular insight into a specific culture; in the ways that only someone growing up in such a situation could possibly understand. I can’t think of the last film which explored migrants coming across seas for the American Dream. It was a period of storytelling only possible because of the policies in place. It seems like now’s a pretty good time to revisit it. BELOW: Not much on the YouTube front so here's the trailer Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  We all that restaurant Director: Barry Levinson Writer: Barry Levinson Cinematographer: Peter Sova Producer: Jerry Weintraub by Jon Cvack Just today (as of writing this on Jan 19, 2019) on Slate’s Political Gabfest’s “Cocktail Chatter”, David Platz warned the audience about something incendiary he was about to say, following up with the story of watching Raider’s of the Lost Ark (1981) with his kid and his friend for the first time. He describes his memory of the movie the way most of us do - the spectacular effects, adventure, one of his favorites growing up; quickly discovering that he failed to comprehend the barrage of racist and misogynistic elements. All of the non-white characters are bad. The one who isn’t fauns and nearly faints over the fact of getting a peck on the cheek from the white woman. The woman plays little purpose beyond a sex symbol who’s waddling over Jones. John Dickerson even goes on to say how underwhelming the special effects now are. It’s one of the few times I can recall a passionate disagreement with the man. Revisiting the film, I noted some of the problems in my thoughts, but when I think of how this film was made almost forty years ago, I’m willing to forgive. It’s the type of film that serves as a historical document; beloved by most and yet including these offensive elements. It’s also text that people can point to in demonstrating the progression underrepresented groups have made in popular film. Something like this would never be made, and I’m sure at the time most were wondering exactly the big deal was when the fringe academic crowd discussed its whiteness. The same reassessment is going on for countless other classic films - Revenge of the Nerds (1984), Animal House (1978), License to Drive (1980), Sixteen Candles (1984), and many other 80s(ish) comedies now demonstrate deeply misogynistic elements; often in regards to jokes about rape, or even raping in the case of Animal House. I think so long as the viewer acknowledges these offenses, it’s possible to keep watching these films and appreciate the majority of otherwise decent, or even, good storytelling. It’s similar to the debate of removing the N-word from "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" (1885). While I don’t agree with changing art, the intention is noble in and of itself - to make the material accessible to as many people as possible; alienating no group in the process. Diner is a film I’ve seen two or three times. A movie I very much enjoy and yet never really think to put on first when nostalgic for a taste of the past. I don’t believe I’ve seen it since moving out to LA, making its midwestern feel (though it took place Baltimore) drive it all the more home. Combined with watching this while home for winter break in Chicago, on DVD with my parent’s old 2000s 720 HD flat screen television with no external sound system, and I went down the sentimental k-hole. The film follows a group of five friends, each in their early 20s and in various stages of their early adulthood. Edward Simmons (Steve Guttenberg) is a facetious neurotic; playing the ignorant victim card and knowing every time he’s doing it. About to get married, he has demanded his fiance pass a 100 question Baltimore Colts trivia test (this is why I always thought the movie took place in Indiana). If she gets less than 60 answers correct, then the wedding is off. Suddenly, his charming and likeable brother Billy (Tim Daly) returns from college, for reasons unknown. Edward is joined by his groomsmen. “Shrevie” Schreiber (Daniel Stern) is a married man who’s recently come to terms with the fact that him and his wife Beth (Ellen Barkin) don’t have anything to talk about; coming to loggerheads when Beth fails to return one of his records to the correct place, as his precisely organized collection embodies his every passion. The town’s local heartthrob is “Boogie” Sheftell (Mickey Rourke), who’s about two years shy of becoming a criminal, currently working as a hairdresser who uses his good looks to hook up with the clientele. The group’s laughs are led by the endless wit of Modell (Paul Reiser), who while being an actor I completely associate with the 80s and early 90s, sinks into the role of a person who always has the best response to any situation. And on the existential end of the spectrum is the super smart “Fed” Fenwick Jr. (Kevin Bacon), who while coming from money deals with severe anxieties about his place in the world; causing him to drop out of college and push his mortality to the utter brink. We first meet them at the 24 hour diner where they meet up after work or nights of heavy drinking or just for the casual chat. In my town the diner was Sub City, which I never felt cool enough to go to until I finally had one of their sandwiches and realized why it was so popular. In the town over, it was a pancake house called Huck Finn Donuts. The conversations provide an early dive into pop culture as they do crossword puzzles and talk about music and their lives; talking to a few shadier and older characters that drop in throughout the night. It was while writing this that I realized that, beyond the marriage, there is no clear plot at work. It is simply following each of the five characters as they’re existing within this particular moment in life. Schreiber’s marriage is empty and unfulfilling and each day the problem snowballs. Boogie makes a bad $2,000 bet with a bookie at the diner, and spends the rest of the film trying to get the money. Modell is the nihilist friend who’s content enough with life and grossly sarcastic. Fed is struggling with finding meaning in the world; whether he should go back to school or not. Edward is preparing a test for his fiance to pass, while his brother is struggling to figure out what he wants to do in life. None of these storylines are all that engaging on their own. They’re economic and feel deeply personal, and while at times they go a bit further than they need to, it’s intercutting these stories with a centralized diner that makes them so brilliant. We come to the diner with one character and leave with another, never getting tired of any of them as their dynamic and relationships pull you in from the first scene. Each performer creates a wonderfully complex character which feels completely true. There are moments where the jokes breaks and the film shows its age; in which in order to gain some cash Boogie bets everyone that he can get a young woman named Diane (Kelle Kipp) to touch his junk. The two head to the movies, Boogie cuts out the bottom of a popcorn container and places himself inside, waiting for her to grab him. It’s a scene that’s almost shocking when you see it; especially when you realize it’s not for some playful fun or attempt to heat things up, but because he needs as much money as fast as possible. It’s a scene that I’m sure would ruin the movie for many nowadays, and yet going back to that earlier point, I think it’s best if you just pretend it didn’t happen, or close your eyes and ears and ignore it. Beyond this moment, Diner is one of the better early-20 struggle films out there; becoming a genre that would come to dominate pure independent cinema. BELOW: Chemistry that's off the charts Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Tarantino meets Kurosawa Director: Shōhei Imamura Writer: Masaru Baba; based on Vengeance is Mine by Ryūzō Saki Cinematographer: Sinsaku Himeda Producer: Kazuo Inoue by Jon Cvack This is my first dig into Shōhei Imamura work; whose The Pornographers is the film I'm most familiar with (simply for the lecherous plot; especially for a 1966 release). I haven't explored too many Japanese films from the 1970s and up through the present day; though it seemed that, just as all English thrillers are standing on the shoulders of Hitchcock, all crime films from this era are expounding on the Kurosawa and what he did with his contemporary work - High and Low (1963), The Bad Sleep Well (1960), or Stray Dog (1949). And yet second to the taste of Kurosawa is the clear influence Tarantino would take from the film's hyper violent structure. It opens with the arrest serial killer Iwao Enokizu (Ken Ogata) who’s in the back of a police car, on his way to be interrogated for the murder of numerous individuals. Greeting a roaring crowd of journalists hungry for the scoop, he’s led inside to the interrogation room Told through a series of flashbacks, Iwao recounts the story of how he became a killer. In a non-linear structure, we learn he’s the son of a fisherman who lost his boat to the Japanese Navy with the rise of the modern empire and future Axis of Evil member. He had exhibited rebellious and violent tendencies from the earliest age. He ends up meeting a beautiful woman Kazuko (Mitsuko Baisho) who he brings home to ask his father’s permission to marry. With Kazuko not being a catholic, the father denies his blessing, though they get married anyway. Soon Kazuko falls for and seduces another woman Shizuo (Rentarō Mikuni) in one of the hottest scenes I’ve seen from the era; involving a hot tub and a summertime storm. Enokizu then gets involved with his first double homicide, which provides him the means to travel to another city where he ends up at a brothel; dating one of the prostitutes, Haru (Mayumi Ogawa), while convincing the recently returned house mother, Hisano Asano (Nijiko Kiyokawa) and her husband that he’s a college professor. Enokizu soon leaves the brothel as suspicions abound that he might be the killer. He returns back to Tokyo where he cons a mother out of bail money for her son and murders a lawyer, always returning to the brothel. With the news constantly running his sketched headshot across the television, the family soon pieces together the story. When Enokizu returns, he kills Haru, Hisano and her husband, pawns off their goods and falls back on the road. Five years later, he’s caught. Writing out the synopsis, the story and characters feel so much more shallow than they are. Similar to Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men (2007), Enokizu is frightening in how fast he shifts from indifference to charm. The story between his wife Kazuko and his father Shizuo is equally fascinating; full of maddening desire and sensuality. The scenes between Hisano and Haru provide a interesting look at a mother and her daughter told with a fantastical and tragic situation; as the daughter genuinely believes she’s falling in love with a college professor. At its most base level, the story is similar to Ozu in providing an honest and realistic portrait of lower and middle class characters. It’s as though Imamura took the crime films from Kurosawa and put them in the world Ozu. As alarming and violent as this film is - at times difficult to watch - the great characters dial you in. Vengeance is Mine is up there with any of the great crime films from 70s, if not alongside the very best. BELOW: Not much on the YouTube front so here's the trailer Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Unfortunately, there's like two hi-def images on Google Director: Alfonso Cuarón Writer: Alfonso Cuarón, Timothy J. Sexton, David Arata, Mark Fergus, and Hawk Ostby; based on The Children of Men by P. D. James Cinematographer: Emmanuel Lubezki Producer: Hilary Shor, Iain Smith, Tony Smith, Marc Abraham, and Eric Newman by Jon Cvack As mentioned in my thoughts on Roma (2018), I hadn’t revisited Children of Men since making my movie Road to the Well (2016) and directing other projects; providing that magnificent experience of grasping how technically phenomenal the story is. Not just from the cinematography, but the art direction, costumes, story, and performances. I think I had seen the movie once or twice before this round. I remembered the masked people in cages, the long take in the car, the Strawberry Cough, and the birthing sequence. For some reason I feel as though I missed it’s connection. I keep thinking this movie was made in 2010, but quadruple checking, I’m surprised to see it was 2006; while Bush was president with record low approval numbers; knee deep in the Middle East, a year out from the Katrina disaster, and rolling out increasingly pervasive intelligence techniques. I was getting more into politics at the time, swinging far and away from my conservative family. In terms of history, the facts are that George Bush approved the torture of prisoners of war and engaged in a counterproductive campaign that killed over 5,500 members of the military and over 150,000 Iraqi civilians; all while creating the PATRIOT Act which has impeded on our fourth Amendment rights. Children of Men takes place in 2027, when the world has gone infertile due to a pandemic of antibiotic-resistant plagues. The U.K. has become a police state, instituting strict checkpoints to repel and expel any and all immigrants. The film begins in a coffee shop, with a bunch of the patrons watching the latest bad news regarding terrorist attacks. Theo Faron (Clive Owen) waits for his coffee and exits, getting about a block down before the coffee shop explodes. Someone had planted a bomb that could have killed him, though still he continues to go to work, lasting but a moment before requesting to go home where he’s then kidnapped by a group of left wing terrorists named “Fishes”, led by Julian Taylor (Julianne Moore); providing one of the first great - and incredibly simple - set pieces; a small windowed room with newspaper taped up on the glass and a yellow bulb burning bright within. Describing this, it’s only Emmanuel Lubezki who could make such a setting feel so fresh. We learn that Theo used to be a member of a left wing radical faction; electing to become a regular old government bureaucrat instead; opting to ignore all that’s going on around him. It’s where the role is fascinating, as my memory of the film up to revisiting was a much less advanced world. It’s through Cuarón's phenomenal direction, allowing the camera to take the subjective view of Theo that allows it work. There are the disturbing images of people in cages and violent streets, but it all seems to operate within the background. Theo isn’t interested because he can’t be interested. Julia offers Theo money in exchange for getting a woman she knows some transit papers. Theo rejects the offer, though makes you feel a passionate concern and desire for the other person, though they only talk for minutes. He goes on to visit his old friend and former cartoonist Jason Palmer (Michael Caine) who now sells pot, grown in a cozy house in the middle of the woods, providing the one bit of escape Theo can find in the crumbling world. He decides to hit up his government minister cousin who lives an extravagant life in a massive (albeit sterile and claustrophobic) apartment or condo of sorts; eating beautiful food while looking upon an industrial wasteland with a floating pig (straight from Pink Floyd’s “Animals” album cover; not to mention some Banksy art years before his widespread acclaim). The cousin agrees to the transport papers, though they require Theo as an escort; which he uses to leverage even more money. The Fishes agree and discover the woman, Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey) is pregnant. Grasping the significance, Theo joins Julian, the armed radical Luke (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and a midwife Miriam (Pam Ferris) as they attempt to have her meet up with the Human Project; an organization determined to solve the infertile pandemic. So begins one of the two of some of the greatest single takes in the history of cinema; as to do this day I have no idea how they accomplished this technically (and I never wanted to look in fear of spoiling the magic). Riding down the rural road, surrounded by forest, Theo sits in the left shotgun while Julian’s behind him. She removes a ping pong ball and the two play a game of blowing and catching it in their mouths. Soon the ball drops and the two begin making out and the camera pans back to the front of the car where dozens of motorcycles with riders holding weapons cruise by and fire toward their position. Still going, Luke stops and reverses. Julian catches a bullet to the head and dies and Theo fights off some of the motorcyclists, where again in the same take, he opens his door to slam them off their bikes before Luke finally stops the car and the camera - still rolling - gets out from the car with them to decide what to do. Luke decides to take them to their terrorist outpost in rural London where through another brilliant use of the camera, Cuarón allows us to join Theo as he sneaks around the house; soon hearing that they plan to kill both Theo and Kee once she has the baby in order to use him as leverage in the pending revolution. Theo decides to act quick, waking up Kee in the middle of the night who escapes, providing another thrilling moment, which is straight out of a first person shooter game; as we remain with Kee and Theo while they bounce from car to car looking for keys, all while hearing some terrorist guards having a discussion throughout the complex. In a wide, Theo and Kee ride in a car down a hill while the others chase them down the hill, hoping to catch up before they can start up the vehicle and gain some speed. Theo drives on to Jason’s to help buy some time, though it’s not long until the terrorists catch up. Jason gives them their car and points them to a way out. Later distracting the terrorists with his charming self, then getting shot dead and Theo suddenly realizes how close he is to all he’s been ignoring. They’re led to an abandoned school where Kee’s water breaks; later meeting a Romanian woman Marichka who helps them with the bird; who, by this point, we assume has the worst intentions. With the revolution launching an offensive against the British she leads them to a dingy apartment where we watch the full action of the baby coming out, which seems a bit too much until you think of how good it looks. Later they meet a man named Syd (Peter Mullan) who learns of the bounty on their head, who attempts to turn them over to the Fishes until Theo clobbers him in the head with an old car battery. Nevertheless, the fishes catch up to them, stealing the baby as British soldiers close in on their position and so begins one of the most impressive - if not the most impressive - single take ever captured on video, which I somehow completely forgot about while getting sucked into the story. The Fishes led by Luke kidnap Kee and her baby at gunpoint as gunfire pours in from all directions. He works his way through the labyrinthian urban streets as Fishes lead the soldiers onward, ending up in a rundown apartment complex and heads onto a public bus to take cover where someone gets shot. Blood covers the camera and Theo exits, discovering a British tank dialed in on the Fishes position; blowing up the entrance and Theo heads inside, up the stairs, searching for Kee and then finding her next to Luke. The greatest long takes function as some of the greatest passages in literature or even the greatest scenes from film; in which they transcend language by pushing the craft to its very brink; where most can agree of their beauty. A scene like this is something where I assume even the below average movie watch would find it incredible, even without ever realizing its marvelous technical feat Theo survives the ordeal, escaping with Kee and the baby through the sewer system, though getting shot along the way. They make it to The Human Project. The baby survives but Theo doesn’t; sacrificing his life for another as a result; the way those closest to him did as well. It expresses such a poetic message - that in a time when humans can no longer procreate, to sacrifice one’s life to amend the problem is the greatest gift someone could provide. My friend watched this film about a year ago, just as Trump’s immigration debate started up once again. Most have now forgotten how disastrous the Bush administration was. They look past Katrina, 9/11, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Abu Ghraib and its torture policy, the PATRIOT Act, and the failure to get Bin Laden or end Islamic Radicalism. We now remember Bush as a decent man who upheld the office and the whole criticism seems so weak. I’m sure most of us wish we could pass on candies to former political opponents in order to gain the respect of all. So we see elitism, and like Theo’s cousin, those who live in guarded communities and in the high rise tower are completely detached, watching the world burn below. Trump’s radical immigration policy best connects to this story. Many ask what they themselves would have done if they were in Germany during Hitler’s rise. The sad truth is few of us are doing anything now. People say they are burnt out and tired of the endless scandals (this entry was written two years ago); hoping for 2020 to arrive so things can return to normal, and refusing to accept that Trump has demonstrated how frail our country is. What scares me isn’t Trump, but what Trump is showing other evil geniuses; that our institutions can be corrupted and the checks and balances can easily fall into line. The question is what happens when climate changes make a more dire impact and millions of refugees flee from the inhabitable desert, or if another global financial crisis hits - if the wrong person is in charge what becomes of other people’s rights and how much will we care? It’s wonderful to imagine we’ll change like Theo, but then I think of how many other people he knew who never changed at all; who kept watching the world crumble. I’m not sure when a setting like Children of Men will occur (if ever, of course), but minus the infertility, of all dystopian tales, this seems like the most prescient. BELOW: Cinema at its finest Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Throwback to Children of Men Director: Alfonso Cuarón Writer: Alfonso Cuarón Cinematographer: Alfonso Cuarón Producer: Gabriela Rodríguez, Alfonso Cuarón, and Nicolás Celis by Jon Cvack I had watched Children of Men (2006) the day before going to see this film; having thought I remembered far more. I had always liked the film, but for some reason I never felt the need to revisit. And I’m fairly certain I hadn’t seen before directing Road to the Well; providing that amazing experience that returning to great films always does, in which the language and use of cinema is on full display, unable to be fully appreciated before learning the craft. What I failed to remember is that aside from the legendary one-takes (it’s been so long I actually forgot about Theo’s final push into the building), is that many scenes rely on the same minimal coverage; immersing you within the experience, photographed beautifully by Emmanuel Lubezki. Roma opens on a close up of a water puddle as the credits roll and we see Alfonso Cuarón produced, wrote, directed, and served as director of photography on the production, after a scheduling error prevented Emmanuel Lubezki from joining the show. Then again, the way the photography crew’s credits are shown is strikingly similar to how Paul Thomas Anderson presented them in Phantom Thread (2018), which he also elected to shoot. From there, sure enough, Cuarón employs the same subtle long takes found in Children of Men, following a young Latino maid, Cleodegaria "Cleo" Gutiérrez (Yalitza Aparicio) as she cleans the house of an upper class couple - the house mother, Sofia (Marina de Tavira) and her doctor husband Antonio (Fernando Grediaga). Together they have four children Pepe (Marco Graf), Sofi (Daniela Demesa), Toño (Diego Cortina Autrey), and Paco (Carlos Peralta) and a dog that enjoys shitting in the driveway. Told mostly from the perspective of Cleo, we see that she lives with the other maids’ in a separate flat behind the home. They both enjoy their jobs. Cleo especially loves the children. And as two young women with money in their pockets, they enjoy going out, where one night, Cleo has sex with a young man named Fermín (Jorge Antonio Guerrero) who’s obsessed and fully committed to his martial arts; displaying his power with a shower rod in one of the most intense post coital scenes. Back home, Antonio takes off with his bags packed in the middle of the night, allegedly for a conference, leaving Sofia in tears. While not explicitly stated, it’s clear he’s not coming back, and therefore leaving Sofia to care for the children alone. Shortly after, Cleo and Fermín head to the movies in one of the most beautiful shots of the film. As the comedy-action film plays in the background on screen, Cleo says she’s late and, at first, Fermín seems to be welcoming of the fact, before excusing himself to use the bathroom even though there are only seconds left of the movie. The credits later roll, Cleo grabs Fermín’s jacket and heads out, realizing Fermín is gone. Cleo later tells Sofia that she’s pregnant, scared to death that she’d force her to have to leave. Instead Sofia and later some of the children console her with hugs, expressing their love. While this doesn’t prevent Sofia from occasionally snapping at Cleo when her marital stress runs high, it takes awhile to realize that there’s no malicious intent or boiling eruption, but rather that Cleo is very much a part of Sofia’s family; in which love is reciprocated on both sides. Cleo soon tracks Fermín down to return the jacket and explain that she’s having the baby. She takes a bus to a distant rural community, where countless steel and wood cabins sit in mud. One of Cuarón's finest talents is finding the beauty in uncommon situations; in this case showing a punk band rocking out in the front of the huts and Cleo breaks up their practice to ask where she can find Fermín. She’s led to a dusty field where fifty or so other martial artists practice with bamboo sticks, led by a local television stuntman per the likes of Evel Knievel. The practice ends and Cleo confronts Fermín, who erupts, threatening to beat her should she ever confront him again. She goes home and the family assists Cleo with her pregnancy. The grandmother, Teresa (Verónica García), takes her to a department store to buy a crib while a mass protest is taking place in the streets. Moments after they choose the crib, and in the film’s most memorable shot, noise picks up outside, quickly shifting into a violent eruption as the protestors turn against the police; attacking them with weapons and making their way into the store. A desperate man, running from the clash enters, followed by three armed who enter, one of them Fermín, chasing the man into a corner and shooting him down, while Cleo does her best to hide. Moments after they leave, Cleo’s water breaks and Teresa rushes her out, passing a woman collapsed over her dead husband in the streets; a shot taken as a straight throwback to Children of Men (2006). A man offers to drive, but they get stuck in full stop traffic as the people try and flee the protests. Soon she ends up at the hospital and in an absolutely brutal single take (in fact, shot only once) we watch Cleo in a medium profile while actual hospital staff carry out the birth procedure, soon delivering a stillborn baby which they’re unable to resuscitate. The nurse gives her the baby to hold before taking it back, placing it on a table next to Cleo (still in the same single take) and they wrap it up in a blanket. To help Cleo cope with both her loss and the official demise of her marriage, Sofia takes Cleo and the children onto a trip to the country where she plans to break the news. Over dinner, she finally breaks the news and the nuanced children respond in their various ways. On the return home, they decide to stop at a beach where a couple of the children beg to go into the ocean which the mother grants while she grabs something in the car. Cleo keeps an eye on them, but when checking another one of the children, she turns to see that they’re gone. In another impressive single take, the camera dollies parallel with Cleo as she approaches the ocean, up to the wake where she calls out and we see how violent the waves are. She enters the water and camera follows, remaining what seems only a foot or so above the water and yet not catching a single drop of water, further along as Cleo gets up to her neck in the water and we start fearing the worst; until she sees one of the children and rushes over, helping the boy along before finding the girl. She saves them both, returns to the beach, where the mother and other children are in distraught with fear; they hug each other and we see the poster of the film; where Cleo then mentions that she’s glad she lost the baby as she loves the family so much and didn’t want it; feeling guilty at the admission. She’s hailed a hero and they all head back home where she starts cleaning up after them once again, and again missing the dog shit on the driveway. An exhausted response to classic era filmmakers such as Truffaut, Fellini, Bergman, Ray, and others is how much cinema has changed; where if only we could get back to telling the same intimate and touching stories cinema might be revived. Cuarón had long wished to make this film in an attempt to recreate his memories of youth; Cuarón has gone so far as to say that 90% of the film is factual. And thus the first films I was left comparing it to are amongst the finest of foreign cinema - The 400 Blows (1959), Pather Panchali (1955), and of course Fellini’s film by the same name Roma (1972). In one scene in which the family celebrates Christmas with an extended family, with countless children running around, and copious amounts of alcohol consumed by the dozens of adults, I was left remembering Fanny and Alexander (1982) and the way in which it presented such a beautiful world that felt entirely authentic. All so often such comparisons of this type seem far too generous. Cuarón had accomplished the miraculous in maintaining their spirit while adding his own style. And yet my one complaint is with the central character, who while giving a fantastic performance, seemed needlessly limited with the material. There was something icky about Cleo’s character; in which Cuarón painted her as someone who rather than creating her own family seemed entirely dedicated to another’s. In the end, no matter the heroics of saving children or surviving such a devastating event, she’ll always have to go back to picking up after others; in service to their every need - picking up after them, compensating for their laziness, cleaning up the dog shit and having it scrub it from the brick driveway. For some reason, Cleo has no passion or concern beyond this family; she has no interest in books, art, or music; she likes the movies the way the general public likes the movies. I couldn’t help wondering if 90% of this film was based on Cuarón's life, did he perhaps miss the complexity of this person, or was her entire life and all of her interests truly dedicated to this family? If so, why couldn’t some of that 10% creative liberty have been dedicated to providing a bit more of a personality; needs and desires which extended beyond being a lower class citizen in service to an upper class family? Being born in 1961 and with the film taking place in 1970, I’m wondering if Cuarón was a bit too married to the idea of showing the world as he perceived it back then; in which failing to notice an entire person’s dreams and desires is excused by youthful innocence. There is no problem with telling a story through a child’s eyes, but this film revolves around Cleo, and I was left wondering how much more there was to learn. BELOW: Fitting in today's world Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  The costumes and set design alone... Director: Yorgos Lanthimos Writer: Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara Cinematographer: Robbie Ryan Producer: Ceci Dempsey, Ed Guiney, Lee Magiday, and Yorgos Lanthimos by Jon Cvack When I saw the preview, I expected another 18th century dramatic tale about the English Royal family with one or two of these released per year (and sure enough, just days after seeing this Mary Queen of Scots (2018) was released). Most are good, but more and more they rely on the predictable biopic format, portraying a character that must overcome seemingly impossible odds, whether for love or power. Even broader, I just don’t like most films that portray the aristocracy during this period, no matter the nation reflected. The more I learn about history and the more the world is exposed, the more you realize how privileged the characters in these stories often are; whether because of some dishonorable wrong from a peer, or some type of love triangle. I didn’t love The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017), as being unfamiliar with the Greek story, I felt mostly lost; let alone that other films have explored similar ideas in more engaging ways - whether Funny Games (2007), Straw Dogs (1971; 2011), or The Strangers (2008). The best part of the film was Barry Keoghan, who after seeing him in American Animals (2018), is becoming one of the most exciting young talents to follow. The Favorite kicks off with the same style, as two female characters deliver incredibly dry dialogue; creating an initially jarring effect, as I struggled to adjust to the style and cadence; with the whole audience wondering whether it was okay to laugh and leaving me wanting to go back so I can pick up on all I missed during the first ten minutes or so. The two characters are Anna, Queen of Great Britain who reigned from 1707 to 1714 when she died, and her closest advisor and amour Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough (Rachel Weisz). From there we cut to a cousin of Sarah’s, Abigail Hill (Emma Stone), in a wagon, headed to the palace in order to take a job. Catching eyes with a man in front of her who smiles and then proceeds to masturbate in front of the five riders. He later pushes Abigail out of the carriage where she falls face first into mud, having to visit Sarah without cleaning up. She gets a position in the scullery. First tasked to clean the floors in which she dunks her hand in a bucket of acid bleach, burning her skin while the other girls smile and laugh. Nationally, there’s an ongoing war between the French and English that’s winding down; in which the conservatives are willing to take it further to acquire more land - though at the cost of taxing land owners - and a progressive group that wants to end the war, avoid the taxation, and save the lives, while missing out on the additional territory. The progressives are led by Nicholas Hoult as Robert Harley, 1st Earl of Oxford and Earl Mortimer; who might be the first character to beg the question as to how absurd it is to adorn oneself in makeup and wigs. Through shrewd office politic maneuvering, Abigail earns the trust of Sarah; who gets Abigail out from sleeping on the floor in a room full of women, some grossly ill, and into her own bedroom. Soon Abigail is visited by a younger man, Joe Alwyn as Samuel Masham, 1st Baron Masham, lusting for her like an animal, which she further uses to her advantage. One night, after Sarah offers Abigail the chance to use her library, Abigail hunts for a book of poetry and finds Sarah and Anna in her room having sex. Anibail realizes the leverage she has over Sarah; bringing up the concern during some skeet shooting the next day. It’s at this moment, as the background politics settle along with the style, and we finally grasp the world we’re in, that I realized how smart the story was; namely - a political love triangle between two incredibly sharp characters, in which the filmmaker was willing to jettison the genre norms and create a story unlike anything I’ve ever seen; providing that rare paradigm shifting moment in cinema. Should this win best picture (it didn’t, losing to Green Book (2018)), or at least be a contender (which I’m surprised people are even saying about such a bizarre movie), it will forever change the way this world is portrayed; in which taking their relatively insignificant problems all that seriously is as ridiculous as the content itself. Abigail soon works her way to the Queen, and before long, provides the same cunnilingus prowess that Sarah offered. Jealousy arises and so begins the cloak and dagger battle as both women attempt to outsmart the other. Sarah by accusing Abigail of theft and relegating her to the kitchen, where Anna then promotes her to be a chamber maiden. However, Sarah still is able to resume her position by playing to Anna’s heart, rather than her lust. Abigail ups the ante and poisons a cup of tea, which Sarah drinks, immediately feeling the need to clear herself in all directions. Riding her horse home, she faints, still connected to the steed, and dragged for over a night. Eventually she’s taken in by a brothel who sews up a nasty scar on her face and hopes to put her to work as a prostitute. The disappearance troubles Anna, who’s worry and concern is appearing to trump any amount of pleasure Abigail could provide. It’s when one of the conservative politicians visiting the brothel discovers Sarah that she returns back; providing one of the more interesting dynamics as Anna is disgusted by Sarah’s scars and bruises, which Abigail then used to her advantage; exploiting Sarah’s disfiguration by planting a seed of distrust in Anna; convincing her that Abigail isn’t be trusted, and, in fact, attempting to gain political advantage. One upping Abigail, Sarah threatens to leak all of Anna’s lascivious love letters to the press should Sarah be removed. However, this proves too much of a threat, as the genuine connection between Anna and Abigail prevents Abigail from ever actually releasing the letters; instead burning them, in which Sarah then nudges Anna a bit further, using Abigail’s reluctance against her and having her exiled for good. It’s here that the film takes an interesting turn. Years later, Sarah is now the socialite star of a debaucherous party, where she kisses other men while getting blotto on wine. By now Anna has had a stroke which paralyzed half her face. Sarah still provides Anna pleasure, though with the physical attraction waining, the reluctance is far stronger. It’s when one of the politicians mentions that Sarah’s interested in sending a letter that Anna says it’s fine if she wishes to try. Sarah of course writes the letter, which Abigail then steals and burns, preventing their reconciliation. The ending comes a bit abruptly, yet it’s after thinking about the film for weeks after that it seems the best possible option. Abigail’s transition from innocence to corruption is so finely drawn, with each scene adding just a bit more dirt than the previous, that it’s no wonder that she’d eventually turn completely; making you instead wonder if she had the intention from the very beginning, or simply observed the office politics around her, knowing that her only in was to marry a man she didn’t love, to pleasure a woman she wasn’t attracted to, and hurt a cousin she had never known, all in the effort to gain an affluent life. Or, if maybe all of this was simply a result of living in squalor; a byproduct of her parent’s mistake. Who wouldn’t do whatever they could to avoid being beaten and forced to sleep on a cold basement floor? It’d take another viewing to properly connect the dynamic to the background political conflict; though I’m doubtful as to whether they relate so much as explore the general absurdity in attempting to resolve the conflicts. The two political parties can’t reconcile their differences or properly appease the Queen, while Anna’s incompetence and insecurity prevents her from seeing the ways in which the two women are exploiting her own desires. Sarah’s transformation was the film’s most impressive feat, as Rachel Weisz created a character which began as boring and despicable and into a fascinating and, at times, heartbreaking portrait of a woman who might have been unable to express her love. Even better, I’m not sure the latter is even possible, as I often wondered whether Abigail was also putting on an act. Only her burning of the letters seemed to hint at any actual feelings. It’s one of the most beautiful movies of the year, shot with some of the widest fisheyes I recall seeing in a film other than some skate video. It shouldn’t work, and yet somehow it captures the world; in all its beauty and absurdity, never making it feel artificial or forced. Some films usher in a new way of portraying an era, embodying its essence in ways we’ve never seen. What Saving Private Ryan (1998) did for WWII battle footage, The Favorite might have done for cinema taking place in the ~18th century. BELOW: A brilliant scene, skirting that fine line between satire and reality Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Tragically underrated Director: Satyajit Ray Writer: Satyajit Ray Cinematographer: Subrata Mitra Producer: R. D. Banshal and Sharankumari Bansal by Jon Cvack Every time I arrive at a Satyajit Ray film, I’m expecting it to provide that traditional art house experience in which you find yourself saying it’s good, but will probably never watch it again and then it finishes and I’m blown away by the picture. Similar to Ramin Bahrani, the plots often sound so simple, in this case a movie star on a long train ride interviews an attractive journalist, recounting his rise to fame while surrounded by a unique and thrilling supporting cast, including a slimy Bollywood producer; a frail young girl with tuberculosis who shares the train compartment with the movie star; and the journalist’s colleagues who’re hungry for the juicy details. The first films that come to mind is 8 ½ (1963) and Stardust Memories (1980); both which examine the artist’s personal struggle with success. The further along I get in my career, the more I’m in awe that anyone my age could achieve vast success with storytelling as it remains such an elusive and seeming impossible feat, leaving me to wonder how success would affect my ego; whether I’d further isolate myself, forever fearful of the impostor syndrome, or attempt to navigate the upper echelons in order to see how much further the career could go. Actors have an additional complication in that the very nature of their pursuit is a desire for the audience and their praise and/or the unwavering desire to imagine and play (perhaps similar to writers). Screen star Arindam Mukherjee (Uttam Kumar) is invited to Delhi to accept a prestigious award for his achievements in acting, but with all flights booked, he is forced to take the train. There he meets a young and attractive journalist Aditi Sengupta (Sharmila Tagore) who conjoles him into an interview where Arindam opens up about his rise, insecurity, and personal corruption. Arindom’s career began by ignoring his mentor’s caution against entering into film acting in which the performer is forced to abandon the very connection they form with the audience. The theater allows the performer to embody the role rather than shooting it in fragments. Arindom arrives on his first to big film set to find his idol and one of Bollywood’s finest actors excoriate his performance in front of the entire cast and crew; castigating him for delivering the lines improperly and forcing Arindom to question his decision to enter film. Soon the Bollywood star’s career dries up and he becomes an alcoholic, leaving him broke, alone, and depressed. Meanwhile, Arindom has increasingly turned to drugs, alcohol, and women as the fame increasingly smothers him. Throughout the few days' train ride, he has nightmares, including one dream with an incredible set piece in which Arindom wanders around giant hills of cash money, soon chased by hands that reach up to grab him. Throughout the story, Ray provides us with one of the more memorable insights into fame and its corrupting potential. If one is alone on the way up, there are few to turn to and trust; everyone has a project or need, the pressure mounts, the temptation to take uninspired, well paid roles expands, and soon the fulfillment that art provided evaporates; in which the performer serves as nothing more than product. Nayak is another film that demonstrates the inherent bigotry of western cinema and its history. Recently, I read Edward Said’s The Question of Palestine (1979), where Said discusses the long history of how westerners regard all things eastern - whether culture, politics, or religion - as inferior; creating a blatantly racist outlook, or at best, an indifference or apathy. Compared to his predominantly white peers, aside from the Apu trilogy, Satyajit Ray’s work has received little attention; reserved for the most obscure of cinephile lists. I was particularly to have never heard of this film, given how many “movies about movies” I’ve come across. It’s a story up there with the best of them in providing an honest portrait about the industry; not speaking in esoteric terms, but allowing the viewer to observe the performance from either side, whether as Arindom’s and the bitterness he’s developed or the curiosity of an outsider like Aditi. Somehow avoiding sentimentality, we believe that Arindom could’ve been happier with more modest life with Aditi, and he gets off the train; in a brilliant shot, as the fans gather at the stop, pounding on the glass while Arindom continues their conversation, to later get off, back into a world completely devoid of anonymity, surrounded by people who want little beyond a chance to say they met or talked to someone famous; no matter whether it was him or his old washed up colleague from yesteryear. BELOW: A fantastic dream sequence Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Dynamic aside, it's got two stellar performances Director: Peter Farrelly Writer: Nick Vallelonga, Brian Hayes Currie, and Peter Farrelly Cinematographer: Sean Porter Producer: Jim Burke, Brian Hayes Currie, Peter Farrelly, Nick Vallelonga, and Charles B. Wessler by Jon Cvack NOTE: This was written before the Best Picture backlash, immediately after seeing the film The formula was simple - a well mannered upper class and well educated black pianist is driven around by a foul lower class white man. From the preview alone I think most people would anticipate the entire arc of the story; the pair will be offended by the other and then reconcile into a deep and lasting friendship. The black man will see past the white man’s crass and racist behavior and the white man will see past skin color. A friend of mine on Facebook said it best in that it’s a not so subtle shout out to the last two presidents. And yet, that kind of seems the point. The movie I first recalled after watching this was Corrina, Corrina (1994) starring Ray Liotta as a recently widowed man whose wife died from cancer; hiring Whoopi Goldberg to help take care of his mute tween daughter Corrina while also helping out with the house. Liotta is an atheist, soft spoken, and fairly bitter man who writes radio jingles, while Goldberg is a rambunctious Catholic who had always dreamed of writing the record notes on the backs of albums. Soon Corrinna is introduced to her black culture while her and Liotta start to fall in love; seeing past each other’s differences. I don’t recall how many times I’ve watched this movie growing up. If pressed, I’d say maybe a dozen. I’m not sure why I always liked putting or keeping it on; providing that weird reflection, where though I was too young to understand craft or understand the racial dynamic, I was attracted to the film as though there were things to discover and experience. Green Book presents a similar story; though instead of love it’s focuses on friendship. It follows a bouncer Frank “Tony Lip” Vallelonga (Viggo Mortensen) who works at the Copacabana nightclub; showing off his strength after a couple of patrons try to fight and refuse to be kicked out. However, when the club’s forced to shut down for renovations, Frank is now out of work for the next three months, possibly up through Christmas. His fellow night club crew flirts the line with organized crime, though while the offer rolls in to run a few of their errands for a nice paycheck, he opts out for some honest work; taking an interview with a successful pianist “Doc” Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali). The pair interview one another, and we learn that Doc is planning a Southern tour where he’ll need an ostensible bodyguard to protect Doc against any potential problems; that is, violent racists. While Frank’s willing to drive Doc around, he refuses to be a “butler” and iron shirts or polish shoes. Doc refuses to offer the gig, only later calling him when it’s clear that few others have what it takes for the position. The pair hit the road with two other band members and Frank is handed what was once called a “Green Book”; a traveling guide “for the Negro tourist” who’re doomed to arrive in towns still practicing segregation. They ease down into the South, beginning in New York City, down to Baltimore, across through the Midwest and then make their way down to Alabama; each destination getting progressively more racist as the trip goes on. What begins as the white hosts cooking Doc fried chicken and collard greens turns to refusing to let him use the in-house bathroom. The extravagant and expensive hotels which accept him up in the Northeast fade into begrimed flea dens. The friendly acceptance of white people devolves into the bitter and violent hate the deep South feels for black people, leaving you to increasingly wonder what exactly Doc made his way down there for. The most important aspect for any character foil is proper personality. Doc and Frank oppose each other, but Mortenson’s Frank far outshines Ali’s Doc; as while the film returns to a classic formula, it also falls victim to structural benevolent bigotry. Doc is at times an insufferable prig, and while we later learn that most of that might have been based on fear, it was the more intimate moments that displayed the issue. Contrast this with Frank who steals literally every scene, as we’re left wondering how his complete lack of concern for what others think, while also being very good at his bodyguard role, make each scene a thrill to watch. When Doc can’t get into the bathroom and is told to use the outhouse, we can’t wait to hear what Frank is going to say. When Doc gets ruffled up, we’re excited to see how Frank is willing to go to help him. The only moment Doc gets the spotlight seems to be during the final moment at the all-black bar and Doc takes a try at some jazz improv. It’s an example of where diversity in authorship is a necessity. Imagine if the rolls were flipped, and instead the tale was a 70s/80s-inspired throwback of a foul-mouthed lower class black man who assists the successful white man? It’d receive the same criticism as Driving Miss Daisy (1989), The Green Mile (1999), or The Blind Side (2009); showing the black man to be ignorant and uncultured, saved by the white man. I understand this is a true story, but given how obvious the politics are, it seems like rather than let people of color tell their stories, we instead show them as benevolent individuals, while providing their white counterparts with all of the depth and flavor. If I was a betting man, I think we’ll look back to films like this and see them as a reflection of our currently unjust, though improving race relations. I started to forget most of this by the time the film got moving and the chemistry further evolved. I accepted Ali’s rendition and remained excited for Frank. Driving deeper into the south created an unfamiliar tension for such a feel-good moral film. To think less than seventy years ago, just a few years older than my parents, blacks would have to abide by sundown laws, have nowhere to stay, or in the film’s most intense scene, be refused service at the very club Doc is playing at. In a brief moment, we hear the circular illogic that plagues racist thought; believing that the black man who refuses to perform after being denied service demonstrates how unreliable black men are in general. Soon we learn that, like Nat King Cole before him - who was one of the first black men to perform in the reputable clubs down south, accosted and nearly driven out of the city - Doc is attempting to bridge the two worlds, in the hopes that music could help dissolve the perceived differences. In the end, he was willing to sacrifice his own life comforts and safety to accomplish this mission. The two then head back, making it home just in time for Christmas. Frank knows Doc has no one to share the night with, invites him up, but Doc refuses. And in classic rom-com movies, just as Frank grows depressed that his new friend chose to be alone, Doc appears, bottle of wine in hand and welcomed into the apartment. As of writing this, the National Board of Review has named the film Best of the Year and it later received five Golden Globe nominations, including Best Picture. There’s talk that it’s at least front runner for an Oscar, and it seems like the perfect nominee; progressive but not radical the way BlacKKKlansman (2018) is. And perhaps that’s the type of movie some need in Trump’s America. While BlacKKKlansman is the progressive story, Green Book is the conservative one. There’s something about the final scene where Frank opens the door to Doc and how lonely he looks before accepting his new friend in for a family Christmas. It makes you think of how the story continues and what else they shared as the years went on. Any story that leaves you imagining beyond has to be pretty good. BELOW: The scene that blew up liberal Twitter who seemed to miss that their ire is the point 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 the most haunting photography I've seen in a romance Director: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger Writer: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger Cinematographer: Erwin Hillier Producer: Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger, and George R. Busby by Jon Cvack The deeper I get into Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s filmography, the more I smile that my first introduction from the guy was with Peeping Tom (1960) during film school; as the majority of us who hadn’t seen it assumed it was the twin movie rip off to Psycho (1960). Years later, when I finally saw the film I was shocked at how good it was; not at all mirror to Psycho but rather its own story and style that would predate most slasher films. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger are possibly two of the most underrated filmmakers in the history of cinema; at least relative to their position in history. I struggle to think of another popular filmmaker(s) of comparable vision that has been completely forgotten.* I’m near wrapping out their available filmography - having written about The Thief of Baghdad (1940) and its incredible effects, A Matter of Life and Death's (1946) profound fantasy and use of color, and wanting to return to their two most famous works, The Red Shoes (1948) and Black Narcissus (1947). The pair are a mid-century merge between Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese. I Know Where I’m Going! starts off with a bang as we’re introduced to a fiercely independent young girl, Joan Webster, who from the earliest age has been able to get exactly what she wants. In a rapid montage, we discover this ranged from expensive pure silk stockings to marrying one of England’s wealthiest citizens who’ll help provide the extravagant life she’s been searching for. Out of the gate, the credits are integrated into the set. The opening shot tracks a crawling infant, ending on her crib where the first set of crew is listed out. Later it pulls back from a bunch of girls exiting a school and ends on a wooden milk van parked on the street, with the second set of the crew listed on the side in a typeface for a traveling medicine man; the wagon moves forward and the camera shifts to the back, where the production designer is displayed. From there, she meets her father and a swanky nightclub where she announces her marriage to Robert Barringer, the chief executive of one of the world’s largest chemical companies. The father is shocked, as Robert is his age; realizing that his daughter has grown to covet wealth and power above all else. Just when you think it’s finally slowing down, she heads to a train, where it feels as though the story gets injected with a massive dose of cocaine, in which the filmmakers intercut between all the train mechanics, a miniature train set, and a bunch of cross fades from her fantasy wedding to Chemical Industries to have everyone she knows wading to her every need; until finally she arrives at the seaside town of Kiloran, which was filmed on the actual Scottish isle of Colonsay where she has to journey across sea to Berringer’s smaller, private island. Unfortunately, a storm rises up which prevents her from leaving. She ends up a local inn where she meets naval officer Torquil MacNeil (Roger Livesey; who I saw in both A Matter of Life and Death and A Life of Colonel Blimp (1943)); an attractive man who’s also trying to get to Kiloran for furlough who invites Joan to stay at a nearby inn. There she meets an eccentric and retired hawk trainer, who’s just one of many unique individuals from the community. The next day, the rain has died, but a heavy gale is blowing, creating unsafe conditions. Torquil gives Joan a tour of the town; ending up at the legendary Moy Castle (an actual place) which Joan wants to enter while Torquil refuses; explaining that a terrible curse has been applied to the current “Laird” of the castle (Laird being the Scottish owner of a large estate); then revealing himself to be the Laird of Kiloran, which he’s simply leasing to the Berringer. The two continue to spend more time together, all while Joan maintains her mission to make it across the sea. Perhaps the best film to compare this to is John Ford’s The Quiet Man (1952), and its gorgeous photography across the Irish countryside. Captured by cinematographer Erwin Hillier’s chilling cinematography, in which he often shot the subjects in silhouette against the partly cloudy skies, there’s a chilling authenticity to the film; part Ingmar Bergman, part David Lean romance, and part Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963); serving as a type of existential tale about whether a woman battling her attraction to money and power as a more humble life’s presented as the alternative; albeit with someone she loves. I had seen the comparison to Hitchcock’s The Birds while trying to find who played the hawk trainer and it’s perfectly fitting. The story of a woman stranded on an island, as though nature is deliberating keeping her there to prove some grander point. I was left thinking of how great an adaptation this would make if Emmanuel Lubezki had the camera; even if all else was kept the same. It skirts that fine line between romance, gothic fairytale, and allegory per the likes of “A Christmas Carol”. It contains images that will forever be burned in my mind; of Joan visiting the seaside, desperate to get across for fear of what she might do with Torquil; of the moment when she finally gets out to sea after exploiting a young man who doesn’t know any better and they end up at the Corryvreckan whirlpool (also a real place) which is truly one of the most incredible natural events I’ve ever seen integrated into a narrative. So many of these pieces add up to one of my favorite films I’ve yet to see from Powell and Pressburger; the kind of film that makes me want to revisit their first films. In the behind the scenes featurette, Martin Scorsese explains how hard it was to see this film initially and soon it became a cult hit even before there was such a phrase. It leaves me wondering how a filmmaker like Powell and Pressburger have fallen off the radar so heavily. When we look back on 1940s/50s/60s cinemas greatest filmmakers, their names might pop up here and there, but it’s often reserved for the second tier of obscurity. From all I’ve seen, their stuff is comparable to Hitchcock; trading the thriller for a fantastical realism. With A Matter of Life and Death now coming out on a Criterion, I’m confident that they’ll one day earn their rightful place; up there with Bergman, Fellini, or John Ford. *Henry Hathaway might fit the bill, but it’s more for his contributions to the western rather than cinema’s more general accomplishments. BELOW: Not much on the YouTube front, but here's a taste of the photography 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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