 Easy on the eyes Director: Robert Eggers Writer: Robert Eggers Cinematographer: Jarin Blaschke Producer: Rodrigo Teixeira, Daniel Bekerman, Lars Knudsen, Jodi Redmond, and Jay Van Hoy by Jon Cvack In terms of the new generation of cinematic directors, Robert Eggers is one of the most exciting. The premise of The Lighthouse is known without needing to see anything more than the poster. An eerie Lovecraftian/Pinter black and white hybrid about two lighthouse keepers attempting to cope with island fever, featuring two A-list players. It’s the type of film that forms an immediate image in your head which you pray will match your expectations. It does, holding them all the way to the end. The story involves rookie lighthouse keeper Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson) and Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe) as the elderly boss as they arrive by boat on a small island with a modest lighthouse attached to a decrepit cabin. From the gate and without gratuity, we learn the situation - they are stationed there for six weeks, Thomas is the boss and an alcoholic, Ephraim doesn’t drink. So begins a story that’s hard to summarize, which only another viewing could possibly provide, so consider this some initial thoughts which will expand in the future. Ephraim quickly realizes that his job is to do all of the work while Thomas hangs out at the lighthouse. He mops and washes floors, polishes metal as though sanding it down, and repaints the lighthouse, all while failing to meet Thomas’ expectations. There is nothing he can do that is right and soon a mixture of criticism and solitude causes Ephraim to turn back to the bottle, leading him and Thomas to get drunk and enjoy their first debaucherous night and from there it descends into madness. Whenever I watch or read Harold Pinter, Samuel Beckett, or other absurdists, I’m left wondering how their work could inspire a film. The Lighthouse provides that exact idea. It’s the type of story that I see people immediately trying to categorize within the realm of the plausible; that for whatever reason, no matter the images or methods, this is something that is actually happening, rather than serving as metaphor. My initial experience is that the film is about someone in hell - either figuratively or literally; whether mental or actual. We learn that Ephraim is a murderer and rapist and that he had given up drinking to avoid the impulses he once had. Throughout the film are Lovecraftian flashbacks to images of octopuses, a dead woman, and a sexualized and terrifying mermaid showing all the detailed anatomy used to lure men. Ephraim is also being harassed by a one eyed seagull that he later destroys in the film’s most horrifying scene, whipping the bird into the concrete as it explodes into a feathery and bloody mess. Throughout the film Ephraim is determined to get to the lighthouse, going so far as to drag a full kerosene drum up the winding staircase, taking each step one by one only for Thomas to tell him to take it back back down; made all the more complicated by the hyper masculine yet homoerotic dynamic between the two characters, with Ephraim going so far as to kiss Thomas. It all adds up into a bizarre story whose abstraction shouldn’t work and yet somehow keeps chugging all the way to the end. My immediate impression is that Ephraim had killed and raped a woman in some seaside town, was executed, and now lives on the hellish island where he’s forced to confront his future self, never able to get off. When he reaches the light I don’t see his salvation so much as the process beginning all over again; with Ephraim and Thomas back on the boat, looking toward the flashing light once again. I lean toward a purgatory in which Ephraim is constantly tested - to have sex with the mermaid, to abstain from booze, and to avoid killing Thomas as he fails over and over again; having to relive the experience. The film is a refreshing glimpse into the imagination - not to revert to mental delusion or dreams, but to dive deep into an alternative world. At times there is a bit too much abstraction, but it was drowned out by the imagery and shattering performances. It’s the pinnacle of having an actor convey emotion with words as I only understood about two thirds of what was said. I felt as though I was on a ride, forced and willingly accepting the unfamiliar. Combined with some of the most haunting cinematography I’ve seen in years*. It was a movie experience I’ll never forget. *Robert Eggers somehow allowed a 1.19 x 1 aspect ratio to take on widescreen proportions as he had the wings of the frame in black, blending in with the theater screen. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life; a movie that physically shifted between ratios. BELOW: Cute couple 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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 A film that feels like a drug trip Director: Gaspar Noé Writer: Gaspar Noé and Lucile Hadzihalilovic Cinematographer: Benoît Debie Producer: Brahim Chioua, Vincent Maraval, Olivier Delbosc, Marc Missonnier, and Shin Yamaguchi by Jon Cvack There are a handful of disturbing movies that I’m fairly certain I’ll never watch again. Ken Park (2002), The Brown Bunny (2003), Gummo (1997), and Antichrist (2009) are some of the first that come to mind. They’re all made by good, or even great directors, but all cross that particular threshold of providing a cathartic experience and toward functioning as a nightmare. At the same time, I’m not against returning to Requiem for a Dream (2000), Kids (1995), Salò (1975), and I often revisit the Saw series during October. We all have thresholds (most are shocked when they hear I un-ironically enjoy the Saw series), but then many people I know have Requiem for a Dream as one of their favorite movies; a film I don’t find disturbing enough to forever ignore, but can’t imagine when I’d be in a mood to electively put it on. Enter the Void exists somewhere in the middle. I had never seen any of Gaspar Noe’s work up to this point, nor did I know anything about Enter the Void. I knew it had something to do with psychedelics and by the time the opening credits of the cast and crew literally flash by, preventing even the fastest reader from seeing any name before tossing us into the story. The opening scene is of the coolest and most original I’ve seen in awhile, taking the POV of the lead character, a drug dealer named Oscar (Nathaniel Brown) who lives in a tiny high rise Tokyo apartment with half a kitchen and a gorgeous view over the downtown skyline. He’s joined on the balcony by who we later discover is his sister Linda (Paz de la Huerta) who says something about being like a plane flying across the sky, looking down at the city; an idea that Linda finds frightening. She then heads off to work at a strip club and Oscar lights up some DMT and we get our first trip out scene. Still in a single take - broken up only by the screen blinking like an eyeball - he’s soon visited by his friend Alex (Cyril Roy) and the two decide to head over to The Void dance club in order for Oscar to make a delivery to his younger friend Victor (Olly Alexander). On the way over, Alex asks if Oscar has read The Tibetan Book of the Dead, explaining its view that once someone dies they simply float above the Earth, watching life take place for all eternity. An idea that Oscar finds terrifying. With the single take still going, Oscar finds Victor crying, sits down, and the police come barging through, chasing him into a disgusting bathroom where Oscar attempts to flush the pills, soon shot by the police through the stomach and he dies in the stall. The single take ends and Oscar floats out of the body per the very method The Book of the Dead and ascends throughout the skies of Tokyo, drifting in and out of character’s lives and their histories. What prevents the film from going into Antichrist territory is the narrative, which at its core is a fairly simple story about a kid who lost his parents at a young age, was later separated from his sister in foster care, and turned to both abusing and dealing drugs; determined to increasingly alter his mind and soon dying as a result; following everything up from his initial conception (as in sperm and seed) and up to his last dying breath. On the other hand, for nearly three hours the movie takes a voyeuristic eye of god position which becomes stale quickly. Allegedly Gaspar Noe was inspired by tripping out while watching the first person film noir The Lady in the Lake (1947). The idea is simple enough, film is about having storytellers offer us objective images to look at; framed, composed, designed, and blocked to be as engaging as possible. First person POV is limiting, forcing us to only see what a character sees and preventing what is arguably the purpose of cinema - to have beautiful images arranged in such a way that allows the viewer to connect patterns. First person doesn’t allow for cutting; the viewer is instead forced to look at whatever they’re looking at and due to its perspective, it just cannot compete with a more omniscient perspective. It’s the reason why so few films have adopted it for the full running time. This is of course combined with the plethora of disturbing images Gaspar forces upon us - of countless amounts of women and men having sex in full nude, often at dirty strip clubs and typically empty of any form of emotion beyond the raw experience; going so far as to show a penis entering from the inside of the vagain and ejaculating. Of horrible drug abuse that leaves people hurt, dying, or dead in a city that, while vibrant, does not at all care about its casualties. Or of the countless times Gaspar cuts to a graphic and horrifying car accident that leaves Oscar and Linda’s parents dead with their skulls bashed in and blood everywhere. Or of some suggestively incestuous relationship between Oscar and Victor which is taken up to the point of showing them sleeping with one another. Or of a desolate Victor giving oral to a pair of businessmen in an elevator, likely to make his next score. For two and a half hours after the intro, we are forced into this exhausting POV, made to watch vapid and terrible acts in a confining peeping Tom perspective. I had divided the film into three parts and by the last night, I struggled to even put the film on; not at all interested in having my mood inevitably pulled down. Like Antichrist and its peers, there wasn’t all that much beyond the amazing intro that made me excited or made me excited to return to the story. There are ideas about fate and circumstance, and there’s an interesting exploration of a rippling effect that can take place through an event years past, and while they’re interesting, I’m not sure when I’d return, if ever. However, I’d also recommend it for any fellow cinephiles who want a unique and unforgettable experience. The story seems to be that some are determined from the very moment of conception to live a life of tragedy. At its best I suppose the film makes you appreciate your circumstances by actually placing you inside of what it’d be like for someone to experience a tragic life. It’s the complete lack of hope that drags it all down. The movie itself functions as a trip - you are distracted by the bright colors and showy photography, until you then return to the real world, realizing how horrifying it all was. BELOW: Five minutes of what I think is about a thirty minute opening scene Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Two all time great performances in romance Director: William Wyler Writer: Theodore Dreiser, Ruth Goetz, and Augustus Goetz Cinematographer: Victor Milner Producer: Lester Koenig and William Wyler by Jon Cvack Comparable to Michael Curtiz, William Wyler is one of those incredibly prolific directors who made a few great films and mostly good ones. Like Curtis, his range was broad, from the rom com Roman Holiday (1953) to the thriller The Collector (1965) to epic Ben-Hur (1959) to war dramas The Best Years Our Lives (1946) and Mrs. Miniver (1942: best picture winner) and further still westerns The Westerner (1940) and Big Country (1958). He hit all the genres and only because I didn’t look at his filmography before viewing, I expected Carrie would be his first dud. Yet again, I was wrong, discovering one of the most heart-breaking love stories I’ve seen in years. In the early 1900s, Carrie Meeber (Jennifer Jones) decides to leave her family and head to Chicago. On the train, she soon grabs the attention of traveling salesman Charles Drouet (Eddie Albert) who plays the perfect creep; seeming like a kind and friendly guy until he starts refusing to take the hint. She finds work as a seamstress, in which the lax labor laws force them to work under dim candlelight, and where the slightest injury could get them terminated. When Carrie gets her finger trapped in the sewing machine she’s immediately replaced and forced to wander the streets. After, Carrie contacts Charles who takes her on a date to a restaurant where he lends her some money and ends up meeting the restaurant owner and married George Hurstwood (Laurence Olivier). Later and in one timeless moment, he asks if she wants to come upstairs, saying that the cab will wait if she doesn’t want to stay. He then winks the cab off. Soon Carrie moves in with Charles, catching the attention of the neighbors who disapprove of their cohabitation. George Hurstwood is married to the irascible Julie Hurstwood (Miriam Hopkins), providing an empty and often contentious marriage. He grows smitten with Carrie after meeting her. With Charlie constantly out of town, he one days visits their home; later taking her out to the theaters. While I’m often incredulous with expedited romances, the combination of Laurence Olivier and Jennifer Jones’ personas make it work. As big a presence as Olivier is, his vulnerability and anguish tamper his superstardom the way only Tom Hanks or Jimmy Stewart could master. Jennifer Jones is as graceful and elegant as any of the classic era superstars, and yet she too makes herself accessible and equally vulnerable. Both are desperate for happiness and Wyler captures absolute conviction in their love for one another. Soon George asks his wife for divorce. She refuses, declaring she’ll use everything in her power to keep his money; going so far as to go to his boss and explain the situation. His boss, fearing for the optics it would give the business, vows to give Julie his salary until the situation is resolved. Earlier that night, George accidentally shut the company safe without putting in $10,000 in cash. Unwilling to break things off with Carrie and return to his vapid marriage, he takes the cash with Carrie to Englewood where they two can start their lives over. They find a small apartment and for a moment things look on the up and up. For as much as they’ve lost their comfort, they’re now with the person they love, dealing with only a momentary setback; that is, until his boss sends a bondsman to come and lien the money, leaving them with close to nothing. With word having gotten around that the couple had stolen the money, both are forced into the streets, searching for any job they can get. George returns to being a waiter, but fails to maintain the job; especially when he leaves the iron on his suit jacket, burning in a hole. Things only get worse when his wife visits with their lawyer, demanding that George co-sign the deed to sell the house. George requests half the profits and Julie refuses, vowing to take him to court for bigamy unless he hands it all over. After George opts for a clean divorce. Thinking George could make things up with his son who’s returning from overseas, now a successful young man, he heads to the docks in a ratty suit; his son ignoring him. Later, Carrie has a miscarriage and loses the child. George regresses further, resorting to joining a scam employment agency which takes a percentage of wages in order to secure day playing jobs. Just as things look darkest, Carrie tries out for a play; which at this point, I thought was some type of minstrel striptease show and makes me think Wyler wanted us to suspect the worst. The small role leads to a larger one and soon Carrie thinks that the best she could do is leave George, allow him to get back on his feet while she pursues acting. It’s the one moment of the film where I was left wondering if Carrie was as selfish as the situation seemed. I don’t fully understand how else to see it; if George was so poor off, then it seemed like he would have needed Carrie the most. Regardless, she leaves him. Then again, maybe the point was that Carrie didn’t come to Chicago to be poor, but to pursue her dreams and George was an impediment to that, no matter how she felt. George further descends, becoming full on homeless, wandering the streets and scrounging for food and change; spending his nights in shelters where the rooms are nothing more than fenced in boxes with dirty mattresses and unwashed blankets. Carrie’s career continues on and she finds great success in the theater, receiving top billing and requests for interviews; her dream finally achieved. One desperate night, a weak and hungry George sees her name on the marquee, waiting for her out back where in a completely heart breaking scene we watch as he hides in the shadows, ashamed to show himself, let alone ask for any food she could spare. She takes him inside, racing off to get him something to eat. George is overwhelmed with his embarrassment and turns to head out, stopping at a gas stove with the flame on, turning it off and then back on as the gas runs - contemplating whether to kill himself (or maybe her) and then leaving. Olivier is the type of performer that seems to get better with age, as not knowing where this movie goes, I was enamored with his complete vulnerability. For such a legend, he somehow pulls off a miraculous arc, never allowing us to question where or who is. From a successful entrepreneur to a destitute and sickly vagrant, there is an incredible honesty to each moment, all while conveying his love for Carrie. Jennifer Jones is equal in stature, showing a complex woman who desires to get out of her rural and poor existence and make something of herself. We never get the impression that she was necessarily exploited by Charlie, as indicated by the concluding scene with Charlie returns, hoping he could rekindle their romance, with Carrie expressing guilt for how much he might have led her on. Jones prevents us from ever thinking that she was entirely wrong for abandoning George, no differently than we blame George for having abandoned his wife. It is a selfish decision, but with George dealing with the consequences of stealing and uprooting his life, Carrie now deals with those effects. I was left wondering what else Jennifer Jones had gone to do, if anything of equal caliber. I learned she had actually won a Best Actress Oscar for her role in 1944’s The Song of Bernadette and received five more Oscar nominations on top of that. I’m always left wondering how it happens that we remember some performers and others fade away. With the exception of The Towering Inferno (1974), I haven’t even heard of any of the movies she was nominated for and so I’m sure it’s her work’s inability to survive that might have led to the situation. Even still, you can’t help but watch this and wonder what else she went on to do and how an actress of this caliber has been so forgotten. Similar to Curtiz’s Flamingo Road (1949), it’s a small film that stands up to all their other great work; comparable to any of David Lean’s romances. BELOW: Weird little taste, though I'm not sure what purpose it serves Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Gotta find more flicks with Joan Director: Michael Curtiz Writer: Robert Wilder; based on Flamingo Road (1946) play by Robert Wilder and Sally Wilder Cinematographer: Ted D. McCord Producer: Jerry Wald by Jon Cvack In my thoughts on The Comancheros (1961), I mentioned Curtis’ unique chameleon style; exemplified by these disparate back to back features. Flamingo Road is one of those mid-budget thrillers which portrays the underworld of corrupt politics. It opens on carnival dancer Lane Bellamy (Joan Crawford) soon meets a Sheriff’s Deputy Fielding Carlisle (Zachary Scott) who’s currently being groomed for state senate by Sheriff Titus Semple (Sydney Greenstreet), moonlighting as the town’s corrupt political boss who dominates the state machine. Carlisle is currently courting Annabelle Weldon (Virginia Huston), who while an attractive and charming woman, isn’t exactly providing the most passionate relationship. Nevertheless, Semple knows the optics of marriage would bode better for a state senate run. However, when Carlisle runs into Bellamy during one of his late night calls, he’s taken aback; immediately in awe of her beauty and sensuality. Joan Crawford is one of those classical era actresses who most recognize the name, but few could name specific films. I had always imagined some hyper-sexualized performer such as Bette Davis or Marilyn Monroe, but discovered a stunning woman who simply had a type of pre-feminist confidence in both independence and sexuality. Carlisle learns that she’s been fired from the circus, and with only dollars to her name, he offers to try and get a job at the local diner. In a hot scene, we watch as Lane undresses in front of him; again, with Crawford not making it seem like a proposition so much as her freedom. Carlisle delivers on the job and Lane is hired at the local diner, but when Semple catches whiff that Lane and Carlisle are having an affair, he works his muscle and gets her fired only days later; clearly talking to the rest of the town as well, forcing her to leave. During a late night, she’s arrested on the street for indecency charges - that is, for being a hooker - and taken to jail where she meets an inmate that has contacts at a local brothel (or at least what I think is a brothel) where most of the political machine and prominent businessmen frequent. Lane starts work at the club where she meets Semple, Carlisle and the others. Semple flips, demanding owner Lute Mae Sanders (Gladys George) fire her. But knowing the leverage such a hire provides, Lute keeps her on and Semple is forced to take other means. Lane soon catches the eyes of local businessman Dan Reynolds (David Brian) who, like Carlisle, quickly falls madly in love with her. One evening, Reynolds and Lane bump into Carlisle and his wife at dinner, and Carlisle’s enraged with jealousy. With Lane seemingly out of the picture, Carlisle marries Annabelle and wins state office; however, a mixture of an empty marriage, corruption, and grind of the job cause him to increasingly lean on the bottle. Semble nonetheless appreciates Carlisle’s commitment and plans to run him as governor. Reynolds disagrees with the plan and opts to challenge Carlisle, enraging Semple who then leans further on Carlisle until Carlisle finally breaks down, visits Lane to get her back, and then blows his brains out. Desperate, Semple enters himself into the race, using his political muscle to run Reynold out of business. One night, he meets with the local politicians and reveals all of the dirt he has on each of them; demanding they ruin Reynolds or pay the price. They follow orders and soon Reynold’s is charged with corruption and with his life near ruins, and fearing for a similar result as Carlisle, Lane takes matters into her own hands, visiting Semple with a gun, and after a fight between the two, shoots him dead; a fight mind you that takes place with Joan Crawford and 250+ pound man and she makes it look entirely real. At just a bit over ninety minutes, Flamingo Road is on par with any great political thriller - The Ides of March (2011), Three Days of the Condor (1975), The Manchurian Candidate (1962; 2004), and The Ghost Writer (2010). What stands out between this and all other political films (thriller or not) is the complexity of Joan Crawford’s character. From the synopsis you might assume a type of exploitative movie, in which a woman is overly sexualized and uses that power to climb the political ladder. Instead, we see a character that almost wishes they weren’t both beautiful and on the downside of luck. The latter brings undesirable men promising happiness and prosperity, but who knows the dangers of being with a lower class, independent woman like Lane. Crawford conveys the frustration and suspicion, along with the utter joy when she ends up with Reynolds. At first we wonder if perhaps Semple was right, but then we see the genuine love and care they have for one another, making the climactic confrontation plausible. I believed Lane would go there for Reynolds and be willing to fight for the good man she finally found. Lane doesn’t just take down Semple, but exposes and destroys the entire apparatus. It’s one of the most progressive characters I can recall from the era. BELOW: Little low-res taste Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  I don't know - John Wayne wears a cool hat? Director: Michael Curtiz; uncredited John Wayne Writer: James Edward Grant and Clair Huffaker; based on The Comancheros by Paul I. Wellman Cinematographer: William H. Clothier Producer: George Sherman by Jon Cvack Every time I think I’m at the end of the line for what’s available from Michael Curtiz, Netflix adds another few films and his position in the Master List continues to grow. At this point I’m somewhere around a dozen films deep and I’m still not particularly aware of a Curtiz style. It’s an interesting aspect of the classical era of cinema, in which directors would have contracts with studios and while incredibly talented, weren’t so particular with their filmographies. They had to make a certain number of films, some of them were great, many were good, and a few were bad. Michael Curtiz is a chameleon, seeming to adapt this craft to the quality of the story. The Comancheros is one of the classic era westerns that remind me of how boring they can be. I’ve been on a role these last few years when turning back - The Sons of Katie Elder (1966), Nevada Smith (1966), El Dorado (1966). Especially for the ones who’ve been remastered. They look absolutely wonderful; as though they were shot today with that old school technique. It made me wonder if maybe the reason I didn’t like old westerns is because they have worn out, cropped transfers; typically repeating a very specific set of actions. The Comancheros opens on a duel where gambler Paul Regret (Stuart Whitman) shoots and accidentally kills his opponent. He’s sentenced to death and flees, soon ending up on a river boat where he meets the wild and wealthy Pillar Graile (Ina Balin). Just as the two seem about to enter into some bizarre love affair, Texas Ranger Jake Cutter (John Wayne) barges in to take him back to prison. Paul then escapes again and heads to a bar where the classic bar fight takes place. They return back home where a gang of Comancheros, led by a former Military officer, has been raiding the community while smuggling guns and alcohol. They attack Regret and his neighbors, and as Paul Regret seems to escape once again, he returns with some Texas Rangers. He’s awarded an act of valor and joins Cutter on a type of spy mission where they act as gun smugglers bringing in the latest shipment. It takes us to the film’s more interesting moments, as we discover a type of self-sufficient commune, run with the profits and the tyrannical control of the former officer Graile (Nehemiah Persoff) who’s turns out to be Pillar’s father. I’m not sure what shifts from there, but even though the commune seems relatively harmless and provides benefit to the community, Regret and Cutter destroy both them and a band of Comanches who storm the place. It’s the type of film that makes me want to watch more westerns in order to best understand what makes these work against such limitations. Recently I read Thomas Schatz Hollywood Genres (1981), examining westerns as the myth of the American Manifest Destiny and the free market ethos. In nearly every action western, there is the law abiding sheriff battling against either the “wild” and lawless Natives or against actual outlaws who often steal, rob, pursue women, and drink. There is often a beautiful woman who’s an archetype of innocence or, in more modern versions, an empowered gun-wielding female (such as The Furies (1950)); sometimes one and the same. There are bar fights, duels, and wandering the town before the gun fight. There’s the burgeoning town, the nascent railroad, log cabins, livestock, and individuals doing their best to survive. There’s more, but these basic elements have produced great cinema throughout the last 80 years, in each and every decade. Somehow within these strict confines, cinema continues to pump out great additions. The Comancheros fails to blend these elements. At its core, it’s about an uninteresting gambler fighting against John Wayne who plays the same character he always does, without much of a plot to thread the story. It bookends great - opening with a man who kills a judge’s son in a duel, but then meanders as he gets caught, escapes, gets caught, finds himself in some rural community and attacked by Native Americans, then recruited to become a Ranger and finds himself in another battle against a pre-Hippie commune. It’s and-then storytelling, switching from one moment to the next without focusing at all on the characters. However, given that it was Michael Curtiz's last film, and John Wayne assumed directing it due to his demise, maybe that's the reason it has no spark. BELOW: Trailer. It's all YT's got Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  One of the coolest characters of this century Director: Quentin Tarantino Writer: Quentin Tarantino Cinematographer: Robert Richardson Producer: David Heyman, Shannon McIntosh, and Quentin Tarantino by Jon Cvack I haven’t revisited many of Tarantino’s films after Kill Bill (2003/2004). I’ve watched the opening scene of Reservoir Dogs (1992) more times than I can remember, I’ve seen Pulp Fiction (1994) so many times it’s now lost its magic, Jackie Brown (1997) gets better and better with age, and Kill Bill is arguably his magnum opus - and if not his best film, at least his most technically proficient (though my favorite remains Reservoir Dogs). The first time I noticed a magic had been lost was with Death Proof (2007). Revisiting the extended version a couple years ago (which is nearly two hours long), I enjoyed the story more than the first time (likely due to the longer running time), yet something felt missing. Whatever holistic universe Tarantino had created up to that point felt mostly absent. From there he made Inglourious Basterds (2009) which is by far the best of his post-Kill Bill filmography; though even that film I haven’t gone back to more than a couple times, serving as the first Tarantino film that took place beyond his hard boiled world, followed by Django Unchained (2012) and The Hateful Eight (2015); the latter which I liked a lot but struggled to finish on a second viewing, the former I’ve failed to see again, not because I don’t like it but because if I’m in the mood for a Tarantino film I’m probably going to grab one of his first five movies instead. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.. continued this shift, following an ailing movie star and his stunt buddy/body double who becomes - for the most part - tangentially involved with the Manson murders. It was the type of plot that got you excited for what Tarantino would do; both for offering his vision of 1960s Los Angeles and Hollywood when movies remained the pinnacle of culture and the Vietnam War led to a counter culture that would one day be corrupted by a murderous cult leader, Charles Manson Manson. A few years back I’d read Bela Lugosi’s Helter Skelter (1974) - a detailed historical account, widely considered the definitive book on the Manson murders. From Manson’s self-comparison to Jesus in Haight-Ashbury to his friendship to Beach Boy Danny Wilson to his recruitment of estranged hippie girls and their use of LSD to his move to Death Valley where he prepared for what he believed was an inevitable race war - at 600 pages, the story is truly incredible and arguably the most gripping true story in a century. Granted, Tarantino’s film isn’t necessarily about the Manson murders, and for what it does include, his film’s not wrong for focusing on the Hollywood portion. Nevertheless, given that it’s Quentin fucking Tarantino - an individual who is an encyclopedia of pop knowledge, you can’t help but feel disappointed in how little of the history is explored. The film opens up with an interview on the set of the television series Bounty Law between actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stunt double and driver Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt). From the get go, there’s something stilted about the conversation; feeling as though the lines are being performed rather than the natural flow of Tarantino’s typical opening dialogue. It might have been the point; in having two characters act for the goofy interviewer, maybe even playing as a joke, but the night after watching this I pulled up the opening Reservoir Dog scene and was hooked for the whole twelve minutes; where each character felt real and saying the lines in the moment. I still don’t know how this works given how goofy the situation is. There was a rawness and love for the rough, bizarre, and unattractive; a willingness to show people we have never seen. With Bounty Law over, Dalton fears for his career, developing a drinking problem as a result. Dalton and Cliff head to a local lounge for a couple drinks where they meet agent Marvin Schwarzs (Al Pacino), warning Dalton that he’s now becoming a “heavy man”; that is, an actor who only serves to be the television villain that gets killed or arrested. And as he ages, those roles could increasingly dry up. Schwarzs recommends Dalton get involved with the Italian spaghetti westerns craze over in Italy. Dalton finds the idea appaleing; seeing them as little more than B-movies, if that. Cliff hasn't been hired as a stunt double in some time, both because of Dalton’s limited work and since he’s burned his contacts after rumors spread that he killed his wife. He lives in a trailer with a pitbull named Brandy and a comparable drinking problem to Dalton. Dropping Dalton home one night, they see director Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate pulling up to their house next door; exciting Dalton for the chance that it could help his fledgling career. The next day Cliff sees who we surmise is Charlie Manson walking up to the Polanski house. After seeing a cute hippie girl (Margaret Qualley) around town, Dalton later goes to the set of The Wrecking Crew where he’s once again the heavy man and tries to get Cliff on as a stunt coordinator for Randy’s crew (Kurt Russell). Randy refuses because rumor has it that Cliff killed his wife, but Randy soon gives in and later Cliff gets in a fight with Bruce Lee on the neighboring set of The Green Hornet which is a weird scene in which Cliff looks to be about to kick the shit out of Lee until Randy appears and puts an end to it; firing him. The scene is a perfect example of Tarantino’s biggest weakness since Kill, in which he offers tangential scenes that seem to have nothing to do with the plot; once reserved for dialogue that had nothing to do with the characters, but with characters that were very much involved with the plot. Dalton leaves and finds the hippie girl hitchhiking and offers her a ride home, learning her name is Pussycat. She comes on strong, offering to repay him with sexual favors to which Cliff demands an ID, settling on letting her lie her head in his lap while he drives her off to the Spahn Ranch on the city edges. Spahn Ranch is an old western set, true to the Manson stories, which Cliff of course knows about with his past work; specifically the owner, George Spahn (Bruce Dern). Dalton is then back on the set of Lancer, playing the heavy man opposite the show’s lead James Stacy (Timothy Olyphant); who for some reason looks like a complete dork, playing a clean cut sheriff, which I guess was the point, but seemed completely wrong for Olyphant who thrives with his gray hair and five o’clock shadow, often intimidating even when being goofy, such as Santa Clarita Diet. Before shooting begins, Dalton meets up with a young girl Trudi Fraser (Julia Butters) and again Tarantino enters in an incredibly and needlessly long dialogue. Writing this almost two weeks later (and reviewing this after I revisited the film about a month ago), I fail to remember a single thing discussed other than that Dalton leaves feeling empowered. We’re then on the set and so begins the best part of the movie as we watch Dalton perform on this cheesy western show, with things going fine until he starts forgetting lines, leading him to go freak out in his dressing room and deliver another classic scene from Leo that’ll be watched for years. He returns to the set and knocks it out of the park and the girl compliments him in a moment that’s now become a meme. He regains confidence and heads home with Cliff and the two watch his role The F.B.I. and Schwarz finally convinces him to go to Italy and star in the spaghetti westerns. But we don’t get to follow him there; the film instead jumping time to his return. I’m still confused by this as it seemed like one of the most exciting sequences Tarantino could have shot; showing the world of Spaghetti westerns. I imagined him emulating Sergio Leone, Corbucci, and others. We don’t see any of it and instead get a weird Kurt Russell voice over that explains everything (albeit with some cool posters), serving as little more than exposition as the story jumped half a year. Between all this, Dalton and Pussycat make it to the Spahn Ranch, finding the place filled with dozens of hippies who stare them down, led by Gypsy (Lena Dunham). The scene builds as Dalton wonders where his old buddy George is and the hippies do all they can to avoid letting him inside. This has to be one of the biggest blue ball moments in recent cinematic history as I drifted to the edge of my seat, anxious to see the Manson story start up and instead, although Tarantino couldn’t make the kids look anymore unnerved and crazed to avoid Dalton finding George, Dalton enters and finds the guy passed out in bed and just a bit confused; as though waking your grandfather from a nap. I suppose that’s the joke and the reality, but it just tanked the scene. Dalton returns a year later, now married to Francesca Capucci (Lorenza Izzo), serving as a type of pre-modern hot woman who screams and yells, all without speaking a word of English. Even with all this seeming success and after being offered a lead in a new series, Dalton then fires Cliff, saying he can’t afford him, having to care for his wife and all. The two decide to have one last night of drinking and return to Dalton’s place where Cliff pulls out an acid dipped cigarette and goes to walk the dog and light it up while Dalton makes some more margaritas and practices his lines in the pool; all while his wife sleeps. Cliff sees some hippies dressed in black trying to get into Polanski’s place and scares them off, but they only then park down the street, with the teenagers offering some cringe-heavy lines about killing, as though written by a fourteen year old emulating Tarantino. They then decide to go and try and kill Dalton and Cliff instead. They head up, Cliff starts feeling the effects of the acid, and Dalton floats in his pool with headphones on, trying to memorize his lines. The hippies approach and so begins the Tarantino scene that we all wait for in each film, and while pretty fun, similar to the Spahn Ranch, fails to deliver. It’s not Pussycat or Gypsy that leads the raid, but four hippies we don’t recognize. Dalton is then tripping on acid, but aside from his shark eye pupils and some mannerisms, there’s no visual cue as to how much he’s tripping. I was immediately thinking of Midsommar (2019) and how well it pulled off psychedelics and how well it could have worked here; not requiring some crazy visuals, but rather providing the subtle effects - light tracers, morphing backgrounds, or amplified colors. Instead, we’re just watching someone tripping on acid, battling four characters we don’t know. It’s a fun enough fight scene, but the potential for where it could have gone was just too apparent. In the end, the hippies die and Polanski and Sharon come home after the police leave and invite Dalton over; possibly reviving his career. There have been online rumors that Tarantino is going to continue the story with a mini-series, and I do think it might be where the story’s salvaged. There was just too much more I was left wanting. Sharon Tate alone has maybe a dozen or so lines. For a powerhouse like Margot Robbie taking up the role, you can’t feel like she was shorted a classic Tarantino female role; serving as little more than a background historical figure, involved with anything else beyond being a neighbor and potential victim. Maybe this is simply the pilot of a much longer story, and if so, maybe this is one of the greatest pilots ever made. Until then, I left feeling disappointed. It was a fun world to live in and see through Tarantino’s eyes, but when I keep watching clips from Jackie Brown throughout writing this, it’s just not nearly as close to creating the engaging stories Tarantino provided with his first five films. Tarantino has famously declared that he’s only going to make ten films, as so few directors have been able to keep making quality work beyond that. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood foreshadows what he means. It’s not a bad film, but it feels like he’s been disconnected from the rough, working class world he created. I hope he returns to crime for his last film, and I still have faith that he could make it work the way we always hope for a Tarantino film, but it feels like for a man who’s been making the creme de la creme of world cinema, his bag of tricks is running out, emulated and evolved far too much for them to keep working. As a note, I revisited the film after a buddy said it was his favorite movie of the year and that it required repeated viewings. I understood and remained hopeful. I thought Sideways (2004) was just pretty good when I first saw it. Now it’s one of my favorite films. While the first two thirds was better than I recalled, all of the criticisms stand, and the weird time jump for the last third was all the more jarring. It felt like rather than focusing on one thing and giving it all he had, Tarantino was drawn too thin; trying to cram way too much into the story, made all the worse the worse when certain moments drag on, making me wonder why I’m focused on a meaningless conversation when I’m watching a film about the Manson murders in Hollywood. BELOW: Best scene of the flick Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Like Sliding Doors (1998), except about communism Director: Krzysztof Kieślowski Writer: Krzysztof Kieślowski Cinematographer: Krzysztof Pakulski Producer: Jacek Szelígowski by Jon Cvack Recently on a trip up to Donner Lake, we got into one of our many traditional debates about the Soviet Union and the rise of communism. I’m fascinated with the rise of totalitarian regimes - Hitler, Stalin, and Mussolini and how these men rose by convincing others to give them power, which they used to subvert democracy. Reading Richard J. Evans’ The Coming of the Third Reich (2005) or Hanna Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism (1973) function as both history and horror story; showing how awful the world could become when the right conditions create paths for authoritarian leaders. When it comes to the divide of capitalism and socialism, I’m more on the economic democracy side. I believe workers should have more rights and that the most wealthy nation on Earth - like any good private company - could provide some amazing benefits to its people. Public health care, accessible education, family leave, and a safety net that does all it can to prevent anyone from living on the streets, going hungry, or bankrupt due to medical costs. These are open ideas, and as the Democratic party has a debate on its platform, I’m seeing more and more partisans coming out of the woodwork. Neo-liberals who shun Biden as too old school and Warren and Sanders as demagogues. I see radical Bernie supporters now disparaging Warren with Clinton-esque critiques, when they could just support both as being far more in accord to their philosophy than the other side. Then there’s the pragmatic Biden supporters who see anything beyond a centrist approach as endangering their chances of pulling in enough Republican votes. It is a battle between returning to the status quo, pushing new ideas, or pushing far more significant ones. I find the partisanship frightening; that even when against Donald Trump, people feel the need to denigrate each other over who they like, when instead they could all just talk about actual ideas with open minds, vote for who they want, and hope the goal lines align with their individual philosophies. When the Bolsheviks overthrew the Soviet Monarchy during the October Revolution, they paved the way for a true communist state that would enact Marx’s vision. What they failed to see was how an immoral government - being in control of the means of production - could exploit the workers far worse than any free market system. It’s an example of the dangers of partisanship - in which all it took for one sect to triumph over the others was a willingness to kill the opponents; who were allies, at first, and then became divided over how far to go. Those willing to take action triumphed, almost immediately corrupting the very government they ceased. Thus it’s not necessarily the ideas that necessarily failed, so much as the corrupt individuals who covet power. Blind Chance portrays this type of world where secret police take people away in the middle of the night, party men act in bad faith in an effort to both survive and maintain power, and the country grows increasingly unstable all the while. The story follows a young man Witek (Bogusław Linda) who’s on a plane and screams “No!” before the movie cuts to a POV of a young child sitting between his mother’s legs as he watches an orderly drag a bloody body across the floor; an image that’s increasingly cut back to throughout the film. We then meet Witek as a medical student, who starts dating a woman named Olga (Monika Gozdzik). However, after his father dies, Witek loses faith in his career and decides to drop out, running to catch a train which he grabs just in time after bumping into a man with a beer. Similar to Sliding Doors (1998; of all movies), it’s this train sequence that will kick off three different versions of Witek’s life which led to his death in the airplane. On the train, Witek meets an elderly ommunist Werner (Tadeusz Łomnicki) who recruits Witek to the party, soon meeting his first love and anti-communist Czuszka (Bogusława Pawelec) who soon learns Witek’s part of the resistance. Witek attempts to win her favor by visiting a sit-in at a local hospital where the members plan to burn it to the ground; thwarted by Witek and the partrymen who instead send Witek on a secret mission to France which is canceled at the last minute. The second scenario involves Witek slamming into the man with the beer back at the train station, running off and then slamming into a rail guard and knocking him over; missing the train as a result. He’s sentenced to community service where he soon joins an anti-communist group and meets up with some old friends from childhood; later becoming a devout Christian - something we don’t often associate with the anti-authoritarian resistance. At one point, when he starts sleeping with his old friend Weva, she asks if truly believes the cause. With full and absolute conviction, Witek says he does. Trying to run away to France, Witek applies for a passport which is rejected due to his anti-communist ties. The party offers to grant it so long as he provides his fellow member’s location. The next day, he’s dragged over to the barracks, finding everyone gone and the place ransacked; his friend Daniel suspicious of what Witek offered. The third and final scenario involves Witek bumping into the man with the beer, but instead of ignoring the collision, turns around and apologizes, again failing to catch the train. Witek returns home to Olga and resumes his medical studies, soon getting pregnant and later Witek takes up a job as a teacher. He refuses to join any political organization, going so far as to refuse to sign a petition brought to him by some students accusing the dean’s son of distributing illegal materials. The dean then offers Witek a trip to Libya who agrees, finding out moments before leaving that Olga is pregnant with another child, but when the plane takes off - returning us to the opening scene - it explodes and he dies. It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve finished the film and unfortunately many of the details have been lost. Kieslowski’s mastery is in ensuring that every single moment remains as cinematic as possible; maximizing the frame and information to fully immerse us within the world. In dozens upon dozens of cutaways we see bits and pieces of information that all add up into creating beautiful scenes and a flawless narrative. Nothing is wasted. Even the tiniest details feel deliberate. The ironic ending in having an apolitical Witek finally meet his fate prevents the film from ever soaring above politics. It has a position, but also shows the obstacles within each position. In scenario one he loses his first love for swearing loyalty to the party before her and yet survives. In scenario two we see the complexity in the fight for freedom. When faced with escape, Witek both betrays his friends and his idol Jesus’ philosophy, but also survives. It’s when Witek does nothing and takes no position that he meets his ultimate demise. Kieslowksi doesn’t seem to be making any grand moral statement so much as showing the risk of inaction. Most won’t actually die, but some could, never living a life for anything beyond himself. Then again, up until Mitek’s life, he was living the life that most aspire to. Was that worth just a few more years versus surviving forever? Like his other great films, Blind Chance demands multiple viewings before ever offering the confidence to take a position; it’s that type of complex film where there’s just far too much to take in in a single sitting. BELOW: Great score from Wojciech Kilar Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Camera as phallus Director: Alfred Hitchcock Writer: John Michael Hayes; based on"It Had to Be Murder" by Cornell Woolrich Cinematographer: Robert Burks Producer: Alfred Hitchcock by Jon Cvack I probably haven’t seen this movie in over eight years, though it’s always been one of my favorite Hitchcocks. It’s rare cinematic perfection - serving both as an engaging story and technical masterpiece, from how it’s told to the immediate plot to the subtext and broader meaning. It’s the kind of movie that I think film school ruined for a while; as up to revisiting all I could hear were ideas about impotence and voyeurism. Yet for the first time I grasped them beyond an academic concept and more as what contributed to a complete experience. The film opens in the apartment of action photographer L. B. "Jeff" Jefferies (James Stewart) who’s bedridden with a broken leg. We learn the cause as Hitchcock moves the camera across the apartment, in which we see a photograph of a race car jumping up toward the camera; leading us to wonder how it could have possibly done and exactly what would happen to the photographer, which we learn. His leg is smashed and he’s more or less bedridden. It’s a hot day, drifting up to the high 80s and low 90s. His apartment overlooks a courtyard surrounded by apartments; each building and unit distinct from the other. There’s one lone window where a newly wed couple arrives, quickly shutting the window shade. Another is a type of glass wall, showing a pianist (Ross Bagdasarian) as he composes his latest piece for Hitchcock’s cameo, standing, completely disinterested. Right to that is the gorgeous Miss Torso (Georgine Darcy), stripped down to her underwear who is constantly stretching and exercising and showing off her every curve. Above her are an older couple Frank Cady and Sara Berner who own a small dog which they lower down via pulley so that it can play in the courtyard below; they’ve also been putting their mattress on the fire escape to keep cool. Below Miss Torso is Miss Lonelyhearts (Judith Evelyn), either as a widow or someone who’s yet to find a partner; cooking dinner for two, going so far as to pour two glasses of wine, waiting, for no date to arrive. And to the building to the right on the second floor is the gruffy Lars Thornwald (Raymond Burr) who’s caring for his bedridden wife Anna (Irene Winston). Jeff is anxious to get back to work and feeling particularly impotent, struggling to scratch the slightest inch with the cast that goes up to his groin. He’s dating one of New York’s most popular socialites Lisa Carol Fremont (Grace Kelly) who’s hoping that Jeff could give up his adventures and settle down into the seemingly safer territory of marriage. Jeff is uninterested, far more hungry to get back into traveling around the world. However, a significant portion of this has to do with his impotence. With a cast that goes up to his groin, it’s clear that even if he wanted to have sex he’d struggle to. Given his “manly” profession and that he’s now sleeping in a wheelchair, we’re unsure whether it’s the humility sex would demand or that he couldn’t perform altogether. It’s what makes Grace Kelly the perfect casting, serving as what most would likely position as one of Hollywood’s top ten most attractive actresses; both for her stunning beauty and undeniable charm. Counter to her usual righteousness and innocence, Kelly’s voracious taste for sex appears infects each interaction between her and Jeff; whether in what she’s wearing to allure Jeff, or to when she’s fallen into his lap and the two make out while exchanging suggestive commentary. Hitchcock worked closely with costume designer Edith Head on Kelly’s wardrobe specifically, knowing that it required capturing her character’s high society while also showing enough to heat things up. Cut between the leads is Jeff’s no nonsense caretaker, Stella (Thelma Ritter), who’s also been pushing Jeff to settle down and marry Lisa. Without so much as a wink at the idea, Stella seems to understand the end Jeff might face. For a man that was run over by a race car, how much longer could he possibly last as a middle aged man? And so with all this subtext in mind, Jeff watches his neighbors’ lives; particularly drawn to Miss Torso who provides far more a fantasy of his ideal life than anything actual. In his mind, her carefree demeanor means he’d go over there, they do their business, and he could resume traveling the world. On the other hand, he could look to Miss Lonelyhearts as a person who seems to have missed out on her chance for love; forever doomed to live alone. To the older boring couple who won’t even leave each other’s side while on the fire escape. To the newlywed couple that has just gotten married, determined to break the records of intimacy. And, of course, to Lars Thorwald who seems to have tired of his marriage and ailing wife, deciding to kill her to be free of the burden. This last point is particularly Hitchcockian; serving as both voyeuristic and psychologically. If all the other couples, or lack thereof, are possible avenues in life, it seems Hitchcock is at least nodding at the fantasy of a man killing his wife and achieving freedom, which isn’t to say Jeff wants to kill Lisa so much as fears what he might do if their life achieved a similar drudgery. One evening while sleeping in his wheelchair, Jeff hears a woman’s scream, waking up and finding all the windows dark. The next day he finds Lars Thornwald alone in the apartment; his bedridden wife now gone. Later that evening, Thornwald leaves the apartment with a small suitcase and the next day he makes another late night trip with the same suitcase. He expresses his suspicions to Stella, Lisa, and later his friend and war buddy Detective Tom Doyle (Wendell Corey) who agrees to look into the matter; later discovering that, in fact, Anna had been confirmed as taking a train to some far off city. She is alive and Thornwald seems to be taking care of their home affairs. Jeff’s only convinced until he finds Thornwald cleaning two massive handsaws in the sink and later receiving a large trunk which he covers in rope. One evening while Jeff lies asleep, the fire escape couple’s dog shrieks, waking his parents and the wife then screams, soon discovering the dog dead with its neck broken. Jeff wakes, finding Lars smoking a cigar in his room; the cherry glowing with each puff. Lisa is the last to believe Jeff, soon demonstrating the lengths she’d go to in order to uncover the truth. And yet meanwhile, Jeff and Lisa continue their conversation about the future, with Lisa failing to understand why Jeff can’t let go of his adventurous profession and Jeff then flipping the conversation and asking whether Lisa would want that kind of lifestyle; giving up her expensive clothes, jewelry, and status to travel to exotic locations abroad. She demonstrates her willingness for danger when offering to drop a note under Lars’ door, accusing Lars of killing the dog, all in order to see Lars’ reaction. Up until this point, Hitchcock doesn’t provide any proof of Lars’ guilt. All we’ve seen has been from Jeff’s perspective, including a large trunk, a couple saws, the dead dog, and his absent wife who was confirmed by the Detective to have arrived in a different city. None of it proves anything, and it’s this doubt that creates the tension. We feel the heat, horniness, and absolute boredom and want to believe there’s something exciting going on. Every time I watch the film, I seem to forget whether Lars did it or not, so doubtful I am any definitive proof. When Lars reads the notes nearly two-thirds into the movie, we finally get the first objective act that shows guilt; as he picks up the note and is washed with fear. Still, it’s not quite enough to prove anything. Suspecting that he buried parts of Anna in the court yard garden (which is why he killed the snooping dog), Jeff calls him and says he knows what happened and demands they meet at a bar; all in an effort to buy time so Lisa and Stella could go down and search in the garden. They find nothing, and as Stella returns Lisa runs off to Lars’ apartment; finding a locked door and using the fire escape to break in. It’s a thrilling sequence as Jeff gazes through his massive telephoto lens, as much a practical device for both Jeff and Hitchcock, while also giving a fairly unsubtle nod to Jeff’s performance problems. He finds Lars returning up the staircase and unable to contact her, he watches as Lars arrives back to the apartment. Jeff calls the police and reports the break in as Lars reaches his floor and enters, finding and pouncing at Lisa. Just as it looks as though he’s about to kill her, the police arrive, arresting Lisa for breaking and entering and saving her life. Stella then goes to bail her out, Jeff calls Doyle and begs him to come over, and the whole scene seems created for the very purpose of getting us alone with Jeff and Lars, and yet it’s Grace Kelly’s commitment that makes us buy it; transforming from socialite to adventurer and never for a moment making us think the switch is fake or in bad faith. For the final sequence, after Lars catches Jeff spying, he heads over. It’s one of the best sequences from a thriller. We wait for the feet to appear within the front door crack and then he enters. Jeff grabs his bulbs, and although the effect could use an update, the intention is effective enough. In a dark room, he pops off his single use bulbs which creates a blinding effect, though still Lars approaches, eventually pushing Jeff through the window, falling down where both of Jeff’s legs then crash to the ground as Doyle and the police arrive at the scene. Rear Window is a timeless and perfect movie, in which craft and story operate at the highest and broadest level of the spectrum; appealing as much to the general moviegoer as to the most erudite. It is the film most directors aspire to make - taking a simple idea and chiseling out a brilliant and extraordinary amount of detail; achieving the rare accomplishment in having mastered the plot. As I have doubts any gangster movie could stand alongside The Sopranos or what Scorsese and Coppola achieved, no one has yet beaten Hitchcock’s chamber drama, and off the top of my head, only Disturbia came close to replicating the plot (though still miles away). To think that in over fifty years no one has even come close to remaking this film goes to show how perfect it is. There is no need to revisit the format because it’s been perfected. It’s the culmination of Hitchcock; taking all that made him great and pouring it into a story that allowed it all to shine. BELOW: Master class in exposition Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  One of the best boxing sequences I've ever seen Director: Jim Sheridan
Writer:Terry George and Jim Sheridan Cinematographer: Chris Menges Producer: Arthur Lappin and Jim Sheridan by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... In accord with the rest of the film, the idealism of bringing together feuding communities around sport is never directly discussed, and yet we understand its power. Of course there are radicals in sports - my experience with Giants and Dodgers fans has often demonstrated such. For the most part it’s an apolitical experience that brings people together. I’m a general baseball fan, enjoying the Cubs, Dodgers, Red Sox, and the White Sox (to say this is blasphemy in some of my home circles). I can just as easily enjoy a good game between two teams I don’t even follow much. Just today I was watching the record shutout between the Astros dominating the Mariners 22-1. What I enjoy about the game is that there are no politics. For a slow game which requires constant talking and discussion from the broadcasters, politics is never mentioned. It simply unifies people who can share a fun experience. We’re never sure if Danny had some grand mission to unify the two countries. I suppose it’s possible given his IRA roots and the violence he now detests. It’s the irony in that he boxes that provides the perfect motivation for the cause. He uses respectable violence to combat needless violence, all in the hope that it could bond divisions. Then again, it could be that after fourteen years in prison, he possesses a rage against himself, his friends, and the cause that makes him want to express himself; fighting his former enemies, sacrificing their safety for a grander cause. Or maybe it just makes him feel good. Daniel Day Lewis never let’s the character feel self-righteous. It is a person acting as they must act; doing what they must do to achieve the life he and maybe even others want. During the riot, Maggie’s son Liam (Ciarán Fitzgerald) and a couple other boys set the gym on fire after Liam saw how Maggie acted around Danny; jealous that she was going to leave his imprisoned father. Liam tells Harry it was Danny, leading Harry to demand his head; refusing to accept peace from Joe unless Danny’s turned over. Maggie begs Joe not to do it, creating a magnificent irony; as she’s torn between peace for all and Danny’s assassination. She tells Danny who decides to leave, crossing over into England where he participates in one of the most unique boxing scenes I’ve ever watched. Rather than the roaring crowds and ring girls, it’s set within an upper class ballroom, where the British elite eat dinner in their suits and gowns, hardly making a sound as the men box for them. Another fight is scheduled for a television broadcast. Danny is matched against what seems to be an African immigrant, who while initially giving Danny a run for his money, then falters when Danny gains the upper hand; taking the man down again and again in absolutely brutal fashion as the man refuses - or has been ordered - not to give up; forcing Danny to beat him to the point of near death until Danny finally calls it quits; returning the Championship to Britain and enraging his Irish brethren. The lack of yelling and cutaways to people screaming creates a nauseating experience. All we hear are the punches landing, at times cracking bones, cutting to the aristocrats eating and drinking champagne, all while the fighters get increasingly bloody. Alongside Raging Bull, it’s one of the most brutal fight sequences I’ve ever seen. It pushes Harry over the edge who demands that Danny be executed for both the bombs and embarrassing their movement after he returns home in defeat. Knowing his fate and in a brilliant sequence, Maggie helps Danny escape across the border. Sheridan keeps cutting back to the British helicopter soaring above, serving as the unacting authority; the eye of God. As they near the border, Harry and his crew trap them in, taking Danny away. Maggie chases them down, looking up the helicopter, hoping it could intervene, knowing that amidst their civil battles, it’ll do nothing but watch. By this point, given how grim the story was, I was certain that Danny would be killed, but in a thrilling reversal, Harry’s crew intervenes, leaving Danny alive, demanding he get out of town. I struggle to think of another film that so heavily transformed from its modest beginning and into a profound and complex remaining story. Part boxing movie/part political thriller/part romance - it is the type of big film about ideas that we hardly see anymore; often reserved for small indies, or removing the politics in favor of extending to as many people as possible. More surprising is how little I’ve heard of this movie, even amongst the most passionate Daniel Day Lewis fans. It’s the type of film that demonstrates his growth. Rather than the larger than life characters we’re familiar with, we witness a humble and conflicted working class hero, seemingly muted, and then exploding into the range that we know from this generation’s greatest actor. BELOW: DDL does boxing Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  An underrated DDL, boxing, and just overall movie Director: Jim Sheridan
Writer:Terry George and Jim Sheridan Cinematographer: Chris Menges Producer: Arthur Lappin and Jim Sheridan by Jon Cvack Jim Sheridan and Daniel Day Lewis teamed up for three films: My Left Foot (1989) where Lewis would win the Oscar and two other politically charged films about the IRA - In the Name of the Father (1993) and The Boxer, with Sheridan continuing the exploration ex-Lewis with Bloody Sunday (2002); the first film I saw of his. Realizing I didn’t even have the guy on my Master List, the reason I’ve been waiting on the film was only to see Daniel Day Lewis. Sheridan’s brutally realistic style is somehow heavier than his action scenes; in no way celebrating or glorifying the violence; portraying a tough and tragic world and that’s the way it’s going to be. The Boxer provides an equally grim story, offering that strange experience of a first third that left me indifferent about finishing the movie and an ending leading to one of the greatest films I’ve watched all year. It opens on the marriage of what’s known as a “prisoner’s wife” - a woman who marries an imprisoned IRA terrorist. The ceremony takes place in a British prison, where the groom has to remain and the bride returns to her local pub. Along the way they see a helicopter soaring above, with Sheridan cutting to its POV staring down toward them; at one point showing the fortified border between Ireland and the U.K. At the party we meet the local IRA leader Joe Hamill (Brian Cox), hidden behind walls blocked with bookcases and plain clothed soldiers in every room. I don’t know much about the history of the IRA, other than that it was their fight for independence from the U.K., focused primarily on religious independence. I’m too ignorant to even take a side, simply knowing it’s complex, but they were an organization that used violent acts of terror to achieve their cause; specifically bombs. In fact, while on a shoot in London, I stayed at the Brighton Hotel where the IRA had allegedly blown up the entire front in an attempt to assassinate Theresa May. Joe Hamill is currently in secret talks for peace with the British, in which a cease fire will be granted, and possibly an acquiescence of land of sorts (I wasn’t sure about independence). The only point of conflict is that the British won’t release the prisoners, meaning Hamill would have to reach an armistice without any of the husbands going back to the prisoner wives; making the opening ceremony all the more effective, showing us the sacrifice they make in the hopes of reconciliation. In one particular moment, a young man dances with a woman, sticking his hands down the back of her pants when two of the IRA soldiers immediately pull him into the backroom, demanding he never touch a prisoner’s wife again or else. The kid gets the message. The scene reminded me of Sheridan’s fellow working class Irish filmmaker Ken Loach, who’s Hidden Agenda (1990) also starred Brian Cox, though which he played a British Detective investigating an alleged murder between a spy and an agent. Unfamiliar with the IRA, he soon ends up at a pub, discovering the Irish singing and relaxed atmosphere; countering every idea he had of how they lived. The Boxer portrays a similar world, built around loyalty and mission. Recently my friends and I discussed the rise of China’s authoritarian capitalism amidst its communist political system. We discussed what made the systems fail to work, and how the issue with political revolutions is that even after the government is overthrown, the most radical members who are willing to destroy anyone for their beliefs are the ones who often succeed, thus introducing totalitarian regimes. They couldn’t trust their former allies, let alone their enemies. One of Hamill’s lieutenants Harry (Gerard McSorley) is this type of individual; unwilling to compromise on peace, especially if they’re not getting the prisoners in return; determined to spill more bloodshed in vengeance as much as for their mission. It’s throughout this sequence that former IRA member Danny Flynn (Daniel Day-Lewis) is released from prison after fourteen years. Discovering that the violence has carried on, he attempts to return home, resume boxing, and live a peaceful life. He ends up meeting his blotto former coach Ike (Ken Stott) who’s living on the streets in search of an endless drink. They return to the gym where Danny decides to open up a boxing school for boys. While unpacking the old ring, he finds a bag full of bombs, immediately walking out and tossing them into the river; infuriating Harry and the rest of the crew who demand he get them back. Joe Hamill’s daughter Maggie (Emily Watson) and Danny immediately exchange glances through their initial reunion; both waiting for the other to speak where we soon learn that they once had been together. In one beautiful scene Maggie and Danny do an elegant dance of subtle exposition, revealing that they might have been together, but being so young and with his arrest so sudden, neither were sure what to make of their relationship. In one particular moment, Danny laughs as he explains how he wished he could have asked her to wait for him; containing all of the anger, jealousy, and regret that only Daniel Day Lewis could possibly convey. Danny and Ike return to their training regiment, later deciding to have a fight between a Protestant and Catholic boxer, in which all faiths will be allowed to watch, particularly Irish Catholics and British Protestants. Again, Harry is infuriated and attempts to have them call it off. Danny refuses and the event’s packed, and in pure boxer-movie fashion, he loses the fight; embarrassing his people, or so they indicate. I should note that up until this point of the movie, I was a bit bored; failing to grasp the foundation being laid out. Sheridan wasn’t rushing into plot, so much as allowing us to discover each of the characters, knowing that the last two thirds would play all the better. Danny isn’t swayed by the reaction and offers to hold another fight. With the British government agreeing, it’s an even bigger event; going so far as to attract a local Police Chief. Danny triumphs in his second spat, but just as he prepares to celebrate we watch as Harry carries out an assassination against the Police Chief; planting a bomb in his car which sets off, killing him and kickstarting a riot. Continue to Part 2... BELOW: Nothing else on YouTube so no clip offered Like what you read? 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