The Good Old Days as seen in "Wonder Boys"

     In Michael Chabon's novel, "Wonder Boys," which was later adapted to a film directed by Curtis Hanson, we are introduced to James Leer, a college student in the writing class of the main character, Grady Tripp.  James is a socially awkward recluse, who happens to be the most talented writer in Grady's class.  He loves classic Hollywood films from the late-thirties and forties, especially those directed by Frank Capra and starring George Sanders.  He also has a strong fascination with the deaths of many of the movie stars from this era, particularly those who have committed suicide.  Although it might appear contrary to love these films hailed for their optimism, while also obsessing over how actors such as Sanders killed themselves by taking pills, this contrast is what James is so attracted to, how everything, no matter how good and peaceful, can also have moments of great depression.  At a time when Hollywood projected a specific image of America, particularly small-towns, James understood this image was not necessarily true, as he also believed his favorite director, Capra, knew this to be a romantic fabrication.  To quote the novel, "Capra was always thought of as a great sentimentalist, but the world of his films was filled with shadows--only one man's life, remember, separated Bedford Falls from the garish nightmare of Pottersville--in which there often lurked the specter of ruin and suicide and shame."  There are many times when I hear people over the age of 60 speak of how much better things were when they were growing up, how safe it was and how you didn't have to worry about what strange people were going to do.  You have to wonder how much of this perception was created solely by Hollywood films and television, or is it more the selective memories of the audience?  Did they simply choose to look past the bleak moments in favor of the white picket fences?  It is understandable to view the past in a positive light, but one may also be overlooking a whole other important aspect of life.               

"Love Songs:" The Musical that didn't need music

     After watching a Musical, your first thought probably shouldn't be, "that would have been a really good movie if it wasn't for the music."  Unfortunately, this is the case for Christophe Honore's film, "Love Songs."  Released in 2007, it is considered a "modern" musical, set in present day Paris, following the relationships of three young people, Julie, Alice, and Ismael, how they manage their three-way romance, and how they deal with their immediate grief when Julie dies unexpectedly.  The musical numbers are not elaborately staged, but take place while the characters are walking down the street or sitting in their apartments, however, the problem with the musical elements is not the lack of big production, but the type of music.  Not that there's anything wrong with mumbling French indie rock, it's just too insipid to be an effective device in complementing the plot.  The music should enhance our emotional commitment to the film, not leave us hoping for it to stop so we can get back to the narrative.  There are some wonderful moments in the film, from the look of the cold, damp Parisian streets, the black and white still-photograph sequence of Julie's funeral, to Ismael's seemingly desperate fling with another man that turns into a serious romance.  While I was left thinking of these moments, I forgot the musical numbers almost immediately, and began to wonder if they were even necessary in the first place. 
     Once the films was over, I started to think of certain scenes not with its original music, but with a song by Johnny Flynn and Laura Marling called "The Water."  I first became aware of this song when it was included in the second half of the trailer for another French film, "Goodbye First Love," directed by Mia Hansen-Love.  Though it only took up thirty seconds of the trailer, Flynn's song managed to create a greater sense of young people living in Paris (or another French city) more so than any of the musical numbers in "Love Songs."  It's hard to say if Honore should have just scrapped the whole musical idea and included music in a more traditional manner, or maybe the characters simply could have sung better songs.  Whatever the reason may be, if I ever become more fond of mumbling French music, I will give Honore's film another try, but until that day happens, I'd rather listen to Johnny Flynn.

Best Films of the 2000s

The top five are pretty much in order, everything after that is random.

Ratatouille (Brad Bird) 2007

Mulholland Dr. (David Lynch) 2001

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry) 2004

Half Nelson (Ryan Fleck) 2006

Almost Famous (Cameron Crowe) 2000

Pan's Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro) 2006

Before Sunset (Richard Linklater) 2004

Finding Nemo (Andrew Stanton, Lee Unkrich) 2003

The Son (Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardenne) 2002

Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki) 2001

Kill Bill Vol. 2 (Quentin Tarantino) 2004

Y Tu Mama Tambien (Alfonso Cuaron) 2001

Kings and Queen (Arnaud Desplechin) 2004

The Edge of Heaven (Fatih Akin) 2007

The Best of Youth (Marco Tullio Giordana) 2003

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Julian Schnabel) 2007

35 Shots of Rum (Claire Denis) 2009

Bus 174 (Jose Padiha, Felipe Lacerda) 2002

Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson) 2008

WALL-E (Andrew Stanton) 2008

Honorable Mentions:
The Beat that My Heart Skipped (Jacques Audiard) 2005
24 Hour Party People (Michael Winterbottom) 2002
Hunger (Steve McQueen) 2008

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (David Fincher) 2011

     Although I'm a fan of David Fincher's films, I was still a little hesitant to see his version of "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" based on its reputation of brutality, a convoluted plot, and overall Swedishness.  While these elements are very much a part of the film, the investigation conducted by Blomkvist and Salander was completely enthralling, reminiscent of the other police procedurals by Fincher, "Seven" and the first two-thirds of "Zodiac."  When Salander discovers the names and numbers from Harriet Vanger's notebook were the female murder victims and the corresponding Bible verses describing how they were killed, I suddenly realized how similar this revelation was to "Seven," and no wonder Fincher was attracted to this material.
     Once it is revealed the killer was Gottfried Vanger, Harriet's ex-Nazi Father, and the victims had biblical or Jewish names, the film then rushes past the reasoning for these murders and why he made such elaborate connections to the Bible.  Instead we are left to assume he committed these acts because was a Nazi, and that's it.  Even worse is his son Martin, who also grew up to be a serial killer of young women, however, he doesn't make any grand statements like his Father, he kills them simply because he gets a kick out of it.  When he is finished with his victims, he doesn't leave any evidence, he even mocks his Father for leaving the bodies in such a theatrical manner, for not being practical.  This is sound advice for not getting caught, but it doesn't make for a very interesting character.
     What makes this so frustrating is Fincher has already dealt with similar material.  In "Seven," when the identity of John Doe had been discovered after the majority of the film had focused on his murders that correspond with the seven deadly sins, there is a scene when Detective Somerset reads a passage from one of Doe's journals, telling how he vomited when a man tried to speak to him on the subway.  Along with the conversation in the car at the end of the film, Doe is presented as having a deep hatred for humanity, how he believes his murders will enlighten them as to what they have become.  Fincher is able to achieve this character's motive with a handful of scenes, and that's all he needed to add to "Dragon Tattoo," just a couple more scenes to flesh out the characters of Gottfried and Martin.  Maybe there was more detail given in Stieg Larsson's novel, and even if it was too much information to fit in a film, it could have been synthesized into at least one scene.  Maybe Martin could have described the influence of learning of his Father's murders when he was a young man, or maybe these crimes were not isolated to their family but were a reflection of their society in general.  Whatever the reason, it probably would have been better than what the film ended up with.              

Adding a Scene to "An Education"

     Lone Scherfig's "An Education" follows a young High School student named Jenny, who is frustrated with the limitations of living in 1961 North London.  Even though she is planning to attend Oxford, she is already aware of her limited vocational options when she graduates.  Even with a degree from a prestigious University, the gender inequality in England during this time strongly inhibits its female population.  The best moments in the film are those with Jenny arguing for her need of a new life, such as when she confronts her teacher, Miss Stubbs, about the necessity of going to college when she is just going to end up "bored" for the rest of her life.  Jenny understands her future could look very similar to Miss Stubbs' life, a well educated woman teaching High School English, reading essays about a student's pony.  The prospect of this does not satisfy Jenny, who prefers the exciting atmosphere of Paris, with the films of the French New Wave, sitting in cafe's listening to Jazz, seeing great artwork in the city's many museums and galleries, this is the life she desires.   When she meets David, a man in his mid-thirties who shares her interest in this new Parisian culture, he takes her to Paris, fulfilling what was once seen as an unachievable dream.
     One would believe an important moment like Jenny finally visiting Paris would garner a lot of attention from the filmmakers.  However, all we get is a montage of Jenny and David spending a romantic evening by the Seine, and a scene where she stands on the hotel balcony smoking a cigarette after she and David had just had sex.  The Paris material is only a few minutes in length, and then we're back in London, with Jenny fawning over the great films she had seen, Jazz she had listened to.  Since we didn't actually see her having these experiences, we have to take her word for it.  What is so disappointing about the limited scenes in Paris and the lack of specific references is how the film is otherwise filled with detailed scenes, such as the conversations between Jenny, Miss Stubbs, and her parents.  The film takes a lot of care in building not only the characters but the society they live in.  I'm not arguing for long takes discussing the meaning of Francois Truffaut's films, but at least one scene to provide a context for why Jenny loves Paris so much.
     A suggestion for a scene that could have worked, have Jenny and David in a movie theater watching Jean-Luc Godard's "Vivre Sa Vie."  Godard's film is similar to "An Education" in its depiction of a young woman restricted by society.  However, the main character, Nana, is forced into prostitution, which is a tad different from Jenny's situation.  Getting back to the hypothetical scene, there is a moment in "Vivre Sa Vie" when Nana herself is in a movie theater, watching the 1928 silent film "The Passion of Joan of Arc."  Godard cuts from a profile shot of Joan of Arc to a profile shot of Nana, watching the film in tears.  Scherfig could have taken this one step further, cutting from Joan of Arc to Nana, then to Jenny watching this scene, a cinematic dialogue between the three films.  While "An Education" is a very good film, referencing a specific French film would have added greatly to the already detailed world created by Scherfig.  There is the slight problem of "Vivre Sa Vie" being released in 1962 and "An Education" taking place in 1961, but that's just a technicality.

I almost missed "The Decalogue"

     In 1989, Polish Director Krzysztof Kieślowski released a ten part series titled "The Decalogue."  At an hour long each, the episodes are a modern interpretation of the "Ten Commandments."  The third episode is based on the Commandment, "Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy." We are introduced to a taxi driver named Janusz, who plans to spend Christmas Eve with his wife and two children.  While the family attends Christmas Eve mass, he runs into Ewa, his ex-lover whom he had an affair with three years prior.  Later that night, Ewa asks Janusz to help look for her missing husband.  They drive all over the city, with no luck.  As the film goes on, it becomes excruciatingly evident her husband is not missing, and she must be trying to seduce Janusz to rekindle their past relationship and convince him to leave his family.  Her intentions, or at least what we assume them to be, are extremely frustrating.  She is portrayed as a selfish, unsympathetic character who doesn't want to let her ex-lover go.
     However, this perception of Ewa quickly changes when she reveals the real reason she has called upon Janusz that evening.  She admits her husband is not missing, in fact, he divorced her shortly after he discovered her affair with Janusz.  He is now re-married, and while he and her ex-lover now enjoy life with their new families, she has not been so fortunate.  Three years later, she is still alone, and she couldn't bare to spend Christmas Eve by herself, which is why she lied to Janusz, not to start up their affair again, but to simply have someone to spend the holiday with.  She is now a completely sympathetic character, one who has had to watch others move on with their lives while she is still struggling to find happiness of her own.  Just before this revelation, I was so frustrated with her character that I seriously considered turning off the film.  Thankfully, I stuck with it, leaving me incredibly empathetic for Ewa and her desire to be rid of her loneliness.  Of the ten installments of "The Decalogue," this is the one that had the greatest impact because of how drastically my opinion was changed over the course of the film.  Now, whenever I think of giving up on a film, I think of the third episode of "The Decalogue," and what I could be missing.

"Seven Samurai" and Me

     At the age of nine or ten years old, when my family and I were visiting my Grandmother at a local retirement home, my sister and I were watching television in her bedroom, my sister on our Grandmother's bed and I laying on the floor with a pillow supporting my head.  As I was flipping through the channels, I randomly landed on PBS (maybe), just as the station announced that Akira Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai" was about to begin.  At that moment, our Dad appeared in the doorway, saying something to the effect of, "Wow, this is a classic."  So we decided to watch, and for some reason my Dad was assigned the task of reading the subtitles out loud.  I quickly became fascinated with the film, the villagers desperately seeking protection, the search for each Samurai, and especially Toshiro Mifune's character, Kikuchiyo, the most entertaining and interesting member of the group. 
     However, a problem soon emerged with this viewing experience.  The station was airing the film in its entirety, with no commercial breaks.  Since "Seven Samurai" is three and a half hours long, this meant my Dad would be reading subtitles for quite a long time.  Much to my dismay, after about two and a half hours, my Dad had had enough, and left.  I tried to finish the movie by reading the subtitles on my own, but I couldn't keep up.  Deeply frustrated, I gave up and turned off the television.  Years later, when I finally finished the entire film, the climactic battle scene at the end left me exhilarated at first, but my excitement soon turned to bitterness as I recalled my Dad's abandonment of the film years earlier.  There are many ways to attribute greatness to a film, but it's hard to think of a better conformation of a movie's lasting quality than when it holds the attention of a young boy and leaves him distraught when his Father quits reading the subtitles for him.
(P.S.  Love you Dad)