Gangs of New York (Martin Scorsese)

Gangs of New York is as entertaining as any 3-hour epic swarming with gangs, wars, whores, big characters, street politics and Scorsese-isms must be -- but not as entertaining (nor nearly as rewarding) as one can be. That it's stimulating is obvious; what's less obvious is the obviousness, the slight originality and inspiration. The film has a unique pulse, it is energetic and brilliant, but it doesn't accomplish anything very interesting, cinematically. The setting is fascinating; the film is not. It feels too familiar conceptually, structurally, to ride its backdrop to raving. Of course one acquainted with future Scorsese must be cynical: how can I find profound and thrilling Leonardo DiCaprio infiltrating the rival with natural-born cunning and grit when I've seen The Departed so many times? Even the climaxes feature similar facial expressions. And one acquainted with any revenge film can sleep through this ending (speaking of Leonardo DiCaprio reprising his role in later films....). Gangs of New York may have pioneered something. Even so, its best cinematic virtue is its tone, and by 2002 folks like Tarantino were already making outrageous violence epics. Maybe some things we love wouldn't have transpired the same without it: The Departed, Inglorious Basterds, Daniel Plainview,... We should appreciate how even if techniques that shaped the future weren't invented for this movie, some may have been perfected here. What cocktail of fears would we have seen in Billy Costigan's eyes facing the ignorant Frank Costello if we hadn't first seen it in Amsterdam Vallon's facing the ignorant William Cutting? What wrathful madness in the eyes of Daniel Plainview if not first William Cutting? These are just actor's examples. I like and respect this movie, by the end. I consider it exciting and possibly great. But I expected more. The premise and setting are absolutely thrilling, and all stars align in the crew for an all-time epic. What we have is a basic epic, excellent and obvious. Here's hoping The Irishman is wholly worth its weight.

11/21/19 - Saturday Night Fever and Pocahontas

This week I watched Saturday Night Fever (1977) and Pocahontas (1995).

I had trouble understanding Saturday Night Fever. Much of it seemed aimless to me. Am I just disconnected from the orientations of that culture? Or was the aimlessness intentional in some existential or juvenile angst way? The dialogue was extremely dated, so I couldn't tell naturalism from artfulness, intuition from intention. The final quarter didn't make any sense to me. The ending was unsatisfying. I think I'm mature enough at the movies to find some satisfaction in artfully oblique endings; but that of course is different from negligence. I couldn't tell whether the ending was negligent or alternative. Isn't this a movie for the people? Not for the professors? Then why was the ending so discordant? Similar to wondering whether this is a movie for the people, I wondered which came first, Saturday Night Fever or the 70s? Was this consciously 70s porn for a 70s audience? Intentionally quintessential? Or was it one of those incidental blockbusters born of an obscure seed that only retrospectively symbolizes an era? Sometimes underground ideas become smash hits. Sometimes pop is accidentally profound. I'll say for certain: Saturday Night Fever does not shake out like others of its kind (I'm thinking Grease, Titanic and the like). Those movies are satisfying. They engineer audience raving. Saturday Night Fever is stranger, more inscrutable, at least to me in my first viewing. Maybe it sits between Grease and The Outsiders. Grease is brilliantly obvious like the sun. The Outsiders has the brooding of a novel adaptation. Maybe Saturday Night Fever is as dumb as its characters behave. Or maybe it's not.

I wonder whether Pocahontas is the best Disney film of its era. I wonder whether it deserves the upper echelon of all Disney. I'll note right away I was surprised by occasional terrible animation. Of course much of the staging and colors were pretty (idealized Native American life) but some of the objects were (I'll say) putrid. Toy Story was released the same year. I mean are you kidding me???? I of course don't object to the animation style in general, or drawing vs CGI in general. Anyway, this movie seemed powerful and profound. I don't remember being so emotional with any other Disney film. Emotion is stirred here by gorgeous melodies (largely pentatonic, like Mulan -- interesting cultural conflation?), a beautiful heroine (the best I can recall), and most importantly, serious moral drama, and real mature conflict. Disney was confronting issues with admirable determination. And they're complex: how deplorable is John's ignorance in trying to help Pocahontas via civilization?; how deplorable are the Natives for coming to call the Europeans "savages" and reacting aggressively?; should Pocahontas really repeatedly choose the bending path of her own breezy spirit, trying her loved ones and roots?; should Pocahontas go with John at the end, or John stay? These are only a few of the not just deep but immediate issues. One doesn't need a liberal arts degree to see the massive and tenuous balance towering over the humble characters. They think they're fighting with paper swords and can't imagine what they truly wield. I consider one of my flaws at the movies to be insensitivity to thematic material. The thematic material in this movie stunned me, and not just my intellect: it added considerable emotional weight. I could see myself in the characters, track past mistakes of my own in theirs, experience their consequences through my own memories. This far exceeds what I expect from any children's movie, especially simple 20th century Disney. Obviously the movie is loaded with outrageous archetype. But I can't remember a Disney film that complements this with such gorgeous and complex features. I guess this is the awe we're supposed to experience through Disney. I am generally insensitive to it (see Lion King 2019 review) but Pocahontas floored me. I love a lot of the music, I love the immediacy of the issues, and I love Pocahontas. This is my favorite Disney heroine. This may be my favorite Disney movie.

This week I watched Saturday Night Fever (1977) and Pocahontas (1995). One employed complex beings for basic purposes. One used basic beings for complex purposes. One was realistic and shallow. The other was beautiful, profound paper.

Great films often have complex characters AND complex purposes, at least. I suppose the ideal film is rich on all levels like a fractal. Sometimes I think Tolkien is fractalline. The more you magnify the more you see, though maybe without the infinite self-similarity.

The more you magnify the more you see
Without or with self-similarity
When Chaos Chaos meets in lusty mood
And meets again in that chaotic brood.

American Beauty (Sam Mendes)

Sufficiently interesting or enjoyable movies don't need purpose or meaning; American Beauty just missed these criteria and left me wondering why I watched it. Nevertheless, I'm intrigued enough to immediately write.

The experience swung between tortured cliche and tortured confrontation. Most of the hooks were extremely archetypal, especially early. Of course casting formulaic lives for characters can create dramatic upheaval situations later, but I doubt the film itself (non-diegetic so to speak) needed to be so formulaic. Should we watch an hour of relatively banal film only for the sake of its upturning? I don't think the reward was sufficient justification. For a look at banal lives crumbling in the rain I recommend another film from the same year, which I needn't name. American Beauty doesn't quite pay out. I don't mean it's really boring at any point, but how can cliches engineered to snag on our subconscious really be boring, unless the consumer is saturated with modern media? I think I am not; I was never bored, and I don't dislike the movie -- but I find it difficult to justify. I appreciate the movie. It arrested my attention and emotion, it surprised me, it stimulated me, and it made me wonder by the end. But it was not joyful nor beautiful nor fascinating nor educational. In its defense 1999 was another millennium, but think about other movies of that time, or decades earlier. I think there's some backward indulgence driving parts of the film and undermining its purpose.

The world is beautiful. Don't be ordinary. Don't be a horrible miserable idiot. I've learned these lessons more effectively through other films, not to mention music, literature and more. Art has certainly been one of my best teachers in these subjects. American Beauty isn't our best candidate to speak on them. Its worthiness is compromised by its ulterior tendencies. Remember how ugly Magnolia and Synecdoche paint sex? Neither impresses that middle-aged men should be optimistic about teenagers. The other films sail true to their passionate course. This film is passionate above all -- let it be appreciated -- but it is misguided.

I respect the film as fearless. It was not afraid to (spoilers) kiss Lester and Angela, heroize a voyeur, enjoy teenage nudity, drip Lester's brains down the wall. It was intriguing, surprising, upsetting, and honest. But for what? And sometimes the shock landed empty and confused. For instance, why was Ricky really so bold? Can we understand it? Why did his father act so lethally homophobic and then so desperately homosexual? Do people really act like that? Why was Lester narrating postmortem? This film introduced some intrigue but failed to answer its own questions which would round out the experience and the education. Is there really a lesson to this film or is there some vague beauty-talk green-screened on a strange upsetting tale?

The thematic material was too nearly celebrated, though I respect the film's fearless confrontation with that possibility. In high school this film may have changed my life. But I'm 24 and have seen plenty of this. I can't extract much for my life. And as a film: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Original Screenplay, Best Cinematography? It hasn't aged so well.

The Lion King (2019)

Here are some thoughts on the film, unintentionally written in such a way that one might mistake the thoughts for staunch positions. I entreat one's forgiveness.



I am not sure the purpose of this movie, other than to generate incredible new income; perhaps Disney and the makers intend to supersede the original in history's canon, considering this remake (I might say remaster) objectively superior; but its animated production style puts it somewhat in a different genre, not suitable for direct replacement, and anyway the collective American heart, mushy with nostalgia, cannot easily admit such canon substitution. Yet the two are so damned similar they can hardly stand side-by-side. Maybe it seeks awards. Maybe it seeks to canonize with a broader audience -- which could only be new youth who didn't grow up with the original, and people who object very superficially to "kids movies", that is, cartoons without swear words (this movie of course is a kids movie in all substance). Maybe it is just shameless taxation of the poor and ignorant who we all know must show in masses to pay for this sort of glorious nothing. It's hardly even a choice anymore.

The movie was of course engaging and enjoyable; it was also executed well. This last in this case mostly entails good computerized visuals, which is one of hundreds of components to a film, therefore a small piece, yet to me an unfathomably large task. But that's just me. I'm sure there are many shortcuts to convincing CGI of which I need read only briefly to appreciate. Other ornaments in the great architecture of the execution were pre-cast, for instance, much of the cinematography, much of the music, obviously the narrative and characters, if those blend with "execution"; even the voice actors had little creative task sometimes going line-for-line with their worthy 1994 model. But I routinely enjoyed the film and I admired the new incarnation, if not existentially. The visuals -- the most important update -- were powerful and engrossing, and considered independently I call it a good film.

Updates were minimal, but unmistakable were energetic injections of 2010's humor. Beside the visuals this was the most significant update in my experience, for better or worse. Timon and Pumbaa, Zazu, and the hyenas all shout Generation Z in voices both ecstatic and overwrought. I found this mostly delightful but excessive and unmistakably dystopian. Where is humor headed?

I feel mixed about the potluck musical score. I really like the particular way the tribal drums and melodic chanting are featured; I don't like some of the Elton John contribution; most egregious for me was Zimmer's scoring of hefty moments, which repeatedly featured a light/hopeful lift I found completely dissonant with said moments. That was a true shame to me. But generally I respect the music of this film.

One moment that quietly struck my heart to happiness was when I realized the four lead voices were black. Our culture has come some way since 1994. This colorful condition might have been purely out of reckoning then, if not overtly objected. Yet glad I was we didn't see another The Wiz or 2014's Annie. This was not a film essentially by or for or about black people, and no attempt was made to change the character of the film; I wonder how much intentionality was in the casting? The film is of course set in Africa, and with second language Swahili.

I must admit I felt a little uncomfortable with Gambino and Beyonce harmonizing romantically. I can't possibly disrespect Beyonce's casting, but it wasn't a flawless casting. Her power and dominance were a little overwhelming for me to hear. I got the feeling she was not playing Nala so much as playing Beyonce reading Nala's script, contrary to Glover's performance. I can hardly complain. That may not be her fault either. Unrelated: how about Bruno Mars as Simba?

Now for a very important point. A critic attempting any kind of objectivity must be able to inherit the sensibilities of a broad and self-evident population. There's a fundamental barrier between myself and any broad self-evident population I would service, unless I were writing for a magazine for the excessively intellectual, sensorially deprived. Most good people, properly endowed with sensory impressionability, will stand enchanted by this fantastic visual feast and will bother little with the analytical grit which addicts and afflicts me. Alas my compromised critical competence is exposed: I have dull senses cowering behind a domineering intellect and can no longer predict the normal human experience. Nor has my analysis wrought yet anything very interesting about this film. Thus the fundamental privacy of this blog. But I will state for the record that the film will inspire many wide eyes and many full hearts.

A main complaint for this movie is a sin it did not invent but commits, or reinvents. To worship the devil is to commit all his sins. The 1994 film sinned first. But really it's not as much a sin as a shortcoming here, more ignorance than evil. I despair to find this all over cinema, including infecting films of similar studio and era such as Hercules. What I'm talking about is an upsettingly overwhelming ratio of rising action and conflict to climax and triumph. This is not just family films. We have 95% of the movie consumed by conflict and the last three minutes for resolution -- technically resolution, resolution on paper, though nothing in the viewer's insides feels resolved. I think this is a major oversight. Probably this has something to do with Disney's de facto time limit, and immediately once the plot levels anything left is seen as superfluous for inclusion in a packed tin. But I do not think this is psychologically correct. How sleep vitalizes one's day depends not just on the quality of the sleep but crucially the quality of the waking. If I'm going to the movies to leave emotionally vitalized and satisfied I need my tug from the dark theater to daylight to be sound, independent of the last couple of hours' soundness. So much hinges on these final few moments. I may be nightmaring, but if I wake correctly in my cycle I'll have a good day. A film must heed our emotional cycle and wake us to reality (with the credits) correctly. Films almost universally involve cycles of satisfaction lost and gained back. To rush the waking is to interrupt an emotional arc and destroy the one satisfaction that can't be gained back -- because the viewer is exiting the theater. Studios: it is not enough to work everything out on paper; you must guide our emotions to the solution empathetically, and this requires time for transition. None can endure the depths of melancholy and tears for hours and immediately become bright when things seems to solve. The stress creates residual trauma for a short time, and this weight cannot lift without time. We need our hands held patiently through the well-paced climax, and we need time to absorb a complete display of resolution. Show me more climactic intensity; show me more victory; show me even more victory; show me more aftermath. This film was not satisfying on leaving the theater to me, because I fought for an hour and a half for what? For three minutes of turning action and the kick-in-the-ass credits.

This is a film that strives for compatibility with children, but I don't think this requires compromising compatibility with mature adult tastes. I think that would indicate either a laziness or a disrespect for children. But as this film goes, in my adulthood, ignoring young viewers for the argument, I longed for more intensity. I do think the film is quite intense for the genre. But not intense enough for me. Dramatic potential fell to nought with timid turns, budding darkness crimped and failed at the filmmakers' hands, gravitas faltered, the original gravitas of cinema slain by common humor I can find anywhere outside the theater, humor presented to slay gravitas, humor designed to slay the purpose of movies under the assumption viewers can't endure the purpose of movies when they go to the movies, humor robbing moviegoers of movies and filling us full with nothing.

My company for this theater viewing and I had someways different experiences. He was enthralled by the sensory immersion, the visual spectacle, the feeling of really being in pimped-up fantasy Africa, the beauty exceeding true life. He was absolutely stricken with cute Simba. He was astounded by superior shot composition, framing, movement, lighting, in a lay but tasteful way. I suppose these follow from the complete computer generation of the film. None of this affected me profoundly, but I am ever concept-obsessed and analytical, with high sensory stimulation thresholds, or in other words, mild sensory experience. In film this entails primary attention to the genres, authenticities and consistencies of characters and narrative; literary skill and aesthetics; dissecting characters and plot; often putting the writers to trial against my subconscious artistic model of subtlety, consistency and effortlessness. I focus on writers and their work, and large-scale directorial choices, and importantly I treat the film world and events as reality; I analyze them as I analyze reality, and I analyze how the filmmakers make their reality. Is it authentic, consistent, beautiful, what? Ideally film realities are self-consistent, even if not consistent with our reality, and ideally beautiful and fascinating, insightful, penetrating. I have to learn many sensory sensitivities others find natural. Is it clear from this post that I focus on concepts, thoughts, choices, ideas, not senses? This is natural.

For all my comments I enjoyed the film, virtuous and superfluous as it was.