Being John Malkovich

Though seemingly concept piece at the end of the day, I found it generally delightful and sufficiently dramatic. But why does this movie exist? Kaufman has attempted grand statements in each of the last several movies. The only grand statement to this one seems to be meta-cinematic. He's always self-conscious -- but his other movies have more diegetic justification so to speak, whereas beyond a pleasant picture, this one needs its commentary and its fourth-wall challenging to be worth much. It is a pleasant picture -- but not nearly worth my consideration if it hadn't influenced film and preceded Kaufman's others. I don't think I learned much here... but now I know, and needn't wonder: Being John Malkovich is a nice and impressive piece that doesn't do much profound for me.

Breaking Bad

Prior to this weekend, of Breaking Bad I'd seen the pilot, maybe twice. Several important people in my life have had close relationships with the series. This first wintry weekend of the year I watched the following in order, with minimal synopses between, on recommendations from one source ordered to provide roughly two episodes per season:

• 1 - 1/7 "Pilot"
• 1 - 6/7 "Crazy Handful of Nothin'"
• 2 - 1/13 "Seven Thirty-Seven"
• 2 - 12/13 "Phoenix"
• 3 - 1/13 "No Más"
• 3 - 13/13 "Full Measure"
• 4 - 1/13 "Box Cutter"
• 4 - 10/13 "Salud"
• 4 - 13/13 "Face Off"
• 5 - 1/16 "Live Free or Die"
• 5 - 5/16 "Dead Freight"
• 5 - 9/16 "Blood Money"
• 5 - 14/16 "Ozymandias"
• 5 - 15/16 "Granite State"
• 5 - 16/16 "Felina"

Many people seem to judge television quality by a series' ability to hook the viewer. I was hooked by the experience this weekend in that I anticipated and rushed into each episode -- though not vigorously. While intensifying the effect by compressed schedule, it was only compensation for missing the momentum of all of those skipped episodes. Still it was an exciting sequence. But beyond all this, I can't judge television without a concept of film, to which I've dedicated much more of my life, or literature and the arts in general. And conscious as I am of how I spend my free time, I can't judge television independent of life. I'm a terrible judge of Breaking Bad for those skipped episodes. But I can't imagine justifying the series end-to-end, gapless. Have I seen enough of it to extrapolate my experience so coarsely? I believe so. Relative to other television, my sequence was artistic and human; but relative to opportunity cost for that time, the artistic and human value was negligible. I can't conceive sufficient gains in all I skipped to justify the time -- the sheer time. I wish time wasn't precious. At the end of the day, one of the most acclaimed television series in history is still television, and not just in format. I saw the first episode, the last, and many in between, supposedly the best, and each was thoroughly television. I wonder whether the medium will ever convince me it's risen above cheap archetype for more than a moment here and there. Breaking Bad may be as powerful as it's ever been, but falls drastically short of what I need out of an experience of this length. For the time invested I need something enriching the soul and teaching the mind. A powerful locomotive experience and mild addiction are not nearly enough. Well, there's a threshold for prioritizing stimulation, and Breaking Bad and television miss it.

The pilot surprised me as riddled with cliche -- typical, probably, for a pilot, but it surprised me nonetheless. As the series advanced this smoothed out, though I still never felt it transcended that framework. The framework is archetype, which keeps it an arm's length from real experience. A series is an interesting medium, but either a priori or a posteriori seems to necessarily depend on addiction to convince us the virtual experience is realer than it is. The pilot is exciting; every episode is exciting, which is non-trivial. Advanced episodes are even powerful beyond exciting; but archetype remains. I'm thinking of films that indulge and subsequently subvert filmic archetype effectively (Mulholland Drive and I'm Thinking of Ending Things); I don't think I've ever seen TV do it so effectively. It seems not self-conscious enough. But I'm certainly a television novice. Still, the opportunity-cost argument observes the extra time poured into a series, even if it does transcend archetype like the best of film. Some might argue the extra time is actually the essence of the medium's value -- we watch TV for the time poured in and its payoff. I've never experienced it like that. First, time is a treasure to me; second, time poured in has never added beauty or learning or personal growth or even truly sensational experience for me. And I give it the benefit of the doubt at least for the sensation, as to modern movies (and a couple modern video games). Come on, if nothing else, I should experience intense stimulation, which these products are engineered to serve, and to overwhelm my luddite tolerance for virtual reality. Why else is everyone obsessed? But every time I'm underwhelmed! Maybe I'm missing something. It's really upsetting to consider! It's alienating to get so little out of what everyone else spins their life around, or forms their life of. Usually it makes me think everyone else is tragically insane, though maybe once I considered they're happy, on the counsel of a friend. Mostly I know stuff like this, like Breaking Bad, doesn't add up for me -- I feel it and know it. I can't feel the value and I can't point to it, so I can't admit it. I appreciate Breaking Bad for an exciting weekend, for some artistic merit, for cunning, for maxing out its medium (for now), and for emotional gravity. I liked it -- I really did. And therefore I lament my sustained criticism, borne of bafflement. Why do people live like this?

The Master

WOW, I mentioned the PSH-Plemons linearity writing about I'm Thinking of Ending Things completely forgetting about this film. Maybe it's obvious, or maybe some causation beyond correlation.

The Master had better be inferior to its predecessor, but the progression makes sense. Filmmaker makes something subdued from which no one can look away, and follows up with something more esoteric and inscrutable, a stylistic sequel and exaggeration of the former. The Master while ecstatic lacks some control of the former. A tired comparison, No Country for Old Men shut up typical Coenisms for a higher cause, and There Will Be Blood similar -- but centripetal auteurs can't but polarize fast, washing in whirlpools of self: The Master loses control a little. Nevertheless, the filmmaker's vision is too dominant not to be exciting. He's fearless without becoming boringly contrary. He's smart enough to indulge himself without snuffing his fire. I said Django was overindulgent ego-flailing. I've never seen a PTA movie like that, but this is his analogue. Yet I think the movie is terrific, a balance of exciting and calculated. That's something about PTA: he's too simultaneously intelligent and passionate about humans to deliver anything but awesome movies for me. I need to watch Phantom Thread, and rewatch/finish Inherent Vice, and rewatch Boogie Nights, and Punch-Drunk Love. I think The Master is totally awesome. I remembered more of it than I wanted, so I'm not jumping out of my seat this time, and anyway it could never join my top top echelon of movies -- but it's up there in the clouds. And with such a mean character!

Troy

Cliches abound, but no more than in Return of the King a year earlier, and anyway the archetype is grand. This film seems like a success. It does about as much as it can on such a basic premise for making a movie, and turns out sufficiently entertaining. I have a weak spot for history and demigods, so I give Troy a pass. For similar reasons I love the Tolkien movies, which this one certainly ripped. It's comforting I can detect the mediocrity of Troy, whereas I'm accustomed to such selectivity with movies, and to such other reasons for watching something than quality, I often doubt my critical abilities. I enjoyed Troy, but it didn't fool me. With cliches worthy of PG-13, I can never call this filmmaking "inspired" -- but again, Peter Jackson cuts a thousand corners. But his virtue is the corners he doesn't cut, which explain and justify the cliches: you can't have all 540 minutes strong, and you'll never say he lacks passion. Troy lacks passion in starkest contrast to its high drama. There's no way the act(or/ress) who played Hector's wife was passionate about her pathetic certainly-man-written character. But hell was she dramatic! If you saw the Tolkien movies and Troy, in 2004 you had the lowest opinion of Orlando Bloom. Anyway Jackson has some Tolkien dialogue to work with. Troy probably steals none of that from Homer. Yet I can't say it's poorly-written, necessarily. It's just basic as hell. It's such a movie. I'm sorry all these kids went to film school to learn how to write like this. They'd never make it in the history of literature. I guess they haven't dented the history of cinema either. But the writing is not bad -- just basic. Like I said, Troy taps me where I'm keen, so I don't hate it. I think I could have written it better, with just a little schooling on the fundamentals. The Jackson movies had some bad writing, beside some perfection. Troy is an all-around C.

I enjoyed it. I liked the Achilles v. Hector scene, especially for the tense bongos. I liked the fighting, the glory of these figures, the grandeur. I loved wise Odysseus -- I don't know why. A great warrior and a wise and noble king -- like Aragorn, but Boromir. I could have used a cheesy allusion at the end to Odysseus's adventure to come. I like all of the conversation on values: Hector says "honor the gods, love your woman, defend your country" or similar; others variously worship conquest, name recognition, romance, filial piety, victory, family, deities, humanism, courage.... and I believe a major victory of the script is each of these is compellingly argued! Each argument on values (among many) was actually pretty interesting for me, with the power to swing my favor between interlocutors. This is why I'm a sucker for genres like this: I love thinking about fundamental values this way. Troy proved fairly interesting on those lines, though hardly unexpected. I don't think it was a bad movie. Just about as entertaining as something so uninspired could be. Good thing it was R-rated, to push the sensory buttons a little.

Fargo

Having not much to say about it, I liked Fargo. I can see why it's a classic, though it's not something that could affect me profoundly. All elements seem to align for a great and likable film. It's good for me to watch great films once in a while -- it's good for me to keep level in universal taste, not digging my ego deeper and deeper. I'm Thinking of Ending Things is the last thing I watched, which affected me intensely, but alienates me. It's good for me to survey sun-soaked land on occasion. Sun shines on Fargo, and many admiring eyes. I'm Thinking of Ending Things was cavernous. It depresses me when someone's favorite movies are all classics. When I hear about it, I feel acute relief I'm not that person.

Marge surprised me. With dim memory of the film I thought she would be primary heel of the parody -- but while she played along and was perhaps even centerpiece, she certainly wasn't heel, but hero. The Coens stitch a universe of drab duncery, leading viewers to conflate the two by repeated association: the drab and the dunce. The virtue is that when Marge enters she embodies form, yet defies the dunce to startling and heroic effect. She enters just like anyone else in the film -- with the most bumbling air. But when she hits the crime scene, she's immediately piecing things together correctly. Then I think the moment that sealed it for me was when she pitched the coffee. She's obviously a leg up on her town. Everyone sharp defected to corruption in the Cities. Later in the film she repeatedly rejects bullshit from all parties. Marge is the ideal individual manifestation of this culture -- wholly conforming, yet sticking up like a beacon. If she's a knife the first rays of dawn quicken to her edge, the first glint in the drab. But the crucial point is she's happy -- thoroughly happy. She's the loving-life version of Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, the latter of whom clearly needs a Norm to fix him eggs and paint ducks. I guess the Midwest is a generally happy place. Whether a viewer finds Marge and Norm depressing or enviable is a razor's edge. Some ambition repels me from rural Midwest, and another draws me back. Unfortunately I don't think I could be happy with Marge's life -- but she's doing it perfectly right; she's exactly where she needs to be. That's why she's the ideal individual manifestation -- she's somehow settled in as the peak of what this could ever be. I call it enviable, and she's my unexpected hero.

Marge's arrest of the criminal at the end is perfect. The first shot misses, questioning whether she has the hand to catch him at all, like her humble air upon entrance in the film. The second shot is perfect, revealing she was going for moving legs, a much harder and calculated, dignified target. The first shot says she's real -- this isn't James Bond -- and the second shot says she's excellent and honorable.