Stalker

11/30/21. Hadn't seen any Tarkovsky (or much world cinema or art films at all) in... 5 years?

I seem to like Tarkovsky's blend of the rational and the mystical. Psychedelia is never precisely my taste, and I don't watch movies for hard reason, so he complements an intellect I can respect and follow with spirituality that can inspire me. This is a good balance for me, at least in theory -- in practice it could be a little more approachable than Tarkovsky. If he made movies for people with my taste in rational vs. mystical, he still probably didn't make them for American Millennials, and there's a certain remoteness I must at least partly attribute to our different cultural contexts. I can imagine movies marketed to my demographic with scenes like the procession down the pipe -- like in premise, and unlike in execution. The premise is timid procession down a mysterious pipe. The scene would be a minute at most, with music and a joke. In Stalker the scene is silent minutes of awkward camera angles, betraying their own suggestions and defying intuitive interpretation. I don't know how to resolve these things, and there are plenty in Stalker. I like the balance of spiritual and philosophical, and that goes far enough to sustain my interest since college in revisiting Tarkovsky, but it's tough. I can't quite access. I need some help, maybe Wikipedia, or I need to watch more like this.

The religion of the Zone and the Room seems to require blind faith (you have to believe before any of it works, but how can you believe before any of it works?) and seems to only exist as it supplies blind hope ("maybe it contains the meaning I can't find anywhere else"). It seems that if people didn't need it, it wouldn't exist, and if the miracles don't work for you, you didn't believe enough. This all sounds familiar -- but maybe my animosity for common Christian thought is forcing the parallel.

There's much more analysis potential here, but if this is all I got from the real-time experience of the movie, would it do much good? I typically watch movies for the real-time experience, I think. I liked the experience.

I will say Tarkovsky movies have been prodigiously soporific for me. In my whole life, I can only ever remember falling asleep once during a movie (early-childhood amnesia notwithstanding). That was middle school at the latest. And I can probably count on one hand the times I remember feeling sleepy whatsoever. Three of those were Tarkovsky: two Solaris and now one Stalker. That's exceptional, or exceptionally coincidental. My point is I'm abnormally wakeful during movies, and Tarkovsky has made me disproportionately sleepy. His movies are like funeral marches. Slower than thought. I don't mind this though: if I can keep my attention from drowsily drifting, it just adds to the fantasy. Wikipedia: "The film contains 142 shots in 163 minutes, with an average shot length of more than one minute and many shots lasting for more than four minutes."

Non-exhaustive list of things I don't understand:

• the flips to and from sepia
• the preoccupation with the train rattling the apartment
• the dialogue
• the plot
• the movie

Harry Potter

Background: Never read books. Seen maybe movie #1 and part of a later one. Knew many characters and devices but little plot. Was socially convinced to watch this, thereby circumventing standard prioritization.

I'm impressed. It seems to have everything you need in young adult fantasy, especially for those who experienced this while growing up with the characters.

It's awkward to marathon, since the series isn't intended for one age group. Each book/movie seems intended for whatever age group the characters are in, meaning it ideally takes seven to ten years to complete, and specifically the years between ages 11 and 21, roughly. Watching all of it in a few weeks at age 26, and for the first time, is suboptimal, as would be all of it at age 11, 21, or anywhere in between. It's not just a matter of connecting with the characters at their ages, but of style: the series matures tremendously in humor, subtlety, complexity, and intensity. An 11-year-old wouldn't have a good time with the later ones, as a 21-year-old wouldn't with the earlier (we're talking about first experiences of the series, so nostalgia isn't a factor). So I wonder how Harry Potter will survive into future generations. Kids will want to marathon the books and movies, but no age really works for this, and there's no way quick-fix kids will disperse them over ten years to honor the artist's intent. Maybe the maturity spectrum isn't as broad between the first and last books as the movies? Probably, but probably not narrow enough. I guess Harry Potter will remain popular and will be a vehicle of forceful maturation. Tweens will dive in and leave haunted. I doubt the series will wither anytime soon, but I doubt it could exist in its full bloom again. That was for my generation -- just older than me. Like a bell curve, I guess it worked best for those aged as Harry himself when the books/movies were coming out; those too old stomached the immaturity, and those too young stomached the maturity. And those young enough to have missed the real-time craze will see the connection diminished still: all future generations are in this group. But I expect for a while there will still be a sweet spot between 11 and 21 in which the series still works well enough. Then it will antiquate, as Tolkien: still read, but queerly classical.

I was impressed. By the end the whole seemed like really high-quality young adult fiction. The characters, themes, plot and everything else seemed not just excellent but comprehensive. I can understand the obsession. What was missing? It tackled most things a teenager could care about. It may be more comprehensive in spanning all of life than Tolkien, or at least all of 21st-century life. Most types of relationships and emotions were portrayed. It was rich enough to prompt many doctoral theses I imagine. And it was well-executed, with style and care and intelligence. Rowling impressed me.

Still, it's young-adult, much more than Lord of the Rings. Until about 3/4 through the movies things were painfully cheesy. I feel that with the LotR movies, and The Hobbit as a novel is pretty juvenile, but the LotR books do not seem fit for teenagers in my mind. Well, maybe the Harry Potter books aren't as cheesy as the movies. I got through the first 3/4 of the series on brewing and sometimes blazing darkness. Just like LotR, Star Wars and more, I chase the cheese with building darkness and godlike displays of power. Yes, I'll say the same as in several posts of the last year or two: I'm infatuated with godlike power. One of my favorite moments in Harry Potter was when he, a kid, revealed himself as the white stag he thought was his father. Harry's, Dumbledore's, Voldemort's and others' power was intoxicating for me. And much of the darkness was painful, and these things pulled me through the juvenility. Also the plot, which ended up interesting. I doubt the world and plot are as subtly crafted as Tolkien, but I can't say for sure without reading the books. Tolkien's books will hint at subtleties the movies smother in cheese, and I'm sure Rowling wrote with a finer tip than the movies suggest. Still, it's younger than Lord of the Rings. Some of it is painfully obvious.

I definitely liked the later movies better, especially the last three. The immaturity diminished; jokes were funnier; social conflict cut deeper; acting improved. These things matter: my intellect wasn't insulted. A lot of blockbuster movies insult the intellect. I'm not blaming Rowling necessarily, who I'm sure is very intelligent, but yes, I do believe much of the series was grossly unsubtle. It's young-adult. So it's natural I preferred the later ones. I felt the same with Tolkien: things got darker and deeper later. People love the innocence of The Fellowship. I love the divinity of Return of the King. And the innocence of The Fellowship. But mostly the intellect-shattering profoundness of the later, darker ones. Same with Harry Potter.

The Dumbledore actor situation is really tragic, first for the actor, second for the integrity of the series. I really wish we wouldn't have lost the first Dumbledore. I never connected with the second as well. I don't know what it's like in the books, but the first's voice and carriage carried millennia more wisdom and heartache than the second. The second sounds and moves so much harsher. Ian McKellan as Gandalf is between the two. The Dumbledore transition was upsetting for me -- sad and jarring. My affection for the character never quite recovered, which is a big blow, as I was establishing a connection as I have with Gandalf. Dumbledore was a good candidate for my favorite character.

Macbeth (2015)

I seem to have trouble discerning words spoken in movies. My auditory exams a couple years ago reported naught but innocuous occlusion, but a few movies say otherwise. Scottish Shakespeare doesn't do me any favors either. I missed a good deal of dialogue (and monologue), and unfortunately had only ever read about the first half of the play, so I fell behind the plot and forfeited significant pleasures of the Bard. Well, I should be reading it anyway. The movie itself, however, was gorgeous. My memory of Valhalla Rising is dim, but floated forth here. I now notice Valhalla was shot in Scotland. The mood is similar, as I recall, and singular: all bleak mountain mists shrouding savagery. How can life have meaning in medieval Scotland?

I could hardly have designed this adaptation better. Michael Fassbender and Marion Cotillard are in the 98th percentile of actors I would have wanted in this, and I wouldn't have misjudged. Everything is artfully and nihilistically spare: monochromatism, lonely cellos, unblinking eyes. The ghost of Banquo is as lively as anything else. The witches curse Macbeth, but really all of Scotland is bewitched. Everything about this movie would hurl someone toward insanity; my only question is how Lady Macbeth found the seeds of desire anywhere in those sunless hills to fuel her ambition.

As an adaptation this is foundationally flawed (we're suspending our suspicion that it doesn't really make sense to do Shakespeare like this), but as an adaptation I can say I wouldn't have done it any different.

No Time to Die

My expectations were high because:

• Cary Fukunaga
• the runtime
• it's Daniel Craig's finale
• COVID delays gave them time to polish it up, and I figured this would relieve typical studio pressure on the director
• I saw one moment of one trailer that had several four-star ratings on the screen and some blurb like "A MASTERPIECE"

To me, this all pointed to a great Bond movie, deeper and darker and artsier than the rest. I expected grander scope and a more serious and profound tone than the historically shallow franchise.

I was disappointed. The only thing that set this one apart was the bitter end, which actually haunted me. Otherwise it pandered like the last few. My disappointment didn't take long to ramp up -- even the prologue, and especially soon after it, felt cheap. I can imagine a film in which Bond is a legendary agent, the villain is disturbed, the girl is worth a swoon, and everyone is still human. Casino Royale was the closest, although my memory of Quantum is dim, and it might compete. I mostly remember the Hollywood inauthenticity ratcheting with everyone's beloved Skyfall. Last I saw Quantum, okay, maybe it was forgettable, but I remember it felt so much more authentic. It felt like classic Bond -- not like I need a series of Oscar-winning villains one-upping the last, going higher and higher in meta-levels of this criminal organization while going higher and higher in abstracting what crime means to them. At a certain point it just feels stupid. I say this with love and frustration. At least, as I recall, Quantum was grounded, even if the villain was forgettable. Isn't the studio self-aware enough to modify this ridiculous trend of spacey villains? Forget Bond not feeling human -- at least his humanity is attempted, unlike these villains'. On the contrary, they're increasingly alien. This can work for some movies, but it just feels silly here. Sauron and Voldemort and Palpatine are alien, but those are fantasies, and the opposing forces are also alien. Their otherworldliness is inspiring. But we're supposed to connect with James, his flaws, and his romances. Whether or not this works, it sets a foil that makes the villains feel absurd. It isn't subtle. If the studio is aware, they must not care. Is Malek aware? Doesn't he feel silly?

Other things I said in other outlets:

"I don't think it was the worst Craig movie... I thought it would be subtler... There were a lot of cheap elements, which is to be expected to a degree with Bond, but I thought this one would be more mature and creative... The villains' parts feel overwrought at this point... The ending was a little heartbreaking to me. I'm kind of haunted by that image of him looking up at the missiles. Seeing Bond face death felt like I was facing death to a degree... If I bought his relationship with Madeline more, this movie would have been much more powerful. A lot of it centered around her, but for example my dad completely forgot she was in Spectre, so afterward he was like "who the hell was that girl, it was almost like they had a relationship before this movie!" Point is this movie relied too much on that relationship, but they hadn't sold it well enough to the audience I think. The movies since CR have been so underwhelming, I care more about CR characters than anything since. E.g. I almost care more about Felix than Madeline, just because he's reminiscent of CR. It's not necessarily Madeline's fault -- she was just the Bond girl for a less memorable period... I'm assuming the new 007 from this movie will be the new star of the series?... Hopefully it gets relevant again. Just a little sad it can't be Daniel Craig. I like him. They had four chances to let him live up to CR, but that never happened, and I don't think it's his fault."

The Departed

This was always one of my favorites. I still seem to like it a lot. It's entertaining like Sheephead and other complicated but thrilling card games -- they're brain-busters if you let them be, or you can just enjoy the ride. Sheephead and The Departed have never given me anything but a fun and exciting time, regardless what I've brought to the table intellectually. I loved both before I could follow either. The Departed is so energetic; I'm engaged for every minute of the 151. The music and humor and intensity drive. Everyone is intense. Almost every actor is awesome. Once I heard Jack Nicholson pulled down the average with an ostensibly flimsy accent, but I don't get that; it seemed consistent to me (whether or not it was accurate), and he seemed classic. Vera Farmiga is really my only issue. It's not that I mind her in the movie as a whole, being the only female, but I don't really like her acting performance, including the accent, which definitely seems inconsistent. The movie would elevate with an authentic woman. The writer must not know how to write women, given the minimal quantity and quality, or not care. Costello's object/whore is written better than Farmiga. So apparently neither her acting nor his writing helps the other.

But the men are all iconic in my moviegoing history.

My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away

I definitely don't understand the mass acclaim for this and Spirited Away (another recent viewing). They don't make sense to me -- I don't mean as narratives, which are deliberately surreal, but as movies: I don't understand why someone would make this and why someone would watch this. I don't understand the appeal. I mean I certainly didn't mind them, and maybe as a child in Japan I would have relished the humor and drama. But the ostensibly universal appeal and acclaim are lost on me -- at best it was a pleasant visual escape and a children's movie. I consider myself about as patient as moviegoers go, and I felt impatient for anything interesting or inspiring. I must conclude I'm just not the audience -- which is confusing as these films are thoroughly renowned in my culture, and I must be in about the 98th percentile for suitability to watch them. How did American critics and general Americans experience them different from I? What am I missing? They also may be slightly dated. I'd just expect myself to be relatively attentive to their value, in a society that loves them, but I really didn't get much.

The Godfather and Part II

I'm curious why people think Part II is equal to or greater than the first. Their greatness doesn't seem comparable -- the first seems so much more iconic and influential and inspiring. I say the first properly contains Michael's arc; the second is like viewing -x^2 from 1 to 5: it's depressing. You'll grasp its character if you view it -1 to 1, and you won't feel the need to check further out -- certainly not for longer than you were viewing it from -1 to 1. Maybe a quick peek as to a squashed spider in your hand. Part II seemed great but grim. All familiar characters are declining in spirit, and no new characters rescue the sinking. Hyman Roth and Frank Pentangeli, for being (as I recall) the primary new characters, seem so forgettable relative to all we met in the first. Younger Vito lacks personality. I heard Pentangeli was supposed to be Clemenza before Clemenza's actor bowed out -- that would have helped a little, especially amidst cuts to younger Clemenza. Still, younger Vito's story lacks spark and everyone in Michael's story is sinking slowly and surely. It's just grim, without all the electricity of the first. It's like when Boogie Nights hits the 80s and everyone gets arrogant and coked out and depressed. Here it's 1958 and Michael is shriveling. How could I call this nearly as thrilling as Brando's accent, Sonny getting swiss-cheesed, Michael making his bones, Luca being put to sleep...? Maybe it's superior in some ways I didn't identify, but how could I possibly prefer it?

The prequel bits seem too distant. It feels like a separate story, a different character. Prequels are most effective when you feel the connection and directionality relative to the familiar -- otherwise in themselves they're usually just a less interesting story. They need that connection. I didn't feel any connection between De Niro's Vito and Brando's. It felt like a separate and less interesting story. I also didn't feel the magnetism and respect toward younger Vito that defines his "Godfather" nature, according to the novel and as upheld by the latter Vito. Here I admit potential bias in being far better acquainted with the material of the first movie, through the movie and its PS2 incarnation. I don't feel much affection for De Niro as Vito.

I have a history of feeling depressed when faced with portraits of an older person soon after seeing portraits of him/her younger. This happened mildly in Boogie Nights as mentioned, and severely when I was getting obsessed with Bob Dylan and would feel sick listening to his newer records. After a while I refused to listen to or view photos of or acknowledge the existence of Bob Dylan as anything older than 30 years. I've gotten over that, for him, but feel a bit of it reflecting on Part I Michael vs. Part II Michael. If Coppola and Puzo had written Part II as anything but a continuous descent, I may feel differently. Why did it have to be that way? I haven't read or seen The Road, but I imagine at least feeling human connection with the characters to justify all the grim. But I, like Kay, can't really feel love for Michael in Part II.