Inland Empire

It got too incoherent too fast. I gave up. I don't think it felt so hopeless in Mulholland Drive, my only other Lynch experience. This felt familiar after that -- actress playing actress, shifting identities -- but this felt out of control. I'm sure there are some threads of sense for the braiding, but I don't feel motivated -- it was too much. Too much chaos, not enough payoff. Mulholland Drive balanced these better. I believe I like and respect this movie, and most of the time my interest endured said chaos, but I really expected a more powerful experience. The experience lost its gravity too early. It needed to keep reeling in the viewer, honestly, building more trust before betraying it.

Maybe I was watching surreal movies too young, learning to succumb too soon. Often I've given up on difficult movies before others who are less acquainted with such movies, and I lose a lot. Often I fail to make sense of movies, possibly because I learned to give up too young. I gave up on identity-shifting movies like Mulholland Drive and I'm Thinking of Ending Things before my viewing partners, and missed some enlightenment thereby. I'm curiously bad at making sense of movies -- curious given my interest and experience.

All I'd really heard of Inland Empire was, from two independent and trusty sources, that it was terrifying. I'd seen Mulholland Drive a couple times since early high school when it scared the shit out of me and I composed one of my first movie reviews ever: "it went from dream to wet dream to nightmare". Mulholland Drive was formative for me. Peter Travers told me to succumb, and maybe, for the next decade of movies, I took him too seriously.

I didn't think Inland Empire was that terrifying. It was certainly nervy and grotesque, but, adolescence notwithstanding, I seem to remember Mulholland Drive being scarier, probably largely because it kept the viewer honest rather than severing all empathy. Laura Dern just seemed like a tired new iteration of Naomi Watts, and the incoherence onslaught came overswift.

I'm glad some threads connected near the end -- not sensibly, perhaps, but self-referential enough to ponder. I needed more of that. I also thought the setup in the first hour was effective, and could have gone somewhere. It really didn't.

This movie felt off-the-rails. It was a strong experience, but not a deep enough. It also lacks the sheen of Mulholland Drive, so it felt less beautiful and less impactful. I'm certainly interested though -- interested enough to finish up this post right now so I can go read about it for a while.

Bad movies

Films I Have Seen

I haven't seen many legendarily bad movies. The bad movies I've seen are mostly throwaway kids movies when I was a kid. I've seen some bad movies as an adult, but not "worst films of all time" or "so bad it's good" territory. I'm not sure I really believe in that anyway -- I mean I'm sure it could be interesting and ironic, but I doubt I could really enjoy that fare. I do believe some people enjoy it. But I think usually when I've seen bad movies it has felt soul-crushing. Either way, I doubt I'd prioritize it.

As a side note, here was one of my worst film experiences as an adult, of a film whose critical reviews are not even that bad: Review: Razor's Edge. I still don't understand that experience.

I think the only movies I've seen on Wikipedia's List of films considered the worst are the Friedberg/Seltzer parodies and Batman & Robin (which I didn't mind as a kid).

I might add more thoughts when I get a chance.

Zach Snyder's Justice League

I watched its four hours in maybe two. At some point in the last couple years I scrubbed through the theatrical cut. Of course I'm no student of the theatrical cut, but I didn't notice much difference, for my purposes. Personal and artistic takeaways were roughly equivalent -- just cheap thrill for a lifelong movielover. I guess I could tell which was which if I blind-tested them back to back? Probably just by Snyder's general grunge. But in the scope of my life it'd be splitting hairs -- both are so insignificant the differences hardly matter. It's still all interesting to me -- I can't help it -- but I can't call either movie very good.

I'm consistently disappointed by superhero movies (as mentioned recently). I'm not sure I've ever seen a superhero movie I'd call really good. The Dark Knight was supposed to be the one, but my last viewing was quite underwhelming. I think part of the trouble is we're trying to make immature material mature. The comic books were written for a different audience than these movies, and the translation doesn't work. I'm not trying to say comic books are intrinsically, universally immature -- but there's something about them that doesn't translate to blockbuster Hollywood. Example: I was watching an ostensibly dark, mature moment in The Dark Knight, and I noticed the ears on his suit, and it looked stupid, and I felt stupid and confused for watching this, which tore me out of the immersion. Some of this is just ridiculous. The comic books were probably never intended to be translated like this.

It's like Peter Jackson's Hobbit trilogy, where they tried to make a mature blockbuster epic out of a children's fairy tale. Everything is supposed to be epic these days. Not everything can be epic. Some things will die before they're epic. Tolkien's Hobbit wasn't designed for epic. Maybe these comic books weren't either. It's just silly to treat them so -- and as far as I'm aware, not a single great movie has come of all these colossally-expensive attempts.

But will I keep trying? It's hard to resist. I'm so interested.

Note: Wikipedia's take on the differences between the two cuts sounded as biased as anything I've ever read on Wikipedia. I guess I'll trust Snyder's cut should be considered more authentic, but boy was Whedon vilified for (again, for my purposes) vaguely equivalent cheap entertainment.

Batman Begins and The Dark Knight

Less mature than I remembered. My expectations for superhero movies are consistently too high. I still get excited about them, which is interesting given the consistent mediocrity. I might even say I like the genre, without loving a single movie in it. I get excited, and they're all less subtle and mature than I expect. This must reflect some difference between me and the mass audiences obsessed with these movies. The similarity is the excitement; the difference is the fulfillment. It's largely about the writing -- I'm attentive to writing, which is a weak point for this genre. The Dark Knight with exactly the same story but better dialogue may have been great. Instead it's childish.

The Dark Knight was probably better than Batman Begins, although I'm more attracted to the idea of Batman Begins. The Dark Knight has too much chaos, not enough Batman. It's centrifugal; it needs more digging into the Batman character. But Batman Begins is probably not original enough or epic enough. Both are stunted by juvenile dialogue.

Even back in high school I wasn't impressed with The Dark Knight Rises, so I don't feel the need to watch it now. There are ways to make superhero movies feel real; you can manipulate the materials of reality without affecting its dynamics; and these movies fail, because the dynamics don't feel authentic. This isn't how people would react to singularities like Batman and the Joker. You need a good "straight man" type -- people reacting to absurd situations the way you would. But these movies are unrealistic, ignoring the singular characters: not even the extras are believable. It doesn't feel real. I can't empathize. It's all superhero fiction.

West Side Story (2021)

Ansel Elgort's puffy, sleepy face ruined it for me. I just couldn't buy a relationship between one so lifeless and the other so full of life. This is largely a love story, of instant, intense infatuation. That's Romeo and Juliet and that's West Side Story. Such infatuation isn't credible when one severely underwhelms the other's energy. She wouldn't care about him. He'd be like Chino. This isn't so in the 1961 film. There, Tony has a spark in his eyes, spring in his step, big smile, facial muscles capable of expressing emotions.

I wonder what the rest of the cast thought. We're all so multi-talented and vivacious, and then there's Ansel. It's really a bummer. It's a bigger bummer for the romance than anything, but also a bummer for his other scenes. He doesn't fit in, and it blunts the whole movie.

Everyone else is excellent: Maria, Bernardo, Riff, Anita. They are inspiring and energetic. I got the feeling there was less dancing this time around; I could have used more of it.

I wouldn't mind sleepy Ansel in other contexts. Sometimes I idolize that archetype. But it doesn't work here. Would it work in any musical theater? Why does it seem this obvious incompatibility went unnoticed?

The only other flaw that really stuck out was some confused tone/mood. There were moments the emotions were poorly guided and I felt confused or awkward. I know that's what real life is like -- lots of ambiguity -- and some movies pull it off intentionally, but here it felt accidental. It felt like I was supposed to be swept up in a tide that was baffled by destructive interference. Movies can be sweeping or ambiguous, and pull either off, if it's subtle. I think this one fumbled a few times between the two. It wasn't a huge deal though. Maybe wakeful Ansel would've been enough to secure the sweep: the final bristle. 

West Side Story (1961)

I'd rather see it on the stage, not just for purity, but hoping to shed some old Hollywood cheesiness. I'm not sure exactly what it is though; maybe the adaptation was taut; maybe it was more technical (sound engineering, etc). Maybe the acting was more authentic on the stage, or at least felt more authentic in that consciously staged environment (see my recent post on Wit and adapting stage to screen). The movie felt cheesy and dated; I wonder what Robbins/Bernstein/Sondheim/Laurents thought of it. I guess Robbins co-directed, so it must not be too contrary to the play. I may be more forgiving of these elements on the stage. I was disappointed in the races and nationalities they had playing the Puerto Ricans. Hopefully the 2021 film did better; I wonder about the original Broadway cast.

It's strange to review adaptations having never experienced the source material, nor other adaptations of it. It's like reading the Bible in only English: to what degree am I getting the Bible and to what degree a translation? The translator is deeply involved; so is the adaptor to film. I considered skipping the 1961 film and going straight to the 2021, but I'm glad I didn't: adaptations are often influenced by earlier adaptations of the same source, especially earlier ones with profound cultural influence. Amazon's new Tolkien series is unapologetically responding to Peter Jackson's trilogy; it can't avoid it; the earlier is too influential; Jackson's Minas Tirith is culturally canonized just like Tolkien's, so Amazon must respond to both if they intend to tap the same popularity; ignoring the earlier adaptation will alienate an enormous viewership (probably a bad example: imagine a LotR adaptation casting actors to play the main hobbits who are the ages the main hobbits are supposed to be. It would probably upset lots of people at first, it would feel blasphemous given the legacy of the Jackson movies, and those familiar with the source would have to justify it to everyone). The 1961 West Side Story is very close, in time and directorship, to the musical, so I figured I wouldn't have to worry so much about liberal interpretation. I'm guessing it's pretty close, barring some technical details, and maybe acting?

It's interesting when experiencing a second adaptation sheds light on the source, when you've never experienced the source. This happens by exposing inconsistencies between the first adaptation and the source. Maybe the 2021 film will point to the original musical by defying elements of the 1961. I'll never see West Side Story on stage in the '50s; anything I'll ever see will be an adaptation; but seeing 10 adaptations, centripetally orbiting, would let me construct some semblance of the source. I'm reminded of this theory of symbols pointing to the unspeakable, maybe from Paul Tillich? It also sounds like inferring the properties of black holes by the behavior around them, direct study (and safe return) being impossible. I'm sure I could think of many more examples of an influential entity that is only experienced indirectly, and the more angles you get, the better you understand that which you can't access. This doesn't quite work for Bible translations though, since many are not translated directly from the original languages, and anyway, haven't we lost many of the original documents anyway, if there were any to begin with for some of these books, and rely largely on oratory history? This idea of gaining the source by observing its satellites doesn't work as well when the satellites have their own satellites. Do any of Jupiter's moons have moons? Actually, maybe it'd be like observing the planets in our solar system to understand the black hole at the center of the Milky Way; instead we just find ourselves talking a lot about the sun. It'd be better to observe suns in our galaxy than planets in our solar system.

I'm ambivalent about Bernstein's score. I'm interested in him. But I can't say I loved it. I don't love John Williams, and this sounded kind of similar. I'm far more interested in Bernstein than John Williams. But both seem to embody this sort of pop-classical, not like Lorie Line or Dustin O'Halloran... but maybe compare the Jurassic Park theme with the "tonight, tonight" theme. Compare both with "music of the night" from Phantom of the Opera. All seem to be extremely popular and celebrated, but I don't quite get it. I don't love the music from Star Wars, including the main fanfare. I don't really understand this classical theatrical stuff. I love stuff from each component -- classical, theatrical, film -- but I'll have to hear more Bernstein, and maybe more Williams, and figure out what's going on there. It's almost trying to be pop but it's too formal. It works for formal settings like "Imperial March", but not for common pathos. I guess I still like the West Side Story music, but not as much as I expected, mainly because it doesn't sink in -- it has a dated formality. I'm trying to be more precise, but I'm not sure. I liked "Simple Song" from Bernstein's Mass, last I heard it. It had a modern harmonic sensibility. West Side Story is sort of trying to be poppy and modern and affecting, with its I and IV chords, but the melodies don't quite land. There are far older pieces that are formal and affecting but not dated. So it's not just a symptom of its age. Maybe I'm not a huge fan of lydian. West Side Story liberally employs it, and I think Jurassic Park and Star Wars do as well. Oh! Also Howard Shore's Lord of the Rings. I love some of it, but if I really look at the music, some of the melodies that are supposed to be really affecting aren't for me (hobbit theme). I never loved that score as much as I wanted to, and it's certainly not for lack of love of the context. It's in the music itself, the melodies and chords. It's formal, older men trying to do pop, perhaps. Maybe they just aren't hip. Hip is a real thing. Old formal doing old formal is one thing, but old formal doing hip is tough. I don't know if that's what's really going on in West Side Story. I'm trying to figure it out. There are certainly classical artists through history whose work stabs forth to modern hearts. My now-tired example is Holst's "Jupiter", but I'm sure you can imagine classical artists in all media with modern or timeless sensibilities. I'm not sure West Side Story transcends its era so well. The music didn't seize me, at least not the stuff that seemed intended to seize me (the multiple love themes). Les Mis did better, as far as musical theater before my lifetime goes. Jazz musicals have some successes too. The music of West Side Story interested me, certainly. But it didn't hit me like great popular music does, or even like passionate classical music with modern pathos.

I want to see the 2021 film though, so we'll see how these ideas evolve.

I liked it, I respect it, I wish I could see it on the stage, I plan to watch the 2021 film, and I'm reserving judgment on Bernstein. I liked the dancing a lot. I'd love to see it on stage. It's all good, just not the joy I'm accustomed to with theater.

Kanye

Unorganized notes on College Dropout and Graduation:

It's impossible for me to experience these fresh, given I know lyrics to so many entire songs. But there was some freshness ("Homecoming" is about Chicago the whole time!!). I hadn't listened deeply to these albums since middle school or high school, just a few tracks on and off. They remind me how down-to-earth Kanye once was. Still, even in the few years between these two, I feel like I can hear the fame softening and corrupting his verses. But his mother's death is probably the turning point, seen in 808s. As far as I recall, Graduation were his last consistently solid verses. Well, what about MBDTF? It's really hard for me to compare all these albums, since I grew up with them, and haven't marathoned them all. People love MBDTF. I don't think I did. I'm not sure I have the stamina to marathon them all. Nor do I need to be a Kanye scholar. But it is tempting...

Indeed I'm mostly in this to connect with my past selves. I grew up with him. Listening back, I can see why I liked it. Unfortunately he went a little off-the-rails and his quality foundered, so I haven't kept up with him closely, and his current output doesn't match my current taste very well. But I'll always be interested in him, I think, and I'll always have that first handful of albums.

I've only heard Late Registration thoroughly once since high school, but hearing College Dropout and Graduation now, it aligns in theory that it would be a peak for me. College Dropout seems gritty and honest but a little unpolished; Graduation seems a little too polished and privileged; Late Registration, I think, splits the difference. Graduation is a little too glossy, but I love it. I'd love to see it live, perhaps as much as any album from anybody. It's still grounded Kanye, but thoroughly famous.