On the Quality of Things, #18
State of the Cinema

by Wade Stuckwisch
illustration by Jacob Chabot

I just watched the Golden Globes and man, I am going to have that sad country guitar lick from Brokeback Mountain stuck in my head all week. It's not going to be a fun week.

I'm fairly certain that, the last time I reviewed movies in this column, I was a fresh-faced, bright-eyed optimistic newcomer to Tallahassee and the MFA film program at FSU. God, what a simp I was. Now, after sixteen months of eighty-hour weeks, I feel a little bit like Jake Gyllenhaal's character in Jarhead. ("I got lost on my way to a paying job, sir!") To be honest, it's not all that bad--I mean, Jake never got to kill anyone; at least I've made movies. I'm probably just a little more sardonic than usual because we just selected this year's thesis directors. Only four to six of the approximately twenty-four MFA students at FSU get to write and direct a thesis film, and the rest of the class serves in the remaining key positions on those films (cinematographer, editor, producer, etc.). This means that a majority of students weather a grueling sixteen months of the program just to see their beloved thesis pitch ideas tossed aside, and end up being very, very bitter. I really have no reason to be bitter, personally. I came to school to learn to be a Director of Photography, and almost by sheer luck I got the DP position on a very exciting project. I do now, however, have to listen to my fellow classmates bitch, backstab, curse the faculty that failed to recognize their genius, and generally be miserable, irritating people for the next eight months. Some students did get stuck with demanding positions that have little to do with what they want to do in the industry, which is a definite flaw in the system. Then again, considering my brief experience with the professional film industry, I would say that 85-90% of the industry is working in areas other than what they really dream of doing. Welcome to The Suck.

But the good news is, I only have to work forty hours a week on pre-production for the next five weeks, so I actually have the time to write my column. Last year at Oscar time I had seen some movies, but I was so burned out and unimpressed that I didn't really feel like I had that much to say about anything. Besides, with a few exceptions (Closer, Sideways, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) last year's movies weren't all that exciting. I mean The Aviator was pretty good but I don't think I loved it as much as some other people. And movies like Million Dollar Baby and Finding Neverland were pretty forgettable, in my humble opinion. This year, on the other hand, I feel like I might actually have strong feelings about some of the movies I've seen recently. Not all of them are Oscar caliber, but at least - thankfully - there are more than three.

Jarhead: The main problem with making a movie about a bunch of Marines going insane with boredom and (spoiler alert) not killing anyone is that it doesn't exactly make for a lot of excitement. But that's the point, now, isn't it? I'm not sure how I feel about a movie-going experience that's rooted in mind-numbing, maddening boredom, but I feel like Jarhead is an important movie for that reason. After all, not everyone reads books, and Hollywood has been selling the operatic drama of war for generations, even in "anti-war" films like Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket. This is probably as close as a Hollywood audience will ever get to the feeling of modern warfare as practiced by the US Army. I guess if Hollywood wants to look for more exciting stories, they're going to have to start making movies about the people we're blowing up. Also, as an aside, I would like to mention that cinematographer Roger Deakins is God. See Jarhead just for the burning oil field sequences, if anything.

Walk The Line: If Hollywood had screwed the Johnny Cash story up, I would be out for blood. Luckily, Walk The Line is a tremendously powerful love story. I had my doubts that Joaquin Phoenix, though very talented, could pull off the difficult role of portraying the Man In Black, especially considering the physical dissimilarities and the singing. Once you see the movie, though, you begin to understand that this film never would have worked if it hadn't been Phoenix's voice on the soundtrack. So much of Cash's personality and emotion comes out in Phoenix's musical performances that lip-synching the real thing never would have done the fictional portrayal justice. Reese Witherspoon is also terrific in balancing June Carter's comical stage presence with the more turbulent side of her backstage life. A lot of stuff from this movie seemed like material I had seen before; the drugged-out rock star's redemption has been done a million times, and the childhood trauma stuff seemed just as contrived in Walk The Line as it did in last year's otherwise wonderful Ray. The love story, on the other hand, cannot be rivaled. I wonder whether the ending is anything like what happened in real life, but it's a good ending for the movie, so who cares? Excellent flick.

Syriana: When I saw this movie, I found it alternatively confusing and boring. At every twist and turn, it seemed like the filmmakers were hinting at things that they felt compelled to not fully explain, and by the end I was so confounded that I could not believe that the final events were credible. That is, until I met up after Christmas with a friend of mine in the armed services, who explained (from a technical perspective) exactly what happened. "Wouldn't we get busted for a thing like that?" I asked. "Not necessarily," he said with conviction. Regardless, although Syriana presents an interesting parable about modern government, espionage and the petroleum industry, it lacks the heart one would find in a similar film like Traffic. Somewhere there must be a non-fiction book that presents this crisis better than a fictional drama like Syriana could.

Good Night, and Good Luck: I constantly marvel at the phenomenon that is George Clooney. He acts, he directs, he writes (well, co-writes, in this case) and he was once voted "Sexiest Man Of The Year." It's not fair that one person should hog so much talent. Clooney's feature film directing debut, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, was enjoyable and visually exciting, but showed a director who was trying to be creative but still learning the craft. Good Night, and Good Luck, on the other hand, has a pace and visual style that I would venture to say is unique. It feels almost like a documentary, due to the real-time flow of the action and the edginess of the camera work. I don't think there's ever been a documentary that's been as carefully crafted as Good Night, and Good Luck is, however, and of course no documentary has the benefit of a cast of professional actors. The performances are terrific, the story is just as vital and compelling as it was fifty years ago, and the execution is matchless. Hands down one of the best films of the year.

Wolf Creek: Nothing beats a good scary movie, which is why it's a shame since so many attempts out there are so abysmally awful. But horror movies keep making money, so Hollywood will keep picking them up and distributing them, even if they suck out loud. That's probably why a halfway decent horror film like Wolf Creek manages to get so much good press. The plot is, to echo every critic in America, very similar to the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but to its credit, the terror in Wolf Creek is a little more gritty and realistic. There are some genuine terrifying moments in this movie, and they don't derive from cheap scares like things or people jumping into frame unexpectedly. Perhaps the appeal of Wolf Creek is that it's a horror movie of a rare breed: realistic and believable, with characters that actually do smart things when presented with a crisis, and are sympathetic enough that you actually care whether they live or die. Personally I feel like most slasher clichés have been done to death, and I'm more interested in a movie like Wolf Creek that wants me to be afraid with the characters rather than relish in their demises.

Narnia - The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe: One thing that immediately stands out about the movie adaptation of C.S. Lewis's books is the way it embraces the World War II backdrop, even though it's a kids' movie. I mean, how many other kids' movies would open with the Nazis bombing London? Seriously, there's children carrying swords and killing shit in this movie! But it's the looming crisis of fascism that informs the conflict in Narnia between good and evil, and makes everything so startlingly real. When you see the violence as a response to Hitler marching across Europe, it's a powerful message. It's a great adventure story, and also a good object lesson for kids to teach them to never, ever trust anyone from Narnia. Some people seemed to think the Christian imagery was heavy-handed, but I felt like Lewis's rational and humanist approach to Christianity as myth (not that I'm saying Christianity is a myth) says a lot more about the positive power of religion than the more dogmatic messages that dominate most religious media. I'm looking forward to the sequels.

Hostel: Speaking of the usual sort of horror movie, there's Hostel. About the only thing unique in Hostel is the nature of the annoying main characters that we enjoy watching kill or get killed. Instead of boorish teenaged jocks unable to control their sexual urges, we follow a group of three post-college backpackers (two American, one Icelandic) letting their penises guide them across Europe. And instead of running into some demonic or undead revenant, our heroes run into an underground Slovakian business that allows rich foreign guests to torture and kill for a price. Yeah, so the killer isn't some sort of dumb ghost, and the backpackers' hedonism mirrors the sick desires of the psychos. I guess that's a sort of social relevance that transcends the usual slasher pic. On the other hand, the gore is not nearly as grisly and relentless as promised - although by no means tame - and, goddammit (here come some big time spoilers), not only does one of the jerk-off Americans escape, he gets revenge on one of the killers! Fuck that noise, man - it's not necessary for everyone to die in a good slasher flick (although it is preferred), but there's no way one of the kids should get to exact revenge on the killer in any meaningful way, unless it's a sequel or a terrifying character twist like in 28 Days Later. Where's the terror in revenge? Hostel didn't even have a really good kill, as in, "Ha ha ha, didja see how he killed that guy? With a fire hydrant? Awesome!" Lame.

Munich: Back to the Oscar contenders. I've had my issues with Spielberg over the years, especially when he was alternating claptraps like Amistad with brain-dead action flicks like Jurassic Park III. I've never really liked directors that value form over content (one of the problems I've always had with Hitchcock), and Steven Spielberg is far too talented a director to run around fishing for dollars or Oscars with formulaic material. Many of his more recent films, however, have indicated to me that Spielberg is back to making movies that really matter to him as a filmmaker. What better story, then, than the senseless deaths of the Israeli team at the Munich Olympics, or the decision that followed to exact revenge on the organization that plotted the attack? Political intrigue is a hot topic in movies today, as evidenced by movies like Syriana, Traffic and even Fahrenheit 9/11. Spielberg is smart enough in Munich to remember that the power of narrative is to explore the emotional realities of a character, rather than to colorfully package a political message for the masses. The twists and turns are fascinating, and the political and philosophical questions raised are perplexing, but the movie never loses focus on the human element. I think Munich is easily one of Spielberg's best films, and no doubt one of the best films of the year. Too bad then that, if the Golden Globes are an indicator, this is a year for love and not war…

Brokeback Mountain: Contrary to "South Park," not all independent films involve pudding. All joking aside, I think the greatest achievement of Brokeback Mountain is that it takes a topic that, superficially, sounds like a bad joke - gay cowboys raising sheep in Wyoming - and makes it a successful, dramatic, moving love story. Too much melodrama could easily kill a story like this, and Ang Lee is very careful to never overdo things. Unfortunately, I think this movie's approach is a little too subtle, and the scope is a little too broad. Even though we witness a romance between the two main characters that spans over twenty years, in that time it never feels like we really get to know the characters and what makes them so special to each other. There are strong hints, but I think they get lost in the long timeline of the film. This is definitely the best thing I've ever seen Heath Ledger in, and his character is, frustratingly, a fascinating enigma of conflicting emotions. The subtleties are growing on me, but it's all still a little melodramatic for my tastes. In a year with films like Good Night and Good Luck, Munich, and probably a slew of other great films I haven't even seen, it's tough to figure out how Brokeback Mountain has developed a reputation as strong as it has.

The New World: Terrence Malik makes long, boring movies. Sometimes, as in the case of Badlands, they can be fascinating and epic. Other times, as in the case of Days of Heaven, they can be beautiful but meandering and ultimately pointless. (I know it's supposed to be a classic, but to me Days of Heaven looks like Malik got a bunch of pretty shots and then forgot to tell the story.) The New World is unbelievably slow, and indulges in a lot of voiceover narration that is poetic but ultimately unnecessary. It's also possibly Terrence Malik's best and most complete film. It's an amazing story in the way it represents the significance of these strange people coming together and creating a new world from an observational standpoint. The pace is ponderous, but the story is packed - almost every shot feels like a scene unto itself. If you're not a fan of Malik's work, give The New World a chance and you may be surprised how much you enjoy it. Just be sure to bring coffee.

Capote: The trouble with biopics is that the subject matter tends to limit the creative freedoms of the writer and director. Because Truman Capote is a real author who really did write In Cold Blood, the filmmakers more or less have the story dictated to them by history and public record. And because the audience may not know that story, the pieces that spell out the history of the character often dominate the film's story at the expense of developing the character. Capote is an interesting character, no doubt, and his methods in writing In Cold Blood do beg many pertinent questions about the relationship between author and subject. But the things that make Capote tick are only hinted at throughout the film, and historical trinkets like the fact that his assistant went on to write To Kill A Mockingbird seem more important to the filmmakers than really getting into what laid beneath Capote's jocular public persona. Capote the film is far more dry and undistinctive than the titular author, or Philip Seymour Hoffman's portrayal of him. I think a stylized look at a figure, like The Aviator's portrayal of Howard Hughes, does more to portray the real significance of a character's story than a snapshot like Capote.

Match Point: Woody Allen, in London? Has America fallen so far? Actually, it's nice to see Woody indulge in a change of scenery, and it gives him an excuse to make good use of the local talent, such as Ewen Bremner. Match Point begins as an interesting tale about ambition and class mobility, but I can't help but be bothered by the similarities between the last half of this movie and one of Woody Allen's previous (and best) movies, Crimes and Misdemeanors. In fact, I don't think it's unfair to say that the last half of Match Point IS Crimes and Misdemeanors, right down to the eventual resolution and the Dostoyevsky references. I know Hitchcock remade one of his own films (The Man Who Knew Too Much), but this felt more like a writer trying to dig himself out of a hole by falling back on a previous success. Allen's dialogue feels strangely stiff as well, as if he felt naturalism in dialogue is unnecessary in the British Isles. It's probably not as bad a movie as some other critics (especially in the UK) seem to think it is, but it's probably not as good as you've heard, either.

-Published on The Great Hoboes of New York on February 12, 2006.