The Tracey Fragments

Liked this film, Bruce McDonald's new one, based on local writer/ UBC prof Maureen Medved's novel. Formally adventurous, in the best way; unlike van Sant's unnecessarily tricked-up Paranoid Park, it uses it's various "gimmicks" - a shifting kaleidoscope of multiple screens, fragmented images, layered soundtrack, and non-sequential time signature - to richly illustrate the inner life of its unhappy 15-year old female narrator, Tracey Berkowitz (van Sant's film, by contrast, seems to be disguising an absence of any real feeling with its overly aestheticized approach; it doesn't know how to depict its character's inner life, so it tries to dazzle us with images of his outer life, to an ultimately deadening effect). Not quite a feature's length worth of story here, and various "bits" in the film (the psychiatrist - a cross-dressing Bucky Haight - and Lance from Toronto, shown above) don't amount to as much as they could, but the moments that work work beautifully, the film is ALWAYS compelling to watch, and the world needs more emotionally honest movies for fucked up, suffering adolescents, since they generally are left to fend for themselves and can use the reassurance that they aren't alone. Plays again tomorrow at the Cinematheque. I haven't seen a Bruce McDonald movie since Hard Core Logo, which I love; it's nice to see that he's continuing in a sort of punk spirit (even sharing the rights to his work, with Creative Commons licensing). Yay team.

There Will Be Blood

I feel compelled to weigh in.

I was very excited to see There Will Be Blood this afternoon. I've found things to admire in all of PT Anderson's films, was eager to see what his first project in over five years would look like, and was very much looking forward to seeing what Daniel Day Lewis -- who was compelling throughout the vastly disappointing Gangs of New York -- would do with the central character of a ruthless oil man. The source material - the work of muckracking American socialist Upton Sinclair - sounded interesting, too; I'm currently venturing into the book, the trade paperback reissue of which may be the best net result of this movie having been made. Of course, the buzz for it is good; There Will Be Blood is the sort of film middlebrow critics will buy into more than happily, since their standard of comparison (eg., whatever else is at the mall at the moment) is so abysmally low.

I don't have that problem. And frankly, I can't recommend this movie. Day Lewis is terrific as oilman Plainview, Jonny-Radiohead-Greenwood's score is eccentric and compelling -- really exciting at times, in the choices he makes -- and the film is beautifully shot; the feeling of anticipation that it will develop into something staggering stays with you for at least the first hour, as it sets up its business with great craft, period authenticity, and an admirably slow and restrained pace. The peak, about midway through, is where the lonely Plainview confesses to a stranger who claims to be his brother that he has almost no fellow-feeling for the people around him, that he's entirely a creature of hate and ambition, wanting no one else to succeed but himself. This taps into something sociopathic, ugly, and very much present - though seldom honestly spoken about - in the contemporary condition and, given that it is almost a cry of pain and self-loathing on Plainview's part, is quite moving. There was a shudder of self-recognition and compassion that ran through me at that moment, and it almost felt like I'd learned something about myself - the only moment of surprise or self-reflection that the film really inspired.

Alas, it was all downhill from there. Up to that point, I was not entirely interested in or convinced by the peripheral characters, most of whom (including Plainview's adopted son, who seems like he is supposed to be a central figure) are very thinly developed - but I was confident that something would emerge in the final hour that would actually DO something with the material, to justify the investiture of faith and time. A character, after all -- however interesting a portrayal of "American ambition" as Plainview may be - is not the same thing as a story, and I expected a narrative to develop that I would care about or learn from, or at least be INVOLVED in, dramatically. Maybe even something that had relevance to the current state of the world, where we see the impact of Plainview's ambition on the community.

No such luck. There are various plot developments in the second half of the film, but none really seem to amount to anything than reiterating what we've already come to understand about the single central character. The "brother" is dispatched, underscoring Plainview's isolation and mistrust. The relationship with his so-called son goes through some changes, but because we never for a minute feel anything for the character - who exists solely to shed light on his father's cruelty - we don't really care; there's a big scene where Plainview informs his son, with evil glee, that he's really an orphan, but other than dashing any hopes we might have that Plainview might redeem himself, it falls surprisingly flat, since the kid seems a nonentity throughout. There are subplots involving Standard Oil and a pipeline that equally amount to nothing much at all, seem like dramatic business that Anderson is inserting to fill out his film, because he has nothing else on offer. Only two scenes, after Plainview's confession of hate, pack any emotional punch, where the oilman is blackmailed into subordinating himself to a corrupt and ambitious preacher, and where he gets his revenge; but while these moments are entertaining -- the audience was laughing aloud during both scenes, though the comedy may have been unintended -- they also carry with them this sinking awareness that the faith and hope with which you have been waiting for the film to actually amount to something have been squandered: that "this is it," no story, no theme, just, in the words of Homer Simpson, "a bunch of stuff that happened." (And a great performance by Daniel Day Lewis).

Unlike No Country for Old Men, I actually expected to like this film. I'm quite disappointed, and eager to simply forget it. Maybe it's time to start avoiding the multiplexes again...

Edited to add: THERE WILL BE SPOILERS. Proceed into the comments section, featuring input by film critic and VIFC/Cineamatheque projectionist Jack Vermee, only if you've seen the film or don't care about having plot details ruined. (Really, if you have interest in the movie, I don't recommend going further).

Delays, Movies, etc

So I've not been blogging much. If anyone is actually waiting, watching, feeling impatient and annoyed, I admit that I still haven't gotten to Blake Nelson, Keith Parry, or Bev Davies -- other than what already saw print in the Nerve Magazine, that is; I've had too much going on, pieces for pay, commitments to friends, family stuff, etc. If it makes you feel better, I also owe Razorcake a couple of pieces I've long been promising (my Rebel Spell interview will run in their next issue). There's other stuff I'm working on that I can't go into at the moment. Which leaves us here -- me, you, and my blog. I have the time, but not the energy or inclination, for transcribing tape, so in lieu of that, let's consider a few upcoming movies, shall we?

I'll be seeing Todd Haynes' remarkable and creepy film, Safe, at the Cinematheque, this week. Anyone interested in cinema should see it, though there's a chance it will annoy the hell out of you (friends of mine sometimes have that reaction, and I don't think less of them for it, though I do think MORE of the film for this). It's about an upper-middle-class woman (Julianne Moore, in the role of her career) who becomes "chemically sensitive" -- "allergic to the 20th century," I believe is the line. Her family indulge her, suspecting she's just gone loopy, but her insistence that she is sick becomes the beginning of a sort of rebellion, which leads her to a New Age self-help retreat (which is really more than you should know, already, so if this catches you a virgin to the film, just go and see it, without reading anything else on it, okay?). Audiences reacted in such different ways when the film initially ran at Sundance - some badly misunderstanding what Haynes intended - that he actually changed later prints of the film; there's a one minute sequence where Moore and husband briefly consider the home of the leader of the retreat in the second, which was used for the Japanese video release, as well as post-Sundance US showings. Not sure which version the Cinematheque will show. I think I can safely describe this as the most important and exciting American film of the 1990's - I certainly value it more than any of the work by Jim Jarmusch, John Sayles, or Gregg Araki that I'm fond of from that decade.

Also in regard to Haynes, I'm actually kind of pleased that I'm Not There is not ready for them, and is beign replaced with Masked and Anonymous. That film baffled and annoyed me when I tried to watch it on video, but I feel quite excited about taking another run at it. It'll even be in a double bill with Haynes' Velvet Goldmine - another movie I didn't like much at first, that I'm eager to reappraise.

That's about it that really excites me at the Cinematheque for the next couple of months (unless you want to take your kids to Spirited Away on February 10th, that is; it's a delight, tho' listings are not yet online for it). Hara Kiri, upcoming in February and also not online, is a great film, and well worth seeing if you haven't checked it out - it's more of a devastating attack on bushido and the hypocrisies behind Japanese feudalism and class structure than it is a swordplay venture - but other than that, I think I'm ready for a five year moratorium on samurai films in the city. If you haven't seen The Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, Sanjuro, et alia yet, this really is not my problem.

Meanwhile, at the Vancity... well, actually, their February program is not yet online. Autohystoria, from the Philippines, sounds kind of interesting, but I haven't been there for a scandalously long time (and I see that I am missing a Cinema Salon screening of Billy Wilder's Double Indemnity tonight. Nuts! I love Billy Wilder!). I wonder if their new program is out in the print version? Hm, I might just take a walk.

Friends and stalkers, meantime, are encouraged to keep their calendars free for March 15th. I'll have a VERY SPECIAL film event going on for my 40th birthday, the details of which -- film and venue and such - you're more than welcome to ask me offline. Trust me, you'll want to be there.

I Am Legend

Yet another theatrical release that I quite enjoyed. I'm really getting kind of confused -- is my brain atrophying or something? 30 Days of Night, The Mist, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, I'm Not There, and now I Am Legend: I've liked almost every film I've seen in a commercial movie theatre lately, and I haven't been to either the Vancity Theatre or the Pacific Cinematheque in weeks. Is this some weird bi-product of personal stresses and age, a leveling of tastes, the very thing I used to feel contempt for in those around me? (How many times have I heard people whine words to the effect of, "I work hard all day and when I get home, I don't want some art film - I want to be entertayyyyned!" God help me, am I becoming One of Them?). Then again - maybe these are all just, well, pretty good movies! I'm used to associating the megaplexes with mediocrity, but perhaps things are actually changing for the better...? Each of these films has been a surprise and a treat, far better than I expected them to be; I feel grateful as all heck to actually be able to find a film playing at a commercial theatre that I can genuinely enjoy.

I haven't much to say about I Am Legend, though. It's no great work of film art, you understand - my praising it should not be mistaken for my taking it seriously! - but it's still damn good at what it does. The craft with which we are presented a post-plague, overgrown, deserted and strikingly silent Manhattan is impressive, as is the restraint with which the material is handled; I was worried that I'd have to put up with Will Smith playing the clown and a vast amount of gunplay, but in fact, the film is far more about mood than it is about action (Michael Bay fans probably won't like it very much, which is fine by me). It even has a relatively short runtime; in an age where the prevailing concept of a blockbuster is a film that, like a powerful sex toy, provides climax after climax, each leading onto the next, to assemble a feature that clocks in at a lean 101 minutes, and has a fairly uncomplicated, singular, and even somewhat brief peak, is actually kind of daring. I didn't like it as much as I enjoyed Francis Lawrence's previous feature, Constantine (which remains a huge guilty pleasure), but it's so good at what it does that I can accord it nothing but respect. It's more of a remake of The Omega Man than it is an adaptation of Richard Matheson's novel (anyone who tells you that the ending follows Matheson has obviously not read the book), but this really doesn't matter much (the novel is nowhere near as good as Matheson's Hell House, anyhow).

One element of the politics of the film that I find odd: in exactly the same way that 28 Days Later updated the concept of the zombie, the "vampires" of Matheson and The Omega Man have been replaced by the inhuman "infected," which is how they're referred to in the end titles. There's something vaguely disturbing about a climate where being monstrous and inhuman is seen as a matter of whether or not you've contracted a disease, and where having contracted this disease is enough to completely transform you - where the barrier between the human and the inhuman is so terribly fragile (bizarrely, the vampires of The Omega Man and Matheson - and probably the Vincent Price film as well, tho' I don't remember it very clearly - were more human than the "infected" are here; they could talk, think, plan, whereas in I Am Legend, they're defined almost entirely by their vicious rage). A friend suggested over a meal today that the designation of the monstrous as infected probably stems from AIDS paranoia, but I'm not so sure that's what's going on; there's also a "humanization" of the monstrous that seems to be afoot - a growing recognition that human beings are a lot scarier than, say, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, or any other quaint critters of yore (The Mist is interesting in this regard, too, since, for all the tentacles and claws that abound, the people in it eclipse the monsters as the primary source of fear). If you aren't infected, you're either immune, a carrier, or in danger of contracting the condition; in which case we must be ever vigilant, lest we become monsters ourselves. Not sure what to make of it, but it's a trend that bears following... viruses seem to have overtaken the occult as the source of world evil!