Michael Jackson’s This Is It could have ended up as nothing more than a tastelessly thrown-together cash-in of a movie. I orginially thought it was destined to be a cynically designed film exploiting the collective grief and nostalgia of fans everywhere.
Thank goodness that it is none of these things.Instead, This Is It is a brilliantly edited documentary/tribute film that serves as an all-access pass revealing the King of Pop’s artistic process. This Is It is comprised of rehearsal footage, shot from April to June 2009, for what was intended to be Michael Jackson’s final concert series scheduled to begin this past summer. For two hours, we witness a genuine master at the peak of his game, as he takes us through most of the classic hits fans have known and loved since forever. "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'", "Jam", the beautifully melodic "Human Nature", "They Don't Care About Us"; you cannot help but move and groove in your seat when you hear these songs and others performed live.
Jackson states on a few occasions that he is trying to preserve his voice for the real show. He almost appears to imply that he is withholding from unleashing the full extent of his energies. Amazing still, because even a Michael Jackson operating at 80 percent still leaves the much younger dancers and vocalists working with him in awe.
Forget about finding any scenes of controversy, scandal, or moments that paint Jackson in a less-than-favorable light. This Is It is strictly about the effort and creative craftsmanship required to bring such a grand spectacle of a concert to fruition. Jackson and director Kenny Ortega are collaborators, mapping out logistical details of staging, lighting, and musical cues with each performance. While Jackson is the head conceptualist of the concert's individual set pieces, he fosters an inclusive environment of collaboration and respect among his peers. Even when missing cues or having technical issues, Jackson remains a gracious gentleman at all times. Smaller, innocuous instances in the film further imbues its subject with dashes of whimsy, such as Jackson's delight in riding a cherry picker in preparation for "Beat It".
Stagehands, background dancers, and musicians alike exhibit a great deal of reverence for the star, demonstrating just how deeply the man and his work has touched millions worldwide, and continues to do so. During a run-through of "Black or White", Jackson encourages his lead guitarist Orianthi Panagaris to "have [her] time to shine" and boy, does she ever. A riveting duet between Jackson and singer Judith Hill on "I Just Can't Stop Loving You" stirred me immensely. Jackson's precise and playful responses to Hill's vocals, and her joy in working with her childhood idol is absolutely sublime.
Each of the extra vignettes filmed separately for the concert are nothing short of impressive. Watching Jackson digitally inserted into scenes from the Rita Hayworth film Gilda, as well as fleeing from Humphrey Bogart, put a cheshire grin on this cinephile's face. Brand-new, high-definition sequences for "Thriller" and "Earth Song" are effective compliments to their respective numbers.
The documentary does start to run a bit long near the conclusion, and there are times where the less patient will complain just when the film seems to reach a final endpoint. Nevertheless, this is only a minor quibble. For two hours, it felt to me as though Jackson was still alive, delivering what was indeed going to be one roof-burner of a concert. Artistically and physically, Michael Jackson proved that he still had the genius, the spark, and the passion that made him a success.
Starring: Nicole Beharie, Alfre Woodard, Michael O’Keefe, Tim Blake Nelson, Will Patton, Malcolm Barrett, Xzibit, Charles S. Dutton, Pamala Tyson, Tim Ware Directed By: Tim Disney Written By: Bill Haney
In his final stand-up special in March 2008, It’s Bad for Ya, George Carlin asserted that Americans do not have any actual rights at all. Instead, what we believe to be our rights are in fact privileges. The late comedian expounded further, “Rights aren’t rights if [the government] can take them away.” After watching the vexatious story of Dee Roberts (Beharie) in American Violet, it is pretty difficult to argue against Carlin’s sentiments.
The film is based on the story of Regina Kelly (changed to Dee Roberts, along with other names in the film), a single mother of four little daughters who unexpectedly gets arrested in a sudden police sweep of a small housing project. The raids are led by Calvin Beckett (O’Keefe), the corrupt district attorney of Hearne, Texas. It is clearer than crystal that the arrests are racially motivated, as all of those arrested happen to be black. Even more deplorable is the fact that the arrests were based off of a tip from one lone informant with a history of mental illness.
Dee, having no record of dealing or using drugs, is given two rotten choices by the courts. One is accepting a plea bargain in which she can be freed as a convicted felon. Option two leads to years of possible prison time should she choose to fight the case. When faced with such choices, you have to ask yourself what in the world is the law really good for.
American Violet is an edifying civics lesson/legal procedural that centers its lens on the “-isms” of race and class, and the shamefully wretched body of the Texas justice system. Newcomer Nicole Beharie provides a rousing, able performance as the 24-year old Dee. She does not let the monumental fear of her ordeal paralyze her, as she has far too much to lose. The venerable Alfre Woodard lends her terrific supportive presence as Dee’s mother Alma, who understandably wishes for her daughter to take the plea and return to her children. Xzibit puts his limited time to sound use as Dee’s former boyfriend Darrell.
Tim Blake Nelson admirably shines as ACLU lawyer David Cohen, and Will Patton is quietly laid back as Sam Conroy, a retired sheriff-turned-local attorney who has his own regrets of tolerating the pervasive racial hatred of his Texas town. Michael O’Keefe’s D.A. figure is a man easy to despise; every passive scowl informed by severe loathing and insatiable lust for power.
It is unproductive to point out that American Violet is a by-the-numbers, message-driven drama. The story does not in any way allow for any narrative or stylistic deviations, and it never needs to. Its agenda is made transparent from the first frame, but the film remains wholly absorbing. Only the most indifferent individuals would not feel any semblance of anger well inside themselves upon witnessing such flagrant injustices seen wherein. Rights or privileges are not just a matter of semantics.
Starring: Wyatt Cenac, Tracey Heggins Directed & Written By: Barry Jenkins
Two 20-something strangers awaken in an immoderate San Francisco house, hung over and at a loss for words. The awkwardness that hangs over them is thick enough for a machete to chop through. They had a one night stand, and they do not remember each other’s names. The man introduces himself as Micah (Cenac). She agitatedly responds “Angela”, but Micah later discovers her real name: Joanne (Heggins).
After a more casual but no less awkward reintroduction at her home, Joanne and Micah begin to spend the next 24 hours together. They become more comfortable with each other, their conversations cultivating more intrigue and intimacy. Micah’s chief conversation topics revolve around racial identity, self perceptions, and San Francisco’s history with gentrification. He adheres to what he believes is a true definition of what a black person is. For instance, he half-jokingly remarks that a black person’s Sunday afternoon entails churchgoing and fried chicken, not visiting museums. When Joanne suggests a visit to the Museum of Modern Art, he takes her instead to the MoAD (Museum of the African Diaspora).
Joanne appears to exist outside of Micah’s preconceived notions, which enamors him all the more. She is artsy and has what Micah would call an “indie” vibe about her. Her boyfriend is an art curator who is currently in London, although there is nothing in her beau’s apartment that would give this impression. Unlike the bare walls in her home, Joanne is not a blank slate. She is who she is, simply put.
Medicine for Melancholy is a thoughtful and intelligent presentation from first-time director Barry Jenkins, who flourishes the city of San Francisco with a beautifully raw lens. The bleached-out coloring of the picture works to an impressively evocative effect. The first portion of the film appears muted and near-monochrome, portraying the unsure gray areas of Micah and Joanne’s rocky start. More colors seep into the frame as they grow closer and their melancholy alleviates.
Wyatt Cenac, best known as a writer and “Senior Black Correspondent” on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, is confident and restrained in his role. Tracey Heggins is equally dauntless, and emits a certain quiet vibrancy as Joanne. A winning film on all fronts, Medicine for Melancholy is an excellent exercise in tone and feeling.
Starring: Max Records, Catherine Keener, Pepita Emmerichs, James Gandolfini, Chris Cooper, Catherine O’Hara, Forest Whitaker, Paul Dano, Lauren Ambrose, Michael Berry Jr., Mark Ruffalo, Steve Mouzakis Directed By: Spike Jonze Written By: Spike Jonze & Dave Eggers
Spike Jonze’s lugubrious adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s beloved 1963 children’s book is a strange beast of a film. People have given this movie either one of two classifications: that it is a film about the essence of childhood, or that it is about an adult’s idea of being a kid. Both viewpoints are accurate, for the most part. Where the Wild Things Are does illustrate the imaginative whimsy and petulant anger that all children are entitled to, but the tenor of the film is darker and more adult-minded.
Max (Records) is a young boy brimming with pent-up frustrations. He looks up to his older sister (Emmerichs), who does not have any time to spare for him. His divorced mother (Keener) is straining to keep her job while trying to find romance. After a rowdy outburst at the dinner table, which culminates in Max biting his mom, the boy runs away in the middle of the night and into the woods. There, he finds a tiny boat which takes him to a faraway island populated by giant furry wild creatures. The hulking and threatening-looking things first view Max as a hapless snack, but he quickly boasts his way into making them believe that he is their new king. Each of the creatures represents aspects of his personality and home life.
The lead thing, Carol (Gandolfini) takes an immediate liking to Max, primarily because they echo each other in fecklessness and fury. The eagle-like Douglas (Cooper) is Carol’s right-hand thing and resident voice of reason. The gratingly cynical Judith (O’Hara) is a self-described downer who falls for the soft-spoken and peaceful Ira (Whitaker). Alexander the goat (Dano) begs for attention every chance he gets, and the silently intimidating thing known only as The Bull (Berry Jr.) channels Max’s simmering temper. Much to Carol’s resentment, the cucumber-cool KW (Ambrose) stays on the periphery of the things’ space, and acts as a mother/older sister figure for Max.
Craziness ensues, unhappiness swells, and ultimately Max learns a key lesson: While life is filled with disappointments, we mature by developing the intrepidity to deal with them. It is not a particularly deep notion, and neither is the film, which is what Where the Wild Things Are intends to be. Plot-wise, the film is awfully thin. Even though the film is based on a ten sentence-long book, Jonze and co-writer Dave Eggers had ample room to craft a fuller and richer narrative than what was ultimately produced. Nothing grandiose occurs in the story, which leaves much of the middle empty and void of any palpable suspense. There just is not enough happening in the film to fully care about what these characters do and why.
It appears that Jonze came into Sendak’s work with the intent of crafting a children’s film that does not condescend its target audience, which is to be respected. The wild things of the story carry themselves as regular people in the guise of outlandish monsters, and they never stoop to lowbrow physical gags or humor. Commendable as this is, they remain quite non-compelling despite fine voice work from Gandolfini, Ambrose, and the rest of the cast. Yes, they share imperfections like any other family, and this is crucial for Max to realize. Yet, most of them act as if they are sad adults too incapable to confront their own insecurities. Rather than embracing these characters, you would want to recommend them an excellent therapist. It does not make for enthralling viewing, for both child and grownup alike.
Cinematically, the film yields a simple surreal beauty. Bare forests, spacious deserts, and dusky coastlines are pleasing to watch. The look of the creatures themselves – a blend of real costumes and CGI facial animations – is nothing short of top-notch. The Jim Henson Company Creature Shop deserves accolades for what they provide here.
Children’s/child-targeted fare such as Pixar’s productions (Wall-E, Finding Nemo) succeed in striking that fine balance between kid and adult appeal. Where the Wild Things Are does not achieve this equilibrium. What could have been a special film is instead a fundamentally hollow and self-pitying 101 minutes.
Starring: Woody Harrelson, Jesse Eisenberg, Emma Stone, Abigail Breslin Directed By: Ruben Fleischer Written By: Rhett Reese & Paul Wernick
Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later augmented the scare factor of zombies by endowing them with the gift of speed. Edgar Wright’s horror-cum-romantic comedy Shaun of the Dead made them hilarious. Zombieland serves up a thoroughly enjoyable mixture of both films’ elements, and while it is less scary than the former and has a touch less wit than the latter, the end result is chock full of win.
Jesse Eisenberg stars as Columbus, a geeky bundle of nerves who has managed to endure the zombie apocalypse by adhering to his self-fashioned rules of survival. Maintaining good cardio serves him well; he points out that the more portly members of the populace were the first to go. Traveling from Texas, Columbus heads towards Ohio, where he hopes that his parents are still alive. On his way, he runs into a man who calls himself Tallahassee (Harrelson), a crusty, armed, and dangerous redneck with an appetite for destruction. Tallahassee’s goals are simple and twofold: slaughter lots and lots of zombies, and find the elusive, last remaining delicacy that is the Twinkie.
The reticent Columbus and the gung-ho Tallahassee later meet two hard-nosed sisters, Wichita (Stone) and the 12-year old Little Rock (Breslin). Trust issues abound between the four as they head west, bumping off legions of the living dead left and right, up and down, and side to side.
At just under 90 minutes, Zombieland does not overstay its welcome. Its four lead characters yearn for the simpler pleasures in life, and the film’s aims reflect this through its charming humor. Scenes play out as long as they should, and character development is minimal yet enough to engage us with their crucial quest. Woody Harrelson throws caution to the wind with his performance, creatively killing his flesh-hungry game with the zeal of a painter crafting a masterpiece. Tallahassee is given more backstory than the others, which adds slightly more dimension to what could have been a tiring one-note buffoon.
Eisenberg narrates the movie, and his quirked-up Michael Cera-esque role is an amusing contrast to the rest of his sharper-edged companions. Little on-screen touches, such as the slow-mo opening credits showing victims fleeing from their rotting predators, and a certain cameo midway that will surely draw a lot of “What’s?!” from viewers bolsters the movie.
Zombieland is, in a word, fun. Considering the on-screen resurgence of vampires last year, and the small wave of zombie films in this decade, one wonders what other fabled monsters Hollywood will resurrect next. Werewolves? Mummies? Frankensteins? Zombified, lycanthropic, bloodsucking, mummified ghouls…with chainsaws and firearms? What a joy it is to dream.
Starring: Matt Damon, Scott Bakula, Joel McHale, Melanie Lynskey, Thomas F. Wilson, Patton Oswalt, Scott Adsit, Eddie Jemison, Allan Havey Directed By: Steven Soderbergh Written By: Scott Z. Burns
Corporate espionage, white collar crime, and mountains of deceit combine to form the impassive and idiosyncratic film that is The Informant!. Steven Soderbergh’s based-on-a-true-story tale follows Marc Whitacre (Damon), an executive at Archer Daniels Midland in the mid 1990s. His job entails overseeing the profits of ADM’s food additives, most notably lysine. When revenues begin to drop, Whitacre posits that it may be an internal sabotage job for the company’s Japanese competitors.
Cue the FBI, who subsequently arrives to investigate the malfeasance. At the insistent prodding of his wife Ginger (Lynskey), Whitacre tips the feds off on a price fixing scheme involving ADM higher-ups. Despite appearances, his motives are anything but clear cut. His FBI handlers, specifically agent Brian Shepard (Bakula), are pushed to the brink of total exasperation when dealing with Whitacre’s conduct.
So why would he blow the whistle on his fellow executives? What does Whitacre hope to gain from acting as an FBI informant? The revelations are far murkier than one would expect, mainly because its protagonist is bafflingly unreliable and distrustful. Matt Damon pulls off a tricky balancing act as the pudgy and seemingly oblivious ADM executive, trailing off with random and nonsensical voiceovers that insulate him from reality. One is never too sure if Whitacre is worthy of anybody’s sympathies, or if he even comprehends the magnitude of his actions. Damon and Soderberg succeed in keeping audiences questioning the film’s directions, and the film maintains a minimized tongue-in-cheek tone from the start.
The beginning portion of The Informant! is not the strongest aspect of the film. It does keep the nature of Whitacre’s character close to the vest and sets up the events that will follow. As borderline unengaging as it feels, the film manages to gather steam at the 30-minute mark and does not decline afterwards. Though it is not Soderberg’s strongest or deepest project, The Informant! is positively serviceable. The outright absurdity of the story and Damon’s meritable portrait of a man under self-inflicted pressure spices up this light effort.
Starring: Tony Leung, Takeshi Kaneshiro, Brigitte Lin, Faye Wong, Valerie Chow, Chen Jinquan Directed & Written By: Wong Kar-Wai
A young and dejected cop (Kaneshiro) traverses the crowded and ceaselessly bustling streets of Hong Kong, reeling over a rather sad breakup. He purchases cans of pineapple every night with an expiration of May 1, his upcoming birthday. By eating the soon-to-be rotten fruit, the cop hopes that he will be reunited with his former love. If that doesn’t work, then he will conquer his heartbreak by falling in love with the next woman he sees.
That next woman (Lin) happens to be involved in some shady underworld dealings that have gone south. Disguising herself in a blond wig and red-framed sunglasses, the woman’s worries spare little room for lovelorn law enforcement officials.
Another police officer (Leung) is also dealing with a breakup. His flight attendant girlfriend (Chow) has left him, and all he has left is his work. Faye (Wong), a spunky young girl working at a local café, quietly takes a shine to the cop. She goes so far as to finding his apartment and rearranging everything whenever the officer isn’t home.
Wong Kar-Wai’s Chungking Express is more of an exercise in cinematic virtuosity than it is in plot and straightforward storytelling. That is not to say that the characters within are nothing special. In fact, it is quite the opposite. The two unrelated stories paint a vivid and sparking picture of basic human longing, and unspoken yet understood camaraderie between strangers.
Criterion presents a pleasant batch of extras for both the Blu-ray and DVD editions:
Audio commentary by noted Asian cinema critic Tony Rayns
Episode excerpt from the BBC Television series Moving Pictures, featuring Wong and cinematographer Christopher Doyle
U.S. theatrical trailer
A booklet featuring a new essay by critic Amy Taubin
“It’s like a Greek tragedy, only I’m the subject.”
James Toback’s Tyson is a stirring and brutally honest portrait of one of boxing’s most renowned and infamous figures. “Iron” Mike Tyson cathartically tells his story in his own words, reflecting on his early days as a troubled youth in Brooklyn, to his meteoric rise in the ring, and his equally meteoric freefall outside of it. The first-person style of the film leaves Tyson’s life open to all levels of scrutiny. Some may view the subject’s life and career as a sorry tale of wasted opportunities. Others may see a man sincerely trying to govern himself by the hard lessons he has learned.
Tyson houses a few supplements that nicely compliment the documentary:
Audio commentary by director James Toback
A Day With James Toback
Iron Mike: Toback Talks Tyson, a Q&A featurette
James Toback on The Big Picture Show
Trailers for Sugar, Rudo Y Cursi, Moon, Whatever Works, Waltz With Bashir, and Redbelt
Ordell Robbie, Samuel L. Jackson’s gun running character in Jackie Brown, quips that the title character is “too cool for school.” Needless to say, each of Quentin Tarantino’s films percolate coolness from every pore, celebrating their individual pop culture trappings as much as influencing it. While it is a highly respected feature in Tarantino’s catalogue, Jackie Brown arguably remains his most underrated work to date. Coming off the heels of his 1994 classic sophomore film Pulp Fiction, Tarantino’s follow-up three years later was seen as a distinct departure from what audiences have come to expect from him. Unlike the original screenplays of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp, Tarantino fashioned Jackie Brown as a reinvented adaptation of Elmore Leonard’s crime novel Rum Punch. The comparatively slower and more measured pacing of the film also ran contrary to what audiences expected from the mind behind the intense synapse-firing stylings of his previous projects. Nevertheless, Jackie Brown delivers all of the trademark Tarantino elements: shrewd dialogue, utterly ravishing characters that leap out of the screen, and an excellently compiled soundtrack. As an avid fan of Tarantino’s productions, Jackie Brown is the one film of his that I champion most strongly. Through the simplicity of the film’s opening moments, everything one needs to know about the title character is deftly stated. Jackie Brown (Pam Grier) enters from the right side of the frame and is moved leftward, channeling the introductory scene of Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate. She stands still and straight, permeating a sense of rugged fortitude through her relaxed gaze, her long hair pulled back, and crisply blue stewardess uniform. As the scene progresses, her confident walk shifts into a hurried jog towards an airport boarding gate – she seems to be running a little late. Bobby Womack’s “Across 110th Street” plays in the background, an apt song selection because it further assists in setting up the forthcoming drama of desperation. The medium-shot of Jackie standing on an airport conveyor belt communicates her feelings of entrapment within her current station in life. Run-ins with the law years ago have brought the 44 year-old towards employment with Cabo San Lucas, the worst airline in the business. She makes a paltry salary of $16,000 plus benefits, and with her record, she cannot afford to start over even if she wanted to. It is not a completely hopeless picture for Jackie, since she makes substantial money by smuggling illegal currency from Mexico into the United States for tawdry gun runner Ordell Robbie. An incident between Ordell and an unfortunate client piques the attention of two ATF agents (Michael Keaton and Michael Bowen) who intercept Jackie and the half-million dollars she tries to sneak in. Certain that Jackie would arrange a deal that would lead to his own arrest, Ordell bails her out of jail with the intent of silencing her. The bail bondsman who picks up Jackie is Max Cherry (Robert Forster), a 56 year-old who quietly and understatedly falls for her at first sight. During a conversation with Max, Jackie expresses her biggest fear of losing her mediocre job while having no relief to fall back on, which to her is far scarier than a vindictive Ordell. From there, Jackie becomes the centerpiece of an intrigue-laden plot juggling the feds, Ordell’s crew of miscreants, and a grand prize of $500,000 cash. Pitch-perfect casting is the greatest strength of Jackie Brown. Pam Grier reigned supreme as a blaxploitation badass in films such as Coffy, Friday Foster, and Foxy Brown. The spunkiness of her ‘70s roles shines through in a calmer yet no less tenacious form, as her Jackie is well beyond any need to boastfully impress others. She does not rattle under pressure from the ATF agents that grill her, instead matching them tit-for-tat in the game of wits. A small yet sharp exchange between Michael Keaton’s character, Ray Nicolette, and Jackie is among my favorite moments in the film. They discuss the matter of Ordell: Jackie Brown: He sells guns. Ray Nicolette: You ever see him sell guns? Jackie Brown: No. Ray Nicolette: Then how do you know he sells guns? Jackie Brown: He told me. Besides, why else would an ATF man be after him? Her wonderfully-developed relationship with Max is the film’s heart. Although he is a by-the-book man of the law, Max serves as an advisor of sorts to Jackie, offering her helpful strategies in dealing with the ATF’s investigation. He naturally holds some trepidation concerning Jackie’s scheme of nabbing Ordell’s half-million, but when Max observes her executing the practice run of her plan, he can only look on with legitimate admiration. Under the eye of another writer/director, Max would have been presented as an unwitting stooge, but Tarantino holds too much respect for Robert Forster to let that happen. Forster’s performance reflects the casual, wizened instinctiveness of Grier’s title role. A friendly glance here, a slight smile there, Forster marches forth like a true gentleman. Max, like Jackie, finds himself becoming increasingly tired of his own place in the world. Regardless, it is his own sense of duty which keeps him anchored. I enjoy watching their conversations, especially when Jackie prods for his honest response to the question, “If you had a chance to walk away with a million dollars, would you take it?” Max avoids the question with roundabout replies, but I get the feeling that a tiny part of him would like to say, “Well, sure.” Samuel L. Jackson’s Ordell Robbie is the less enlightened and more sadistic equivalent of his Jules Winnfield character from Pulp Fiction. Self-aggrandizing to a profanely incessant point, Ordell is the sort of man who believes firmly in his own press, and never hesitates to prove you otherwise should you even think of questioning. Continuing the prowess he showcased in Pulp, Jackson demonstrates how easily and melodically he recites Tarantino’s universally-hailed dialogue. Whether it is waxing poetic on firearms or doling out deadly serious threats, Ordell is as charismatic as he is disturbing. It is almost funny to notice how Ordell’s weapon-based expertise does not extend towards choosing the company he keeps. He associates with a fresh-out-of-prison convict Louis (Robert De Niro), a dim and soft-spoken criminal, and Melanie (Bridget Fonda), a perpetually stoned surfer gal. The relationship between the latter two is the direct antithesis to the wise gracefulness of Jackie and Max; Melanie has a scheme of her own, but her own aimless nature combined with Louis’s unbending aloofness serve as their sole obstacles. Jackie Brown employs another supporting player in the form of its ‘70s funk and soul soundtrack. When Max lays eyes upon Jackie for the first time, Bloodstone’s ballad “Natural High” vocalizes his immediate feelings. The Delfonics’ “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time)” sustains Max’s implied infatuation with the stewardess. “Long Time Woman” also touches on Jackie’s literal and figurative imprisonment. There are no unnecessary scenes or wasted characters in the film. Everyone featured adds to the story regardless of the length of their appearances. Seemingly innocuous instances express a great deal of information that comes into play at later points. The screenplay moves carefully and studiously, enabling the characters to flourish freely. The 150-minutes zip by as if the film was half that length. Like a well-cooked sirloin steak, Jackie Brown is a film to be savored thoughtfully.
Starring: Pam Grier, Samuel L. Jackson, Robert Forster, Bridget Fonda, Michael Keaton, Robert De Niro, Michael Bowen, Chris Tucker, Tommy Lister Jr., Hattie Wilson, Lisa Gay Hamilton Directed & Written By: Quentin Tarantino Release Year: 1997
An old adage suggests that, “those who can, do. Those that can’t, teach.” Richard Brown, professor of Movies 101 at New York University, attributes a much cruder sentiment to Mel Brooks, who once likened film critics to “eunuchs at an orgy.” They can look as long as they like, but they cannot participate. A critic can deconstruct all of the fine components of a film, but could they create something of note themselves if given the chance?
In a recent lecture given by Richard Brown at the Chautauqua Institution, Brown urges his students to avoid reading or listening to any and all professional movie reviews. He argues that people tend to feel intimidated by critics, which causes them to struggle with their own opinions of a film against those by an A.O. Scott. Some moviegoers who see a highly critically-praised film may come away confused as to what all the hype was about. “Well, the critics say it’s great, so maybe I just have to see it again,” some might tell themselves. The average Joe and Jane are led to think that they must be out of tune with what the all-knowing critics deem as greatness.
The bottom line of Brown’s lecture is that, “the instinctive, visceral feeling that you get when you first see a film is right.” Brown correctly states that all reviews are subjective, but clearly implies that film critics should not be trusted by the public because of this. Painting critics with a broad brush, Brown sees them as individuals who attempt to remove themselves from the viewing experience, internalizing their own natural reactions while also refusing to admit if they do not understand what they are watching.
I find Brown’s assessment of film critics to be questionable, primarily his claim that people believe everything they read and hear in published reviews. Brown’s statement ironically undermines the critical faculties of the very audience he is speaking for. For starters, the purpose of a film critique is not to demand a reader to perceive a work exactly the way a particular critic would. A critique is designed to:
1) Inform what the film is about. 2) Express the reviewer’s overall experience watching said film. 3) State what works and what doesn’t in said film. 4) Highlight and examine thematic elements and motifs of said film.
It is too stark a judgment to reduce film criticism to thought policing. Rather, a critique should motivate a filmgoer to articulate their personal reactions to a film, as well as to consider a film through the lens of a critic and that of others. It is misguided to view the dynamic between critics and the public at large as a matter of right and wrong. After all, it is strictly about opinion.
Brown’s belief that one’s initial reactions to a movie are correct is true to an extent, but it is not the case 100-percent of the time. Like some popular songs, there are films that take more than a single viewing to grow on you. An example for me is the film Sideways. A friend of mine lauded the film and I borrowed it from him, but when I first watched it I didn’t think it was worthy of all the glowing reviews that came its way. However, there were elements that I enjoyed, particularly the dialogue and Paul Giamatti’s performance. After a while, I gave the film a second look, and it was then that I truly appreciated it, so much so that I bought a copy for my DVD library. Had I stuck with my first reaction to Sideways, I’d probably still hold the notion that it is an unremarkable piece of work (which it is certainly not).
Now, I do share Brown’s stance on those critics who try to frame their reviews with a pretense of objectivity, as if they are gauging other people’s feelings instead of their own. Yes, art is subjective because whatever meaning we derive from a work is determined by how much of it we infuse ourselves. Brown elaborates his point further by remarking that critics, because they are in a position of authority, are incapable of admitting if they are confused by a film. He gives the recent Tony Gilroy-directed Duplicity as an example, in which he says that every review he read of the film appeared to indicate that the critics were not confounded by the film’s twist-laden structure. Brown uses this point to further justify his anti-critic outlook.
The assumption that critics can never reveal their own lack of understanding of a film is pretty disingenuous. It gives the impression that critics are the end-all, be-all of cinematic opinion, thus feeding the earlier conceit that the moviegoer’s responses are eternally wrong. I will modify Brown’s presumption by saying that critics teach, but they are open to be taught. Essentially, a critic can very well be moved to re-consider a movie by his or her readers. Just because a critic covers a film that they aren’t able to completely wrap their heads around, does not mean that their readers will encounter the same roadblock. Perhaps the film in question is just that shoddy plot wise. Syriana is a film that left me out in the cold with a thin sweater, for instance. I could not comprehend its heavily dense screenplay, and I couldn’t tell you if the film is great or awful. Someone else would, though, and I would relish hearing their insight.
Contrary to Brown’s opinion, film critics do possess significant value. No one should replace their feelings of a film with that of a professional reviewer or anybody else for that matter. Nor should a filmgoer stick with their first impressions of a movie that could become a potential favorite. A solid and competent critic’s task is to encourage their audience to engage a film beyond a surface level reading. State your opinions clearly and concisely, but do not hesitate to let a movie linger in your mind for a little while. Critics cannot tell you what to think, but they may suggest how. Is that not the essence of critical thinking and teaching?
Directed By: Kenny Ortega
