Anyone who knows me knows Steven Spielberg has left a great impression on my life. His was the first name I knew in movies. The first movie I can remember seeing in a cinema is Raiders of the Lost Ark (though I spent the film thinking his name was "Petey" and that he was a cowboy because hat). I was only five years old when that movie came out, and there are questions as to whether my parents should have taken me to see it, but whatever. From that moment I was a Steven Spielberg fan.
I didn't know what Spielberg did exactly. But his name was on all the best movies. Whatever he did, I wanted to do it, too. I wanted to make amazing things that people watched.
Spielberg is the reason I have a film degree.
Alas, I haven't made any movies. I've worked on film sets, and I've had one short film made of my stage play, but that's the sum total of my filmography. Still, I can very much appreciate—and envy—Mr. Spielberg's career. I haven't seen all his films, not nearly. Some I will probably never watch. But he's made such a wide variety of movies . . . Kind of like how I write a lot of different genres . . . I can appreciate the desire to keep moving and trying new things and the need to tell new stories, even if deep down they are similar thematically.
So this documentary—which is long at around 2 hours 21 minutes—well, it might as well have been made for me. It's a nice retrospective of Spielberg's career thus far, and besides talking to the man himself and hearing his side, they managed to gather a lot of big names to chime in. I don't think any of it was revelatory. But I think it was interesting and tidy. Well packaged, I'd say.
I guess the one thing is: if you're interested in Spielberg and his work, you probably already know a lot of what Spielberg covers, and if you don't know a lot about him, this documentary may feel a tad dry. Like, my attention wandered a few times. And I'm a devotee. So I don't know what less adoring viewers might think.
In all, I enjoyed it. Nothing exciting, but solid, and a nice perspective on the man and his work.
(Now if he'd just direct The Fall and Rise of Peter Stoller...)
Showing posts with label directors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label directors. Show all posts
10.07.2017
9.17.2017
Movies: Baby Driver
As a rule, I generally really enjoy Edgar Wright movies. This one is no exception.
Ansel Elgort plays the titular Baby, whose job is to drive a getaway car for Doc (Kevin Spacey). Baby is evidently in Doc's debt and digging his way out via this gig. But of course one is never really "out." So just as Baby is getting his life straight and trying to have a steady girlfriend, he gets pulled back in for one more big job. That goes all to hell. Yes, it's cliché. But still an engaging story. Jon Hamm and Jamie Foxx pull nice turns as badass baddies.
Wright has, in my opinion, a wonderful style. For me, watching his films is a treat. His tracking shots, the way he frames things—just very visually interesting and entertaining. But he's not perfect at everything. He's weak when it comes to love stories. I didn't love the one in this film, particularly the early banter between Baby and Deborah in the diner. Wright also tends to have very long third acts that sometimes go on longer than absolutely necessary. I found that, despite all the action going on, my interest began to waver.
[SPOILER BELOW - HIGHLIGHT TO READ CLEARLY]
I understand why the film ends the way it does, with Baby going to prison rather than he and Deborah taking off. I think Wright wanted the definitive, "happy" ending that showed Baby and Deborah free and clear instead of on the run for the rest of their lives. I get that, but I found it not terribly satisfying. I don't know why.
[END SPOILER]
These are minor gripes. On the whole, Baby Driver is highly entertaining, and all the actors do an awesome job. Another winner from Mr. Wright in my book.
Ansel Elgort plays the titular Baby, whose job is to drive a getaway car for Doc (Kevin Spacey). Baby is evidently in Doc's debt and digging his way out via this gig. But of course one is never really "out." So just as Baby is getting his life straight and trying to have a steady girlfriend, he gets pulled back in for one more big job. That goes all to hell. Yes, it's cliché. But still an engaging story. Jon Hamm and Jamie Foxx pull nice turns as badass baddies.
Wright has, in my opinion, a wonderful style. For me, watching his films is a treat. His tracking shots, the way he frames things—just very visually interesting and entertaining. But he's not perfect at everything. He's weak when it comes to love stories. I didn't love the one in this film, particularly the early banter between Baby and Deborah in the diner. Wright also tends to have very long third acts that sometimes go on longer than absolutely necessary. I found that, despite all the action going on, my interest began to waver.
[SPOILER BELOW - HIGHLIGHT TO READ CLEARLY]
I understand why the film ends the way it does, with Baby going to prison rather than he and Deborah taking off. I think Wright wanted the definitive, "happy" ending that showed Baby and Deborah free and clear instead of on the run for the rest of their lives. I get that, but I found it not terribly satisfying. I don't know why.
[END SPOILER]
These are minor gripes. On the whole, Baby Driver is highly entertaining, and all the actors do an awesome job. Another winner from Mr. Wright in my book.
9.02.2017
Documentary: David Lynch: The Art Life
Love him or hate him, David Lynch is certainly an interesting guy.
A little background so you know where I'm coming from: when I was a pre-teen, I remember liking the movie Dune. (Yes, I said "liked.") My best friend's mom showed it to her daughter and me. The long version. It enthralled me. I bought a poster and hung it in my room. I read the books (well, the first three). But I didn't know who David Lynch was.
Twin Peaks aired my freshman year of high school. I really enjoyed it, too . . . Or the first season, anyway. It's been a long time, but I have the sense that I wasn't as enthusiastic about the second season. At that point I had a scrapbook and would cut out articles about my favorite stars and shows and tape them in. So of course I began seeing the name David Lynch in the Twin Peaks articles. But I never connected him to Dune, never had much curiosity about anything else he might have done.
Then I went to film school.
Enough said, except to add that aside from Dune and Twin Peaks, I can't say I'm much of a fan of Lynch's work. Not my thing. In fact, this third season of Twin Peaks—I walked away from it. It tried my patience too much. I'll probably still watch the finale on Sunday though.
So. This documentary. I actually really enjoyed it. It's very watchable. It's really just Lynch doing art and telling stories that go from his childhood through his grant at AFI to make Eraserhead. It focuses on his art, so there's no delving into his personal life, just sort of a glossing, but there are lots of photos and home videos incorporated.
DL:TAL is really just Lynch talking, and he speaks in a deceptively simple and matter-of-fact way. It's as though all his internal complexities come out in his work, but it's not clear whether that's because he saves them for the work or he literally can't articulate them any other way. A couple of things he says and stories he tells . . . You kind of go, "Oh, well that explains a few things."
I believe art should stand on its own in the absence of its creator. That's the point of art. You shouldn't have to know things about the writer, painter, etc. in order to appreciate the work. BUT. Watching this documentary added depth for me to some of Lynch's work.
At one point Lynch says that, when he was starting out as an artist, he knew his work was crap. But that he had to keep painting and keep painting to find his style or whatever. And as an author, I totally get that. We all start out crap. You have to prime the pump and get all the dirty water out before the good stuff comes up.
Anyway, whether you like Lynch or not . . . If you're even just a little curious about him . . . This is a good one. They don't talk to anyone but Lynch, so it is a bit one-sided, but at the same time, hearing solely from him gives perspective on his work.
A little background so you know where I'm coming from: when I was a pre-teen, I remember liking the movie Dune. (Yes, I said "liked.") My best friend's mom showed it to her daughter and me. The long version. It enthralled me. I bought a poster and hung it in my room. I read the books (well, the first three). But I didn't know who David Lynch was.
Twin Peaks aired my freshman year of high school. I really enjoyed it, too . . . Or the first season, anyway. It's been a long time, but I have the sense that I wasn't as enthusiastic about the second season. At that point I had a scrapbook and would cut out articles about my favorite stars and shows and tape them in. So of course I began seeing the name David Lynch in the Twin Peaks articles. But I never connected him to Dune, never had much curiosity about anything else he might have done.
Then I went to film school.
Enough said, except to add that aside from Dune and Twin Peaks, I can't say I'm much of a fan of Lynch's work. Not my thing. In fact, this third season of Twin Peaks—I walked away from it. It tried my patience too much. I'll probably still watch the finale on Sunday though.
So. This documentary. I actually really enjoyed it. It's very watchable. It's really just Lynch doing art and telling stories that go from his childhood through his grant at AFI to make Eraserhead. It focuses on his art, so there's no delving into his personal life, just sort of a glossing, but there are lots of photos and home videos incorporated.
DL:TAL is really just Lynch talking, and he speaks in a deceptively simple and matter-of-fact way. It's as though all his internal complexities come out in his work, but it's not clear whether that's because he saves them for the work or he literally can't articulate them any other way. A couple of things he says and stories he tells . . . You kind of go, "Oh, well that explains a few things."
I believe art should stand on its own in the absence of its creator. That's the point of art. You shouldn't have to know things about the writer, painter, etc. in order to appreciate the work. BUT. Watching this documentary added depth for me to some of Lynch's work.
At one point Lynch says that, when he was starting out as an artist, he knew his work was crap. But that he had to keep painting and keep painting to find his style or whatever. And as an author, I totally get that. We all start out crap. You have to prime the pump and get all the dirty water out before the good stuff comes up.
Anyway, whether you like Lynch or not . . . If you're even just a little curious about him . . . This is a good one. They don't talk to anyone but Lynch, so it is a bit one-sided, but at the same time, hearing solely from him gives perspective on his work.
10.22.2016
Movies: Café Society
I'll start by stating the obvious. Woody Allen's movies are really just ways for him to reaffirm either what he thinks about the world or what he wishes were true. By which I mean, he likes to believe women make bad choices and then pine for what they could have had while men leave their wives and get the young girl and live happily ever after. (Or some variation on this, but it generally boils down to the same.)
In this particular version of the story, we have young Bobby Dorfman (Jesse Eisenberg doing his best imitation of Allen) leaving New York to go try and make a life in L.A. with the help of his uncle Phil (Steve Carell). Phil is a powerful Hollywood agent, and in no time Bobby is rubbing shoulders with the stars. But he's more interested in young Vonnie (Kristen Stewart, who always seems not to know what to do with her mouth), who also works for his uncle. Unfortunately for Bobby, Vonnie has a boyfriend—namely, Phil. He's married and much older but they're having an affair.
When Phil breaks things off, Bobby moves quickly to take up room in Vonnie's heart. (He has no idea her boyfriend was Phil, btw.) But when Phil finally leaves his wife, Vonnie chooses him over Bobby, and Bobby returns to New York. He ends up quite successful in running a nightclub, marries a model-worthy woman, has a baby, and is largely none the worse for wear. Even when Phil and Vonnie come for a visit, Bobby gets to have his cake and eat it too, so to speak. He sees that Vonnie is a little miserable, he gets to spend time with her, even kiss her, but also hold on to his perfect little life. Meanwhile, the women get the short end of everything. Phil's wife gets tossed aside, Vonnie gets the sadness of longing for someone else, and Bobby's wife gets cheated on. Men are assholes in Woody Allen movies, but somehow it's all excused while women are left to pick up the pieces.
This is nothing new, but Café Society was very obvious about it. It also made plain the ideal that New York is better than L.A. In this movie the L.A. people are loud and superficial. They name drop, and every interaction with them is like oil on water. Nothing feels real or true. New York is grittier but also seen to be more satisfying. Bobby glides through his nightclub, true, but his interactions with the patrons feel more rooted than those in L.A.
It's an okay movie. Somewhat Gatsby-esque in themes. But I found myself distracted by all these glaring aspects; it was as if I had to squint to see past them and watch the movie. I realize these things have been present in Woody Allen movies for forever, so maybe it's just that my tolerance for them is depleted. Either way, Café Society left me grimacing.
In this particular version of the story, we have young Bobby Dorfman (Jesse Eisenberg doing his best imitation of Allen) leaving New York to go try and make a life in L.A. with the help of his uncle Phil (Steve Carell). Phil is a powerful Hollywood agent, and in no time Bobby is rubbing shoulders with the stars. But he's more interested in young Vonnie (Kristen Stewart, who always seems not to know what to do with her mouth), who also works for his uncle. Unfortunately for Bobby, Vonnie has a boyfriend—namely, Phil. He's married and much older but they're having an affair.
When Phil breaks things off, Bobby moves quickly to take up room in Vonnie's heart. (He has no idea her boyfriend was Phil, btw.) But when Phil finally leaves his wife, Vonnie chooses him over Bobby, and Bobby returns to New York. He ends up quite successful in running a nightclub, marries a model-worthy woman, has a baby, and is largely none the worse for wear. Even when Phil and Vonnie come for a visit, Bobby gets to have his cake and eat it too, so to speak. He sees that Vonnie is a little miserable, he gets to spend time with her, even kiss her, but also hold on to his perfect little life. Meanwhile, the women get the short end of everything. Phil's wife gets tossed aside, Vonnie gets the sadness of longing for someone else, and Bobby's wife gets cheated on. Men are assholes in Woody Allen movies, but somehow it's all excused while women are left to pick up the pieces.
This is nothing new, but Café Society was very obvious about it. It also made plain the ideal that New York is better than L.A. In this movie the L.A. people are loud and superficial. They name drop, and every interaction with them is like oil on water. Nothing feels real or true. New York is grittier but also seen to be more satisfying. Bobby glides through his nightclub, true, but his interactions with the patrons feel more rooted than those in L.A.
It's an okay movie. Somewhat Gatsby-esque in themes. But I found myself distracted by all these glaring aspects; it was as if I had to squint to see past them and watch the movie. I realize these things have been present in Woody Allen movies for forever, so maybe it's just that my tolerance for them is depleted. Either way, Café Society left me grimacing.
4.03.2016
Movies: The Hateful Eight
My record with Tarantino movies is spotty. The first one I ever saw was Reservoir Dogs, and I only watched it because it was required viewing in film school. I'm sure Tarantino would be pleased to hear that. It was a bloody movie, but I actually kind of liked it, which surprised me.
But then I tried to watch Pulp Fiction—I've tried dozens of times to watch that movie, and I've never been able to get through it. Not my thing. Doesn't interest or engage me. Same with Kill Bill.
I liked Inglourious Basterds when I saw it but couldn't tell you now what it was I liked about it. Was somewhat indifferent to Django Unchained, I think. In the same way of Inglourious Basterds, I only have an impression of that movie really. Hated Jackie Brown. But again, can now only vaguely recall it. Which is to say, I more remember how much I disliked it than anything about the movie.
Come to think of it, none of Tarantino's movies stay with me. For someone so dead set on leaving his mark, he fails to impress me much or deeply. (And I know what he'd say to that, too.)
So. The Hateful Eight. Set in post-Civil War Wyoming. A bunch of rough types are holed up in Minnie's Haberdashery as they wait out a blizzard. Being rough types, it's only a matter of time before tempers explode. And then there's a kind of mystery over who poisoned the coffee, and we get Samuel L. Jackson as Sherlock Holmes and Walter Goggins as his Watson. Sort of.
It's actually not a bad idea. But the film is overly long and—in the way of Tarantino movies—both talky and bloody. I suppose that's what people go to see in his movies? He's catering to a very specific crowd and I'm not of their number.
We get some very good performances here. But I must necessarily cringe at the open misogyny and abuse of the one female character. And at the ridiculous level of bloodshed.
I have a feeling this one will slide, like all the others, into a corner of my brain until it becomes nothing more than a foggy impression. For me, Tarantino movies apparently end in one big shrug. There is a failure to connect on some level. What that says about me, or his work, is up for interpretation.
But then I tried to watch Pulp Fiction—I've tried dozens of times to watch that movie, and I've never been able to get through it. Not my thing. Doesn't interest or engage me. Same with Kill Bill.
I liked Inglourious Basterds when I saw it but couldn't tell you now what it was I liked about it. Was somewhat indifferent to Django Unchained, I think. In the same way of Inglourious Basterds, I only have an impression of that movie really. Hated Jackie Brown. But again, can now only vaguely recall it. Which is to say, I more remember how much I disliked it than anything about the movie.
Come to think of it, none of Tarantino's movies stay with me. For someone so dead set on leaving his mark, he fails to impress me much or deeply. (And I know what he'd say to that, too.)
So. The Hateful Eight. Set in post-Civil War Wyoming. A bunch of rough types are holed up in Minnie's Haberdashery as they wait out a blizzard. Being rough types, it's only a matter of time before tempers explode. And then there's a kind of mystery over who poisoned the coffee, and we get Samuel L. Jackson as Sherlock Holmes and Walter Goggins as his Watson. Sort of.
It's actually not a bad idea. But the film is overly long and—in the way of Tarantino movies—both talky and bloody. I suppose that's what people go to see in his movies? He's catering to a very specific crowd and I'm not of their number.
We get some very good performances here. But I must necessarily cringe at the open misogyny and abuse of the one female character. And at the ridiculous level of bloodshed.
I have a feeling this one will slide, like all the others, into a corner of my brain until it becomes nothing more than a foggy impression. For me, Tarantino movies apparently end in one big shrug. There is a failure to connect on some level. What that says about me, or his work, is up for interpretation.
1.17.2016
Movies: The Visit
Okay, so I have mixed feelings about M. Night Shyamalan's work. I know his movies are full of holes and flaws, and it has become a pastime of some people to point those out. And I honestly wasn't as blown away by The Sixth Sense as so many people seem to have been when it came out. But I do, in general, enjoy his movies. I think they're nicely done, and I usually am at least a bit entertained. It's only after the fact, when one thinks very much about them, that one sees the lack of clothing on the emperor. While watching (at least the first time), I'm usually drawn in enough not to be diverted in such ways.
Alas, The Visit did not draw me in. It was weird but not scary, and the "mystery" failed to engross me. I had it figured out fairly early on, and there wasn't any point at which I was all that worried for the main characters. Plus, the moments in which the characters made ridiculously bad decisions (as in so many horror movies) were egregious enough to be distracting.
I hadn't really read anything about the movie before watching it, which is my preferred way of going into a Shyamalan film. Turns out it's about two kids visiting their grandparents for the first time ever. Rebecca is 15 and an aspiring filmmaker, so the movie is all from the point of view of her filming the titular visit, interviewing her grandparents and so on. Her younger brother Tyler is 13 and a would-be rapper.
These kids' parents are divorced and the mother estranged from the grandparents which is why Rebecca and Tyler have never met them. And also why their mother does not accompany them on the trip. She just puts them on a train and off they go. This alone seems like a terrible decision, but I was able to let it slide. Later on, when there should have been calls to 911—that's when I was like, NOPE.
The bulk of the movie is Rebecca and Tyler trying to make sense of weird things happening at their grandparents' house. Their grandmother is "sundowning," which means she goes crazy every night at 10:00 or so. Their grandfather is incontinent and hides the dirty diapers in the barn, and he also dresses up for nonexistent costume parties. Yet when the kids Skype with their mother (who is out on a cruise with her boyfriend), they play down the bizarre nature of things. Or at least Rebecca does. She's keen to get her grandparents to confess some kind of forgiveness so that their mom can be reunited with them, so I guess she feels it works against her plan to say, "Nana and Pop Pop are crazy!"
I won't give the twist away, though it's pretty standard fare and easily seen coming.
On the whole, I was kind of bored and disappointed with the whole thing. Rebecca and Tyler fail to be engaging enough characters to carry the film, and the grandparents are certainly creepy in some ways, but I didn't find them entirely threatening. The whole thing felt like Paranormal Activity Lite. Which might be right for some audiences, but does nothing for me.
Alas, The Visit did not draw me in. It was weird but not scary, and the "mystery" failed to engross me. I had it figured out fairly early on, and there wasn't any point at which I was all that worried for the main characters. Plus, the moments in which the characters made ridiculously bad decisions (as in so many horror movies) were egregious enough to be distracting.
I hadn't really read anything about the movie before watching it, which is my preferred way of going into a Shyamalan film. Turns out it's about two kids visiting their grandparents for the first time ever. Rebecca is 15 and an aspiring filmmaker, so the movie is all from the point of view of her filming the titular visit, interviewing her grandparents and so on. Her younger brother Tyler is 13 and a would-be rapper.
These kids' parents are divorced and the mother estranged from the grandparents which is why Rebecca and Tyler have never met them. And also why their mother does not accompany them on the trip. She just puts them on a train and off they go. This alone seems like a terrible decision, but I was able to let it slide. Later on, when there should have been calls to 911—that's when I was like, NOPE.
The bulk of the movie is Rebecca and Tyler trying to make sense of weird things happening at their grandparents' house. Their grandmother is "sundowning," which means she goes crazy every night at 10:00 or so. Their grandfather is incontinent and hides the dirty diapers in the barn, and he also dresses up for nonexistent costume parties. Yet when the kids Skype with their mother (who is out on a cruise with her boyfriend), they play down the bizarre nature of things. Or at least Rebecca does. She's keen to get her grandparents to confess some kind of forgiveness so that their mom can be reunited with them, so I guess she feels it works against her plan to say, "Nana and Pop Pop are crazy!"
I won't give the twist away, though it's pretty standard fare and easily seen coming.
On the whole, I was kind of bored and disappointed with the whole thing. Rebecca and Tyler fail to be engaging enough characters to carry the film, and the grandparents are certainly creepy in some ways, but I didn't find them entirely threatening. The whole thing felt like Paranormal Activity Lite. Which might be right for some audiences, but does nothing for me.
9.20.2015
Movies: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Starring: Henry Cavill, Armie Hammer, Alicia, Vikander
Directed By: Guy Ritchie
Written By: Guy Ritchie & Lionel Wigram, based on the television series by Sam Rolfe
Warner Bros., 2015
PG-13; 116 minutes
4.5 stars (out of 5)
_______________________________________________________
When this movie came out, I avoided reviews that would give away the plot, but I did see one question pop up again and again: Who is this movie for?
The teens and young adults, or new adults, or whatever they're calling them this week, won't have any reference for this movie, and the older viewers ostensibly weren't going to find the show they loved in this film franchise. I can't speak to the latter because I've never seen the show. I don't know how much like the show this film is or isn't. I can only guess that it has about as much in common with the source material as Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes does to Doyle. It's there to an extent and punched up in a lot of weird ways.
Still, as someone who'd never seen the show, I really did enjoy the movie. Okay, it has some big sins. Lots of exposition in dialogue (spy movies get away with that through "debriefings"), and then also some backstory written on the screen. But at least there's no voiceover narration, right?
As for the plot, it's fairly straight forward (and they explain it as they go along anyway). In a nutshell, the Russians and Americans team up to get information about an Italian family that is supposedly harboring a scientist who is developing a nuclear warhead. The whole thing is set during the Cold War, of course, and the opening credits are a quickie history lesson for those who didn't live through it.
This looks like a Guy Ritchie movie, by which I mean, if I hadn't know who'd directed it, I would've guessed without too much trouble. But I like Guy Ritchie movies, so . . . Cool.
Some of the humor is a little flat. They go for easy, predictable jokes. They try a little too hard in places. Yet they manage to avoid falling into parody or camp. It is a surprisingly satisfying balance that they strike.
And what Ritchie seems to do remarkably well in all his movies is to assemble a cast that has real chemistry. They're fun to watch, and the audience feels in a way they're joining in. RDJ and Jude Law have it, and Cavill and Hammer do, too. Which is why I'm really sorry this film didn't do better at the box office because I'd absolutely keep coming back for more.
So the answer to that first question is: People like me.
Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of those.
Directed By: Guy Ritchie
Written By: Guy Ritchie & Lionel Wigram, based on the television series by Sam Rolfe
Warner Bros., 2015
PG-13; 116 minutes
4.5 stars (out of 5)
_______________________________________________________
When this movie came out, I avoided reviews that would give away the plot, but I did see one question pop up again and again: Who is this movie for?
The teens and young adults, or new adults, or whatever they're calling them this week, won't have any reference for this movie, and the older viewers ostensibly weren't going to find the show they loved in this film franchise. I can't speak to the latter because I've never seen the show. I don't know how much like the show this film is or isn't. I can only guess that it has about as much in common with the source material as Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes does to Doyle. It's there to an extent and punched up in a lot of weird ways.
Still, as someone who'd never seen the show, I really did enjoy the movie. Okay, it has some big sins. Lots of exposition in dialogue (spy movies get away with that through "debriefings"), and then also some backstory written on the screen. But at least there's no voiceover narration, right?
As for the plot, it's fairly straight forward (and they explain it as they go along anyway). In a nutshell, the Russians and Americans team up to get information about an Italian family that is supposedly harboring a scientist who is developing a nuclear warhead. The whole thing is set during the Cold War, of course, and the opening credits are a quickie history lesson for those who didn't live through it.
This looks like a Guy Ritchie movie, by which I mean, if I hadn't know who'd directed it, I would've guessed without too much trouble. But I like Guy Ritchie movies, so . . . Cool.
Some of the humor is a little flat. They go for easy, predictable jokes. They try a little too hard in places. Yet they manage to avoid falling into parody or camp. It is a surprisingly satisfying balance that they strike.
And what Ritchie seems to do remarkably well in all his movies is to assemble a cast that has real chemistry. They're fun to watch, and the audience feels in a way they're joining in. RDJ and Jude Law have it, and Cavill and Hammer do, too. Which is why I'm really sorry this film didn't do better at the box office because I'd absolutely keep coming back for more.
So the answer to that first question is: People like me.
Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of those.
8.23.2015
Movies: Jodorowsky's Dune
Back at the height of his career, Alejandro Jodorowsky had big plans to adapt Frank Herbert's Dune to film. He went through a very long and involved process of collecting amazing talent to realize this dream, only to have it fall apart when the studios refused to take on the project. This documentary, then, is the story of what would have and could have been.
Now, I love Dune. Both the book and, yes, the Lynch movie. I realize it isn't, objectively, a very good film. And it certainly doesn't stand the test of time what with the dated FX. But I read the book when I was nine or ten, and I fell in love with it, so I guess I was predisposed to love the movie, too, when I finally caught the 4-hour version on cable. (Yes, I'm a firm member of the camp that declares the longer version is better. Makes more sense at least, though really, Dune is a film for the lovers of the book. I don't think it's meant to make sense to people who haven't read it, which is probably one of its chief flaws.)
Also, I love Toto.
BUT. This documentary opened doors to new ideas. Music in Dune by Pink Floyd? That would have been worth seeing! Or . . . hearing, I guess. David Carradine? Mick Jagger (in the role Sting eventually played)? Yeah, it's tantalizing to consider.
And the stories of how Jodorowsky went about reaching out to people and assembling this cast and crew is quite interesting as well.
Jodorowsky, too, is a lively storyteller as he recounts his efforts in interviews for the camera. He's refreshingly straightforward for an industry that likes to hedge and tiptoe. His disappointment, even after all these years, is palpable. The system let him down. Hollywood failed to see what he could see, no matter how he tried to show them. This is, unfortunately, so often the way it goes for visionaries.
As for Jodorowsky's ideas for Dune itself, well . . . As a fan of the book, I had difficulty buying in. While I could certainly see how different and innovative and ambitious the plans were, and I could also understand the message Jodorwsky was trying to get across by telling the story this way . . . I can't say I 100% loved it. It was just so over the top, even for epic sci-fi/fantasy. But then again, look at 70's sci-fi movies, or 70's anything, really. Over the top was the preferred method for pretty much everything. Lots of colors, lots of overacting, lots of beating people over their heads with "messages" and "meanings."
One of the most interesting features of the documentary comes at the end, though, when they juxtapose much of Jodorowsky's storyboards and conceptual art over films that seem to have lifted these things right from the massive book Jodorowsky sent to every major studio. Some of the similarities are uncanny.
Jodorowsky is 86 now and spry for his age. This documentary prompted him to direct his first movie in over a decade; The Dance of Reality showed at Cannes, and now Jodorowsky is filming Endless Poetry. He may have struggled to put the disappointment of a lost Dune behind him, but it's nice to see him coming back to his work.
Now, I love Dune. Both the book and, yes, the Lynch movie. I realize it isn't, objectively, a very good film. And it certainly doesn't stand the test of time what with the dated FX. But I read the book when I was nine or ten, and I fell in love with it, so I guess I was predisposed to love the movie, too, when I finally caught the 4-hour version on cable. (Yes, I'm a firm member of the camp that declares the longer version is better. Makes more sense at least, though really, Dune is a film for the lovers of the book. I don't think it's meant to make sense to people who haven't read it, which is probably one of its chief flaws.)
Also, I love Toto.
BUT. This documentary opened doors to new ideas. Music in Dune by Pink Floyd? That would have been worth seeing! Or . . . hearing, I guess. David Carradine? Mick Jagger (in the role Sting eventually played)? Yeah, it's tantalizing to consider.
And the stories of how Jodorowsky went about reaching out to people and assembling this cast and crew is quite interesting as well.
Jodorowsky, too, is a lively storyteller as he recounts his efforts in interviews for the camera. He's refreshingly straightforward for an industry that likes to hedge and tiptoe. His disappointment, even after all these years, is palpable. The system let him down. Hollywood failed to see what he could see, no matter how he tried to show them. This is, unfortunately, so often the way it goes for visionaries.
As for Jodorowsky's ideas for Dune itself, well . . . As a fan of the book, I had difficulty buying in. While I could certainly see how different and innovative and ambitious the plans were, and I could also understand the message Jodorwsky was trying to get across by telling the story this way . . . I can't say I 100% loved it. It was just so over the top, even for epic sci-fi/fantasy. But then again, look at 70's sci-fi movies, or 70's anything, really. Over the top was the preferred method for pretty much everything. Lots of colors, lots of overacting, lots of beating people over their heads with "messages" and "meanings."
One of the most interesting features of the documentary comes at the end, though, when they juxtapose much of Jodorowsky's storyboards and conceptual art over films that seem to have lifted these things right from the massive book Jodorowsky sent to every major studio. Some of the similarities are uncanny.
Jodorowsky is 86 now and spry for his age. This documentary prompted him to direct his first movie in over a decade; The Dance of Reality showed at Cannes, and now Jodorowsky is filming Endless Poetry. He may have struggled to put the disappointment of a lost Dune behind him, but it's nice to see him coming back to his work.
12.29.2014
Movies: Magic in the Moonlight
If Blue Jasmine = A Streetcar Named Desire, then Magic in the Moonlight = Pygmalion My Fair Lady. So much so that I was dying for Colin Firth to say, "I've grown accustomed to her face" at the end.
The film is set in 1928 and stars Firth as Stanley, a stage magician whose best friend Howard hits him up to come visit friends in the south of France. Howard is also a magician, though not as successful as Stanley, and he wants Stanley's help in debunking a young American medium named Sophie Baker (Emma Stone). Sophie is leeching off Howard's rich friends, and now the heir to the family fortune—a would-be Freddy dimwit named Bryce in this incarnation—is set on marrying her.
Okay, so it's not exactly My Fair Lady, but the characters are there. Allen has turned it on its head somewhat, so that [spoilers] Howard (who would be Pickering) is putting one over on his old friend. But the end result is the same: Stanley first discards Sophie then realizes he loves her, even as she is engaged toFreddy Bryce.
Thematically, this one hearkens back to You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger in that it explores the idea that anything (specifically, the spiritual and/or metaphysical) that makes a person happy, however seemingly absurd, may not be all bad. And yet the lens certainly is designed for the viewer to shake his or her head and think how stupid such people must be to believe these things. Good for them, we're supposed to say, that they are so simple-minded they can take comfort in these dumb things.
The truth is, if one thinks past the immediate gratification of the happily ever after, Sophie is going to spend her life living down that trick. Given his character, it's difficult to believe Stanley will ever let her forget it. He's claimed to have forgiven her, but . . . The chances of her being any more happy with Stanley than Bryce are questionable. And the fact that Stanley throws over a woman his own age in order to be with someone half that is a little disturbing, too (not least because it's Woody Allen). I mean, the quality of Bryce's love is that of infatuation, whereas Stanley offers more of a fatherly mentor figure. Bryce's infatuation might eventually wear off, but at least he and Sophie have things in common: they're of an age, like the same music. Life with Stanley promises to be stricter, more like a tutelage, and with fewer fun travel options.
Of course, one could say the same of My Fair Lady. Eliza stays with the much older Professor Higgins rather than accepting Freddy. But there's something about the way My Fair Lady is constructed that leads us to believe she will be happier with Higgins. I didn't find that in this film.
I also found the turning point abrupt—the moment in which Stanley begins to believe Sophie really is a medium. It felt like a slap, and I almost hoped he was putting something over on her.
In truth, I never once questioned that it was a scam, and it was pretty easy to trace the thread back to Howard. But that did not prevent me from liking the movie. I didn't love it (and I do love My Fair Lady and Pygmalion), but I enjoyed it. Then again, I'll watch Colin Firth in just about anything. Bonus points for his dapper wardrobe, but deducting a few for his inability to dance.
The film is set in 1928 and stars Firth as Stanley, a stage magician whose best friend Howard hits him up to come visit friends in the south of France. Howard is also a magician, though not as successful as Stanley, and he wants Stanley's help in debunking a young American medium named Sophie Baker (Emma Stone). Sophie is leeching off Howard's rich friends, and now the heir to the family fortune—a would-be Freddy dimwit named Bryce in this incarnation—is set on marrying her.
Okay, so it's not exactly My Fair Lady, but the characters are there. Allen has turned it on its head somewhat, so that [spoilers] Howard (who would be Pickering) is putting one over on his old friend. But the end result is the same: Stanley first discards Sophie then realizes he loves her, even as she is engaged to
Thematically, this one hearkens back to You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger in that it explores the idea that anything (specifically, the spiritual and/or metaphysical) that makes a person happy, however seemingly absurd, may not be all bad. And yet the lens certainly is designed for the viewer to shake his or her head and think how stupid such people must be to believe these things. Good for them, we're supposed to say, that they are so simple-minded they can take comfort in these dumb things.
The truth is, if one thinks past the immediate gratification of the happily ever after, Sophie is going to spend her life living down that trick. Given his character, it's difficult to believe Stanley will ever let her forget it. He's claimed to have forgiven her, but . . . The chances of her being any more happy with Stanley than Bryce are questionable. And the fact that Stanley throws over a woman his own age in order to be with someone half that is a little disturbing, too (not least because it's Woody Allen). I mean, the quality of Bryce's love is that of infatuation, whereas Stanley offers more of a fatherly mentor figure. Bryce's infatuation might eventually wear off, but at least he and Sophie have things in common: they're of an age, like the same music. Life with Stanley promises to be stricter, more like a tutelage, and with fewer fun travel options.
Of course, one could say the same of My Fair Lady. Eliza stays with the much older Professor Higgins rather than accepting Freddy. But there's something about the way My Fair Lady is constructed that leads us to believe she will be happier with Higgins. I didn't find that in this film.
I also found the turning point abrupt—the moment in which Stanley begins to believe Sophie really is a medium. It felt like a slap, and I almost hoped he was putting something over on her.
In truth, I never once questioned that it was a scam, and it was pretty easy to trace the thread back to Howard. But that did not prevent me from liking the movie. I didn't love it (and I do love My Fair Lady and Pygmalion), but I enjoyed it. Then again, I'll watch Colin Firth in just about anything. Bonus points for his dapper wardrobe, but deducting a few for his inability to dance.
4.17.2014
Television: Fargo, "The Crocodile's Dilemma"
Let's start by having me say that though I've read Fargo (the movie) I've never watched it. That's the thing about having a film degree with a focus on screenwriting—you read a lot of scripts. You see a lot of movies, too, but you read more of them than you see.
The television show has a very similar setup to the movie, which is to be expected, I guess. The film being the jumping off point for the show. Names have been changed (and this is acknowledged in an almost tongue-in-cheek way at the start of the episode) but the story is more or less the same only with a bigger reach. Jerry from the film is now Lester (and William H. Macy is now Martin Freeman), which is fitting if you consider the nickname is "Les" and Lester really is less than . . . He's nice, sure, but beat down and colorless, sort of letting life happen to him. Until he meets Lorne Malvo (Billy Bob Thornton) in the ER and "inspires" Malvo to murder Sam Hess.
Not that Malvo needs much prompting. He's a hit man who gets a kick out of causing mischief. Billy Bob Thornton does a fabulous job here; he's clearly in his element.
While one big feature of the film version is that Marge (Frances McDormand) is hugely pregnant, the show transfers that onto the police chief's wife. Oh, and Marge is now Molly Solverson (cute play on words with the last name there).
The episode leaves us with things spinning out of control; the murder of Sam Hess spirals into Lester also murdering his wife and then Malvo killing the police chief. One assumes it's only a matter of time before Lester is caught, so I suppose the fun in watching more of the show is seeing how it happens. And also seeing what else Malvo instigates.
The show was, as one would expect with anything Coen, dark with moments of humor and also moments of extreme intensity. I'll admit I much prefer their lighter works (Big Lebowski, O Brother) and I generally avoid anything I know will be very bloody, but I really did like this show. There was blood, of course, but nothing I couldn't stomach. I've set a series recording; I'm curious to see how things play out.
The television show has a very similar setup to the movie, which is to be expected, I guess. The film being the jumping off point for the show. Names have been changed (and this is acknowledged in an almost tongue-in-cheek way at the start of the episode) but the story is more or less the same only with a bigger reach. Jerry from the film is now Lester (and William H. Macy is now Martin Freeman), which is fitting if you consider the nickname is "Les" and Lester really is less than . . . He's nice, sure, but beat down and colorless, sort of letting life happen to him. Until he meets Lorne Malvo (Billy Bob Thornton) in the ER and "inspires" Malvo to murder Sam Hess.
Not that Malvo needs much prompting. He's a hit man who gets a kick out of causing mischief. Billy Bob Thornton does a fabulous job here; he's clearly in his element.
While one big feature of the film version is that Marge (Frances McDormand) is hugely pregnant, the show transfers that onto the police chief's wife. Oh, and Marge is now Molly Solverson (cute play on words with the last name there).
The episode leaves us with things spinning out of control; the murder of Sam Hess spirals into Lester also murdering his wife and then Malvo killing the police chief. One assumes it's only a matter of time before Lester is caught, so I suppose the fun in watching more of the show is seeing how it happens. And also seeing what else Malvo instigates.
The show was, as one would expect with anything Coen, dark with moments of humor and also moments of extreme intensity. I'll admit I much prefer their lighter works (Big Lebowski, O Brother) and I generally avoid anything I know will be very bloody, but I really did like this show. There was blood, of course, but nothing I couldn't stomach. I've set a series recording; I'm curious to see how things play out.
3.29.2014
Movies: The Grand Budapest Hotel
Starring: Ralph Fiennes, Tony Revolori, Adrien Brody, Willem Dafoe
Directed By: Wes Anderson
Written By: Wes Anderson (screenplay & story), Hugo Guinness (story), inspired by the works of Stefan Zweig
Fox Searchlight, 2014
R; 100 mins
5 stars (out of 5)
_______________________________________________________
Watching a Wes Anderson movie is sort of like falling into Wonderland. There are a lot of colors and a lot of strange characters and an oddly literary bent to everything. It is mesmerizing and entertaining, and The Grand Budapest Hotel is yet another entry in Anderson's catalogue of oddities. Or odysseys. Depending on how you look at it.
The tale is narrated in a fashion that at once reminded me of Watson describing his adventures with Holmes. And the story itself is an adventure of sorts. From the outside, a story about how Mr. Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham) ended up as owner of the titular hotel might not sound very exciting. But I think we all know Wes Anderson better than that. And so there is the labyrinth of plot to wind through, the story of how Moustafa (first name Zero) started at the hotel as Lobby Boy under one M. Gustave (Fiennes in grand form) at the outset of WWII.
[My son asked me prior to my going to the movie what it was about. I said, "A hotel in Budapest, I guess. Though, knowing the writer/director, I'm willing to bet the hotel isn't actually in Budapest anyway." Yeah, that.]
Bonus for use of Fisher Stevens in a cameo. Most of the other cameos were more or less expected, but this one was a pleasant surprise.
It's been a long time since I've attended a movie during which everyone laughed and cheered—and this is counting many recent blockbusters; not even Star Trek got such a reaction from viewers when I went last spring, and it used to be one could count on the appearance of the Enterprise at least getting applause. Now we've become so used to these things, the superheroes and so forth, they no longer amaze us or win us over. It takes something completely different to surprise and delight us, and The Grand Budapest Hotel did it. At least for the cinema I was in.
One could argue that Anderson's movies are all kind of the same, and they are. They all have similar looks and feels, that cast of quirky characters and so on. It's his trademark. And yet . . . One goes into a Wes Anderson movie knowing what to expect in one way (tone) . . . And never knowing what to expect in another (story). And that in itself is quite a feat. Maybe that's why I continue to enjoy his films so much.
Directed By: Wes Anderson
Written By: Wes Anderson (screenplay & story), Hugo Guinness (story), inspired by the works of Stefan Zweig
Fox Searchlight, 2014
R; 100 mins
5 stars (out of 5)
_______________________________________________________
Watching a Wes Anderson movie is sort of like falling into Wonderland. There are a lot of colors and a lot of strange characters and an oddly literary bent to everything. It is mesmerizing and entertaining, and The Grand Budapest Hotel is yet another entry in Anderson's catalogue of oddities. Or odysseys. Depending on how you look at it.
The tale is narrated in a fashion that at once reminded me of Watson describing his adventures with Holmes. And the story itself is an adventure of sorts. From the outside, a story about how Mr. Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham) ended up as owner of the titular hotel might not sound very exciting. But I think we all know Wes Anderson better than that. And so there is the labyrinth of plot to wind through, the story of how Moustafa (first name Zero) started at the hotel as Lobby Boy under one M. Gustave (Fiennes in grand form) at the outset of WWII.
[My son asked me prior to my going to the movie what it was about. I said, "A hotel in Budapest, I guess. Though, knowing the writer/director, I'm willing to bet the hotel isn't actually in Budapest anyway." Yeah, that.]
Bonus for use of Fisher Stevens in a cameo. Most of the other cameos were more or less expected, but this one was a pleasant surprise.
It's been a long time since I've attended a movie during which everyone laughed and cheered—and this is counting many recent blockbusters; not even Star Trek got such a reaction from viewers when I went last spring, and it used to be one could count on the appearance of the Enterprise at least getting applause. Now we've become so used to these things, the superheroes and so forth, they no longer amaze us or win us over. It takes something completely different to surprise and delight us, and The Grand Budapest Hotel did it. At least for the cinema I was in.
One could argue that Anderson's movies are all kind of the same, and they are. They all have similar looks and feels, that cast of quirky characters and so on. It's his trademark. And yet . . . One goes into a Wes Anderson movie knowing what to expect in one way (tone) . . . And never knowing what to expect in another (story). And that in itself is quite a feat. Maybe that's why I continue to enjoy his films so much.
3.10.2014
Movies: The People vs. George Lucas
This documentary examines the love-hate relationship Star Wars (and to a far lesser extent Indiana Jones) fans have with George Lucas. It looks at both sides of various arguments and never really weighs in except to say, in the end (and just like your parents always said to you), that everyone still loves George, even when they're angry with him.
Some of the arguments I understand and some I don't. The anger that erupted with the new editions of the original trilogy . . . That I get. I hated the new scenes and the changes that were made too. And yet we have entered a point in digital history in which "texts" (cultural studies speak for films, television shows, and other media) are far more fluid than they used to be. While still mostly static—that is, for the most part a movie or television show or book is fixed once it is distributed—the rapidly declining costs of technology, the fact that self-published authors can make many changes and tweaks to a book and simply "repost" it, the shorter shelf life of films so that franchises are constantly rebooted . . . All this adds up to texts being more changeable than ever before. Even if you loved it the first time, that doesn't mean someone won't want to add to it, change it, embellish it later. George felt it was time to give Star Wars a facelift. I didn't love the final result, but . . . As a fellow creator in my own right, I do have to respect that he had a vision for his work.
Now the fact he didn't want to let people opt for the original, instead more or less wanted to force people to live with the new editions . . . That's a bit like doctoring old photographs and then trying to tell the people in them that they're just remembering their childhoods wrong. "No, really, it was always this way. Just look!" (Waving photo.) I can't really get behind that particular decision.
I didn't like Episodes I–III either, but the argument that Lucas "raped childhoods" doesn't really fly. I look at it this way: Lucas gave us something we didn't even know to ask for. Like a first taste of candy. And then, like all sugared-up kids, we kept begging for more candy. When he finally gave it to us, we complained about the flavor.
Isn't it just possible that we saw those first movies during our formative years and that nothing Lucas could do would ever recapture that magic? That maybe Episodes I–III were more for a new generation than the old one? Fans have a terrible sense of entitlement (my psychology minor was focused on fan psychology, and besides, I am a fan, so I do know). They appropriate the text, they write fan fiction, they make fan films, and they get a bit worked up when their hard work is negated by something "official," something that comes from "the source," or "the creator." Fans tend to argue that their emotional investment trumps the creator's because the creator is only in it for the money. Sometimes it's true that the creator is only in it for the money, but I'm not entirely convinced that fact means the fans know better and/or should be running the show.
In any case, Episodes I–III did not somehow cast a pall over my happy memories of playing Star Wars with my best friend (I always had to be Han). My feelings about the franchise as a whole have shifted a bit, that's true. But my original well of love for the films of my childhood remains intact; I can look back and feel that love again when I think about those untarnished hours.
They touched on George's desire for control, for which I think it's odd to single him out. Most creators want an amount of control over their creations, and George has been very open in terms of letting fans play with his toys (cf. Anne Rice's demands that no one write fan fiction about her characters). Just because he doesn't want anyone to have to endure that terrible holiday special again doesn't make him a control freak. And now he's handed off his baby to Disney anyway.
This documentary was clearly made before the news that there would be a final three films, as it ends with a plea for George not to stop. Yes, we still want more candy. We're hoping it'll taste better than the last handful. It will serve us all right if, like Charlie Brown, we're given a rock instead.
Some of the arguments I understand and some I don't. The anger that erupted with the new editions of the original trilogy . . . That I get. I hated the new scenes and the changes that were made too. And yet we have entered a point in digital history in which "texts" (cultural studies speak for films, television shows, and other media) are far more fluid than they used to be. While still mostly static—that is, for the most part a movie or television show or book is fixed once it is distributed—the rapidly declining costs of technology, the fact that self-published authors can make many changes and tweaks to a book and simply "repost" it, the shorter shelf life of films so that franchises are constantly rebooted . . . All this adds up to texts being more changeable than ever before. Even if you loved it the first time, that doesn't mean someone won't want to add to it, change it, embellish it later. George felt it was time to give Star Wars a facelift. I didn't love the final result, but . . . As a fellow creator in my own right, I do have to respect that he had a vision for his work.
Now the fact he didn't want to let people opt for the original, instead more or less wanted to force people to live with the new editions . . . That's a bit like doctoring old photographs and then trying to tell the people in them that they're just remembering their childhoods wrong. "No, really, it was always this way. Just look!" (Waving photo.) I can't really get behind that particular decision.
I didn't like Episodes I–III either, but the argument that Lucas "raped childhoods" doesn't really fly. I look at it this way: Lucas gave us something we didn't even know to ask for. Like a first taste of candy. And then, like all sugared-up kids, we kept begging for more candy. When he finally gave it to us, we complained about the flavor.
Isn't it just possible that we saw those first movies during our formative years and that nothing Lucas could do would ever recapture that magic? That maybe Episodes I–III were more for a new generation than the old one? Fans have a terrible sense of entitlement (my psychology minor was focused on fan psychology, and besides, I am a fan, so I do know). They appropriate the text, they write fan fiction, they make fan films, and they get a bit worked up when their hard work is negated by something "official," something that comes from "the source," or "the creator." Fans tend to argue that their emotional investment trumps the creator's because the creator is only in it for the money. Sometimes it's true that the creator is only in it for the money, but I'm not entirely convinced that fact means the fans know better and/or should be running the show.
In any case, Episodes I–III did not somehow cast a pall over my happy memories of playing Star Wars with my best friend (I always had to be Han). My feelings about the franchise as a whole have shifted a bit, that's true. But my original well of love for the films of my childhood remains intact; I can look back and feel that love again when I think about those untarnished hours.
They touched on George's desire for control, for which I think it's odd to single him out. Most creators want an amount of control over their creations, and George has been very open in terms of letting fans play with his toys (cf. Anne Rice's demands that no one write fan fiction about her characters). Just because he doesn't want anyone to have to endure that terrible holiday special again doesn't make him a control freak. And now he's handed off his baby to Disney anyway.
This documentary was clearly made before the news that there would be a final three films, as it ends with a plea for George not to stop. Yes, we still want more candy. We're hoping it'll taste better than the last handful. It will serve us all right if, like Charlie Brown, we're given a rock instead.
8.10.2013
Woody Allen Shares (a little)
I've never been a fan of Woody Allen. I'll say that up front. By which I mean, we were forced to watch Annie Hall in film school, and I didn't like it. Thought it was boring. Didn't find the relationship at all relatable, or funny, or interesting, or anything.
Then people say, "Well, have you seen Manhattan?" (A: No, but Richard Marx sings about it . . .) "Have you seen Hannah and Her Sisters?" Nope. After Annie Hall, I couldn't be bothered with any of that stuff. Because I was having it recommended to me by people who liked Annie Hall.
Now, I should perhaps mention that I did love What's Up, Tiger Lily? as a kid. But that's a different breed of animal.
Okay, and then later I tried to watch Match Point but ended up turning it off because I thought it was boring, too. Maybe I was just in the wrong frame of mind, though. I mean, I could try watching it again. I understand, of course, that there's a difference between watching (or reading) something because it's required and doing it because you really want to. And I know that reception is in part about mood and environment and just general circumstance. So, you know, it's possible I could go and even try Annie Hall again and discover it's not as awful as I remember.
Then, too, I watched Midnight in Paris during a flight to London and enjoyed it. Came home and watched it again, just to be sure it wasn't that I was fatigued the first time. But no, I really liked it. And that's receptivity again: I'm always happy when on my way to London, so then I watch a movie while on my way over, and my general good spirits color my feelings for what I'm seeing.
Anyway, that long preface finished (because I believe in being honest about my biases), I have to say I also really enjoyed this short little piece in which Woody Allen tells Esquire what he's learned. Because I'm a writer, too, and can at least relate to some of what he says. Yes, sometimes I do surprise myself when I'm writing. When it pops into my head, it's as funny and amazing to me as it is to anyone who might read or see it later. That's why you can't ask a writer where his or her ideas come from; we don't know. They spring like Athene from our skulls. (Okay, not always. But you can usually tell the difference between something that's been worked over and something that is and was magic in the making.)
Also, I never go and re-read or see something I've done. Because, like Woody, I would only find the flaws. At most I might go check one of my books to see if I can remember what happens when, or what a specific line was, but I avoid it if I can. It makes me uncomfortable to see myself on film, or read my work, or see my work performed. And it's like going backward in a way, too; one mustn't dwell on what's already done. One must continue to produce and move forward. And if I were to tangle myself up in worrying about stuff that's already out there, regretting things (or reveling in them), I'd never get loose and be able to do more.
Woody mentions the shower, and I have to say I do some of my best writing in there. Problem is, I hop out and try to go write it all down, and it's never as good as it was in my head when the hot water was streaming over me. I should have some kind of dictaphone for the shower, I guess, but that would kind of ruin it for me.
I don't know if I was born with the gift for writing. I'd like to think so. God knows I didn't get my grandparents' ability to paint or draw (my dad also draws and is a photographer as a hobby as well) . . . My grandfather was a poet, too, but I'm useless with that kind of thing. Writing is all I have. And some acting. As for the achievement side of things, I keep trying. But as Woody points out, I have very little control over what happens in my life. Same as anyone. If I wanted complete control of my writing, it would never leave my laptop. I would keep extra backup flash drives stashed all over the house or something, just to be sure I never lost any of my work. But I wouldn't share it, either. I'd hoard words like squirrels hoard nuts. And the flip side of that is, you can never achieve anything that way. At least not while you're still alive.
Fighting? I don't do it often. I discuss. I'll argue my point, but I keep my cool most of the time. I get hot on the inside, sure, but at the end of the day, I prefer equilibrium. Makes it easier to sleep. Some people love the drama; they equate it with passion. I'm passionate enough in my own way, but as for the fighting and the excessive life drama, I try to save it for my work.
Then people say, "Well, have you seen Manhattan?" (A: No, but Richard Marx sings about it . . .) "Have you seen Hannah and Her Sisters?" Nope. After Annie Hall, I couldn't be bothered with any of that stuff. Because I was having it recommended to me by people who liked Annie Hall.
Now, I should perhaps mention that I did love What's Up, Tiger Lily? as a kid. But that's a different breed of animal.
Okay, and then later I tried to watch Match Point but ended up turning it off because I thought it was boring, too. Maybe I was just in the wrong frame of mind, though. I mean, I could try watching it again. I understand, of course, that there's a difference between watching (or reading) something because it's required and doing it because you really want to. And I know that reception is in part about mood and environment and just general circumstance. So, you know, it's possible I could go and even try Annie Hall again and discover it's not as awful as I remember.
Then, too, I watched Midnight in Paris during a flight to London and enjoyed it. Came home and watched it again, just to be sure it wasn't that I was fatigued the first time. But no, I really liked it. And that's receptivity again: I'm always happy when on my way to London, so then I watch a movie while on my way over, and my general good spirits color my feelings for what I'm seeing.
Anyway, that long preface finished (because I believe in being honest about my biases), I have to say I also really enjoyed this short little piece in which Woody Allen tells Esquire what he's learned. Because I'm a writer, too, and can at least relate to some of what he says. Yes, sometimes I do surprise myself when I'm writing. When it pops into my head, it's as funny and amazing to me as it is to anyone who might read or see it later. That's why you can't ask a writer where his or her ideas come from; we don't know. They spring like Athene from our skulls. (Okay, not always. But you can usually tell the difference between something that's been worked over and something that is and was magic in the making.)
Also, I never go and re-read or see something I've done. Because, like Woody, I would only find the flaws. At most I might go check one of my books to see if I can remember what happens when, or what a specific line was, but I avoid it if I can. It makes me uncomfortable to see myself on film, or read my work, or see my work performed. And it's like going backward in a way, too; one mustn't dwell on what's already done. One must continue to produce and move forward. And if I were to tangle myself up in worrying about stuff that's already out there, regretting things (or reveling in them), I'd never get loose and be able to do more.
Woody mentions the shower, and I have to say I do some of my best writing in there. Problem is, I hop out and try to go write it all down, and it's never as good as it was in my head when the hot water was streaming over me. I should have some kind of dictaphone for the shower, I guess, but that would kind of ruin it for me.
I don't know if I was born with the gift for writing. I'd like to think so. God knows I didn't get my grandparents' ability to paint or draw (my dad also draws and is a photographer as a hobby as well) . . . My grandfather was a poet, too, but I'm useless with that kind of thing. Writing is all I have. And some acting. As for the achievement side of things, I keep trying. But as Woody points out, I have very little control over what happens in my life. Same as anyone. If I wanted complete control of my writing, it would never leave my laptop. I would keep extra backup flash drives stashed all over the house or something, just to be sure I never lost any of my work. But I wouldn't share it, either. I'd hoard words like squirrels hoard nuts. And the flip side of that is, you can never achieve anything that way. At least not while you're still alive.
Fighting? I don't do it often. I discuss. I'll argue my point, but I keep my cool most of the time. I get hot on the inside, sure, but at the end of the day, I prefer equilibrium. Makes it easier to sleep. Some people love the drama; they equate it with passion. I'm passionate enough in my own way, but as for the fighting and the excessive life drama, I try to save it for my work.
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