The Quiet American: film review
2004
A side-ways look at America's culpability in south-east Asia is brimming with fine performances and unexpected revelations.
I am trying to think if there is anything more annoying than the righteous pointing out the corruptions of the world.
Spewing with certainty all that needs repair. Why bother? when all one has to do is reach into the past and resurrect a fine piece of prophecy. Through the lens of something proven, we can look back at a time of decision with all that hindsight has to offer. When Graham Greene's book first came out and when the original film adaptation was released the heart of the Vietnam War was almost a full decade away. Lets make no mistake; through borrowings and re-invention, the filmmakers here are trying to give us a lesson for the present. Built on a platform of contrived irony we are asked to stake a claim in how we choose to remember.
Even though our story is set in 1952 Saigon, Michael Cain's Thomas Fowler reaches back further, embodying all the British want to believe of pre-Raj imperialism. The second sons' who traveled and assimilated, comfortable in the certainty of there own moral imperative. Functioning as our narrator, an opium-smoking Fowler manages to offer a reasonable balance between cynical distance and an informed conscious. As a journalist he allows himself the luxury of such detachment. After all, he is an educated man, doing his job. Enter aid worker Alden Pyle (Brendan Frasier): a white-suited nightmare of American-will, destiny's child, adroitly blustering with divine authority, convinced his naive principles of right and wrong will somehow prevail.
Looking for all the world like Forrest Gump, Pyle throws Fowler into questioning his own moral bounds but in spite of his decadence, Fowler's very British perspective is just what is needed when confronted with such a temperate ogre. A knowing-Fowler rescues Pyle from the prying hands of so many Saigon hookers telling him to "pick one so the others will know you are taken." Explosions in the distance tell us this is a place of desperation and when it comes to survival, decisions need to be made. Fowler has the experience here, and an awkward Pyle appears to be in need of a lesson. As we move up to the more reputable dance hall next door where patrons buy tickets to dance with a girl, Pyle, in his dogmatic pride, sees little to compare between decorum and commerce. Fowler on the other hand has the two places as fixed opposites. So a woman comes between them. Fowlers young beautiful/sad lover: Phong, a former "dancer" whom we are told overtly represents Vietnam. "Phong means Phoenix" she tells Alden but he ignores her, thinking instead of a flower. To Pyle, the Vietnamese don't know themselves and as proof he's armed himself with a book. Pyle would have us believe he is a man of letters. The American-autodidact in possession of a benign future.
While Vietnam's civil war may bare the mark of many cultures it more wholly resembles that of the American civil war. And, on an emotional level, may help explain our obsession with and the proprietary way we’ve come to know that country as it evolved into a north/south divide. Not lost on Pyle, he claims ownership to Vietnam's circumstance. He also thinks Phong needs a complete make-over and finds himself in agreement with her anti-French sister. Poor circumscribed Fowler; a man deeply in love with both a woman and a country, has little claim to either. As it stands, Fowler likes things just as they are. A delicate balance, satisfying only his selfish needs but he is in a land of change.
So Fowler and Pyle find themselves in what a decade later would be called "the shit" that is; a nighttime no-mans-land of rice fields and hidden dangers. But added to the elements here are a series of watchtowers. While they may be the very symbol of Fowlers profession, the sanctimony of the watchtower is voided in times of war. The events that follow quite literally cripple Fowler. He is broken by the situation, open to his own human foibles and unable to negotiate his way through accusations from Pyle, Phong and her sister. As if put to sleep, he limps his way through the familiar streets of Saigon. Waiting to be awakened waiting for a call to action. And when it comes it comes as a surprise and a disappointment. Because Fowler is a humanist and has perhaps chosen the wrong profession his final decisions do not come easy. But as we have seen: When circumstance dictates he is quite capable.
The ugly truth about America's south-east Asian meddlings was first fully rationalized on film in APOCALYPSE NOW but it took a British-made, Kubrick production of FULL METAL JACKET to portray America with its head so completely up its own ass. I always find myself watching FULL METAL as though it was meant to be an opposite to Coppola's film. A seductive south-east asian landscape. A place where mistakes made are no reflection on America's true character. A tale standing in stark contrast, Kubrick leaves us with a burnt-out urban cluster-fuck of a disaster. However, QUIET AMERICAN lets us see the embryonic phases of American involvement. A delicate period of subtle chess-like manuverings is revealed to be a time filled with all kinds of horrors. Their is a chilling inevitability to this story. On the surface we are shown two sides to Saigon. The decadent home of a thousand vices and a politically corrupt cage of human misfortune. But, just beneath is an even sadder truth. Powers far and wide had their eyes on Vietnam. What opportunities were missed and what does this say about the here and now?
The Mother: film review
2004
Masterful Storytelling with a mean spirit
As background dressing to a complicated yet credible family portrait, May (Anne Reid) has
little to do, except disrupt ill-mannered grandchildren and stay out of the way. Fate intervenes
and May's feeble husband drops dead while they visit their busy son and daughter who live
miles apart in a diorama-like Central London. Compounding her grief, her self-involved family
tries to accommodate but only manages to remind her of her irrelevance.
A savior appears in the guise of a carpenter. Darren (Daniel Craig) a hunky man-toy whose chief
asset is pleasuring women. He makes himself useful to the grieving dowager in spite of the fact
that he is her daughter's boyfriend. Apart from titillations and an intrinsic societal need for liberation,
suspicions arise as to why these two would hook up. To its credit though it accurately
shows the intricacies of non-relationship sex, whose sole purpose is (unlike relationships that
harness energy) the exchange of power. Darren is a sensitive stud, earning his keep in great
detail but during the inevitable family blow out, he (incredibly) manages to protect his reputation.
More indicative of his status is his inability to maintain a bank account; telling us much about the
state of the sexes. May on the other hand, has a misguided saviour complex of her own and
does much harm. I suppose at first we are happy for her and all her excruciating orgasms but
the unforgiving nature of the story reflects the sad times in which we live.
Fearful crossroads thrust decision-making upon us all and this makes for compelling story
telling. When I think: "rights of passage" I usually think teen film. Perhaps starring Molly
Ringwald or Ashton Kutcher. But the senior-set has some frightening things to deal with too, and
last year's ABOUT SCHMIDT certainly gave us a glimpse. What we see here has similar deadspouse-
pathos. The irony of new-found freedom becomes a source of opportunity and the film
shows us just how much trouble (in the name of fun) one can get into while trying these opportunities
out. Unfortunately for May though, little is learned and her liberation are ultimately rendered
false.
Discussions concerning parents and their adult children are a subject both complex and controversial.
While usually treated broadly as melodrama; the courage of this project comes from its
intimacies. There is subtle power watching average people rise and then fall away from tangled
interactions. I wanted to like this film but its lurid scenes became sleazy and its beliefs were disheartening.
With such a hateful conclusion, I read intended filmic virtues as liabilities. May's
explicit drawings look more like the work of an adolescent, a distraction that discredits an
already sensitive subject. Late in the story it is revealed that Darren's carpentry project (a sunroom
addition) is not intended to improve living but rather to increase property value. A similar
empty feeling I had about all this masterful story telling that celebrates such a mean spirit.
Before Sunset: film review
2004
Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. -Soren Kierkegaard
It would be a shame if anyone misses out on Richard Linklater's latest romantic effort
just because they didn't see part one (BEFORE SUNRISE). After all, doesn't everyone
have a salad day-rendezvous that could work as a fitting substitute? Still, this is a sequel
to a project from nine years previous and much of the ground work here is implied.
Essentially a story about two soul mates who squander a chance encounter in Vienna;
they go their separate ways, never to see each other again. Until now of course.
Jesse (Ethan Hawke) is enduring the rigors of a press junket for his new book and is finishing
up the last leg in Paris when a familiar face appears at the door of Shakespeare
and Company (a Parisian-pitstop for the in-the-know literate.) Mustering cum-hither coyness,
it's Celine (Julie Delpy), his long lost sweetie and the very subject of his book.
Sadly, the two never lose their cool as they give each other the once-over. Appropriate
as it might be, another generation might have dispensed with the chit-chat niceties and
got down to business. Unfortunately for us, though, we live in a time when candor can
be a liability. Their formal stumblings make sense.
Essentially one long backward-traveling shot; the two stroll down memory lane. The landscape
recedes, mirroring the content of the conversation but -moving entirely in real-time
- the film can't rely on the usual filmic sorcery. Edits and camera movements are held in
check by art-film simplicity making itself vulnerable to a kind of scrutiny usually reserved
for the dissection of surveillance footage. As a test, I tried to distract myself with continuity
issues but Linklater's familiarity with the process goes back to SLACKERS and he
adeptly works the merits and liabilities of the form. Some might be reminded of Godard's
WEEKEND; I was thinking more of Hitchcock's ROPE and its gymnastic predication.
Not unlike a Whit Stillman project, we eavesdrop on an intimate exchange, frothing with
words big and small. An overly-verbose script reveals itself to be taut and economical.
They drift from lazy to formal and back as the lattice work of dialog winds its way toward
deeper and deeper affections. The mechanics of this smart conversing highlight ideas
of choice, mistake, self-examination and the dangers of heartache. The two bounce
updates and memories back and forth, keeping it real with convincing wide-eyed, "Is that
really you?" expressions. You can feel their hearts race.
As I stated in the beginning: we all have a substitute story that would function as a prequel
but maybe there is an even bigger idea here. I wonder what Richard Gere's Edward
and Julia Roberts' Viv from PRETTY WOMAN are up to these days? Or what dinner with
Benjamin and Elaine from THE GRADUATE would be like 35 year later? I suppose with
hindsight, we all have a little 20/20.
High Fidelity: film review
2000
Stephan Frears east coast take on a Nick Hornby
High Fidelity is an open lament on the love-dilemma of the age; serial monogamy. John Cussack plays the un-apologetic narrator of his own sorry-ass love life. He twists and builds his top five self pity theses into a crescendo of betrayal. His long winded rationalizations seem to masquerade a search inward but do in fact lead him down the path of self blame. He gets to experience his pain as something he manufactured for his own bemusement, and in so doing, he finds himself exonerating his so-called betrayers. Left with this, there really is nothing for him to do except ride things out but his most recent ex has a life crisis that conveniently throws him back in the game. Instead of being someone about to dump or be dumped. He can now play out his new found image of somebody grappling with a relationship. This is all rather neatly expressed in the id/ego counterparts expressed by his two coworker characters. By films end, the two achieve the balance desired by all who wish success in a relationship; an appropriate dependence on another while fulfilling the need to explore and succeed on one's own.
Fahrenheit 9/11: film review
2004
Worst President Ever
May you live in interesting times the man said, and so it is. The world as we know it is changing rapidly and there
is much at stake. Keeping up with the seemingly infinite stream of information is daunting but never boring. In fact,
the news these days is pure adrenal-excitement and mere Hollywood fiction can't compete with headlines that
promise that our lives will never be the same. Sadly, that fact is the only thing we can be certain of and Michael
Moore asks (no begs) us to pay attention. All is not well and we must act. People are dying, huge swipes of
humanity are threatened. Our way(s) of life are no longer protected and we will need to make sacrifices. I think most Americans will accept inevitable changes but the "hows and whys" of it are the subject
of a wide polarization of ideologies guaranteed to distract. Moore offers up his version with the adept film making
we've come to expect and he has successfully created a rallying point for all on the left.
Going on the offensive, this project is an open attempt to expose George W. Bush as the single most corrupt president
ever. Unfortunately for Bush the event-status this film has received and Moore's alleged pains-taking attention
to detail (in anticipation of the inevitable attacks) succeeds. Looking more like an anti-Nazi John Heartfield
photomontage from the thirties than a dispassionate documentary. The expressionistic approach to rational information
does much to generate an emotional response to years of conditioned numbness.
Building on emotion, the film opens with shimmering (Philip Glass-like) music as we revisit the 2000 presidential
election fiasco and the surreal footage of a government in trouble. Moore points the finger at the media and specifically
Fox News, implying familial-Bush connections. Disturbing realizations about the system's limitations to be
sure but Moore is intent on lingering on the frustrations of a few black Florida lawmakers who watch in anguish as
their constituent's votes disappear. Using footage from long before the election, he cuts to the Bush brothers
(Florida Governor and President to-be) proclaiming Florida a done deal. Out of context or misleading? Perhaps.
Sinister by design? Sure. Unfair? No, critics may squirm but Michael Moore's films are small business. With the
salvos of news and commentary coming from every direction implications of impropriety just don't matter.
Continuing on a very simple line of thought a Pre-9/11 Bush was unpopular and had little interest in doing the work
of a President. Through careful editing we watch a condescending, arrogant fool, duck his responsibilities. With
utter contempt for the journalistic process, he brushes aside uncomfortable questions preferring to work on his golf
swing. We are asked to hate a President who desperately needed something to change his status.
In a deft move: we are shown the World Trade Center tragedy through our own memories. A darkened screen and
the all to familiar drown of fuel, metal and human cries lets the audience access whats etched inside. He deepens
the negation as we watch a stupefied President read "My Pet Goat" to school children as thousands die in the horror
of September eleventh. Moore slows the action down to a frame of Bush, frozen in his chair, doing nothing as
seconds tick by. You may find yourself snickering but clearly its not funny (more on that in a moment).
Moore openly accuses Bush of using September eleventh as a convenient pretext for several nefarious endeavors.
Starting with a cover up of Bush and companies relations with high-level Saudis including the Royals and the
Bin Laden family. By appearance, we become witnesses to highly questionable relationships that compromise the
Presidents authority. Damning accusations that seriously discredit this administration. He continues charging an
inept Congress of taking a blind eye to the Patriot Act and circles back nicely to anecdotal accounts of various
Americans constitutional rights being trampled. A woman is forced to drink her own breast milk to prove its not a
weapon while passengers are allowed onto planes with matches and lighters. Moore concludes that the
allowances made for the lighters had something to do with the tobacco industry and the need of a few nicotine
addicts to light up after landing but I wonder if (in his attempt to implicate broad areas of consumerism) he strays
too far. He gets back on tropic with the old tried-and-true formula associating big business with war profiteering
and how certain cronies of this administration stand to profit from Iraq. It all seems plain as day but in fact much of
the evidence is circumstantial. I would hope, in his efforts to connect the dots he has his facts sorted out.
His next target is the new institution of Homeland Security itself. Continuing his anecdotal process; we travel to
Oregon where a lone policeman patrols the long Pacific coast. While implying that the department is riddled with
inconsistencies and inefficiencies he simultaneously states that there is no real threat. I presume he is deepening
his accusations of constitutional upheaval but he subtly contradicts himself by saying Homeland Security is not
really necessary in the first place.
Moore's key formula is to juxtaposes one idea against another hopefully reinforcing the agenda of both. He usually
builds slowly with sarcasm and irony that illicit scowling humor till he adds one final sequence intended to create
much discomfort. We continue to laugh but are lead to feel guilty about it. In ROGER AND ME he ends with a
crosscut of Roger Smith's christmas message to General Motors employees and an impoverished family being
evicted. In BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE he corners an unsuspecting Charlton Heston with a picture of an infant
gunshot victim. In this film its Lila Lipscomb, a mother who has lost her son in the war. She wails in grief to a disinterested
White House, begging for a real answer for her son's sacrifice. Next stop: Goose stepping disco-marinerecruiters
soliciting minority teens who, as victims of the economy, are willing to except the military as an option.
We laugh but its not funny. Clever guilt-inducing mechanics intended to incite the audience out of its complacency.
This is familiar territory for Moore. Perhaps too familiar. His prophetic 1995, CANADIAN BACON speaks to the corrupt
mechanisms of the military-industrial complex but (as a fictional-comedy) with less terror and alarm. Still, its
apparent his message-content has not changed. Alan Alda (as a more credible President) presides over a government
bent on armed conflict as the only course of action to maintain power. A dismal movie that will now be
viewed with new insights as it highlights Moore's Orwellian focus. This may work against him as his conclusions
are awfully convenient. I prefer the prophecy of ELECTION released a year before the Presidential election debacle
of 2000 and its uncanny mirroring of the consequences of voter fraud.
What film from this time can't be seen as political? One of the first big movie after September eleventh was MY
BIG FAT GREEK WEDDING. A celebration of American pluralism and our special place handling cultural diversity.
The much-maligned LAST SAMURAI is the tale of an American soldier brought to a foreign land to fight for the
cause of western imperialism only to see the virtues of a vital culture at risk and so he turns traitor in its defense.
In the posters for the film a bearded Tom Cruise looks more like American Taliban John Walker than an all-
American top gun. Lets not forget the message from (best picture) CHICAGO: You can get away with murder as
long as you have the press on your side. MYSTIC RIVER? With the help of Tim Robbins and Sean (Bagdad)
Penn; an apology from Mister Vigilante himself. As the first American bombs dropped on Bagdad basic cable's
AMC was running THE OXBOW INCIDENT(1943). You could change the channel from the news and watch Dana
Andrews play a falsely-accused murderer and mutter "Justice? What do you care about justice? You don't even
care whether you've got the right men or not. All you know is you've lost something and somebody's got to be punished...
You butcher!"
Not unlike this year's other "event" film (with its own set of political overtones): THE PASSION OF CHRIST,
FAHRENHEIT 9/11's detractors find it easiest to scold it on technicalities. Something both film makers invite as
they tease the facts toward more and more provocative emotionalism. Christ-whippings and Presidential film edit-chicanery
are the stock in trade but Gibson's message about loving sacrifice is lost to his own psychological dilemma.
Moore's demons serve him better; like a madman he drives an ice cream truck around Washington reading
the Patriot Act to a negligent Congress. Pure Dada and quite entertaining, but those looking to the material for selfindictment
may find a convenient way not to look squarely at the content.
The high level of polarization on the far-reaching topics at hand exacerbates an already dangerous situation and
are susceptible to what James Surowiecki calls "information cascades". A sinister result of poorly aggregate information
that could easily lead to calamity. Surowiecki uses the Challenger disaster as an example. NASA knew
about the O-rings but because of over-reaching beliefs about safety was unable to use that information. I wonder if
the arguments that Moore makes will enlighten or obfuscate what is best for all? I find myself desperately agreeing
with him in general but—stated motive aside—the regime in Iraq was the home of a despotic killer. The situation is
quite complicated and (by contrast) this is not simply another Vietnam. Unfortunately, in light of this presentation of
Bush and his beyond ham-fisted handling of this most important crossroad; none of that seems to matter. In the
end Moore has one overriding message: The present administration has little interest in the well-being of anyone
except an immediate few. To that point he makes a compelling case. Then again, what will be in the news tomorrow?
Interesting times indeed.
The Stepford Wives: film review
2004
Misread, Remake
Joanna (Nicole Kidman) is dragged from Manhattan up to the private town of
Stepford Connecticut by her husband, Walter (Matthew Broderick) after her
dismissal as an exuberant, man-eating television executive. Things are a little
different in Stepford and she doesn't fit the Betty Crocker cake-mold waiting for
her there. A remake of the 1975 horror semi-classic. This version goes more for
Tim Burton-esque quirkyness than pure social dystopia.
While the original was an eery allegory for the way things were, a disturbing
mirror of reality, based on Ira Levins's novel, who also penned the contemporary
ROSEMARY'S BABY (another reason to be suspicious of our husbands). This
time though, the doughy-husbands are more farcical caricatures than cold,
calculating brutes. I have a hard time believing Matthew Broderick or Jon Lovitz
could harm a flee. Rants that mimic throw-back machismo, they drive their
mid-life crisis automobiles to 1950s-style picnics where servile plastic wives
faun sarcastic perfection. Unfortunately for the movie-goer, broad stroked
descriptives leave glib impressions. An easy woman (more often then not)
is uninteresting but a blow-up doll is downright boring.
Against her instincts, Joanna attempts complacency by shedding her New York
blackwear and bakes the ultimate cupcake. But of course her destiny lies at
the whim of the evil Stepford boy's club and a husband who is jealous of her
success. Politically informed, she is a former power broker and we've seen her
at the heights of her male-crushing potency. We can presume the pseudo-karma
in this cartoon landscape is just, but in a post-Madonna world her vulnerability
doesn't read. Pal-ing up with Bobbie (Bette Midler) who sadly endures inevitable
Connecticut Jew-baiting, equating overt sexism with racist bigotry. Rounding out
to three: we have Dylan (Peter Kresby) a Gay-wife who is beconed north for the
same reasons. The three victims delicately traverse Stepford questioning oldschool
oppressions.
A lot has happened in the 30 years since the original and we live with a new
level of sophistication regarding gender assignments. Still, there is much confusion
and the conclusions highlighted here are: that strivings for personal
improvement (plastic surgery and silicone aside) are not automatically at odds
with our better halves. Hence, the change in tone; muted and inclusive.
Reconciliations are the order of the day and we are saved in the end by a
Martha Stewart compromise. A forgiving gesture that mocks the original stories
foreboding theme.
Cinderella Man: Comment
2004
"FDR took my house"
Through a mixture of character, integrity and a quiet respect for family values even the great depression can be managed by average-man Jim Braddock. Unfortunately Braddock treated his need to go on public assistance as a regrettable moment not much better than the depression itself thereby implying that society has no responsibility.
Braddock's friend Mike loses all credibility as a left wing politico as we watch him descend into drunken wife beating as he rants about how "FDR took his house." No one counters his remark while the film (through cross-cut) equates FDR as the creator of Hooverville. And then is scolded by his wife for being too busy with his organized labor activities to sing happy birthday to his children. Something Braddock makes a priority as he picks and scraps his way through chaos. If this was Warren Beatty from his 1968 Bonnie and Clyde, the line would have been written: "The bank took my house" not FDR. Its a different world with different messengers.
For What?
While I feel strongly that at the end of the day this is right-wing propaganda. It's the product of a politically middle of the road team. Ron Howard and company creates horizontal, sociological pieces that enjoy the status of pure entertainment. This film's leitmotif is more about corporate hegemony managing our expectations in a socially unstable 2005 then the so called celebration of the human spirt during hard(er) times when integrity, virtue and character were "put to the test" and came out on top.
The cross-cut from Mike's "FDR" line is the scene of the power being turned off at Braddock's house by a sympathetic electric man. Californians know (but may soon forget) that it was extreme capitalism -Enron and a compliant federal government- that turned their electricity off two years ago (2002) but in this film it is expressed as a function of the climate of the depression. People simply have a hard time paying bills. After all, (we are told) that the friendly electric man has a family to feed too.
Still, we are presented with some cold, hard capitalist who mechanically strive for profits alone. At Braddock's lowest point he quite literally goes into the smoke-filled room; hat in hand. Through a dubious argument based on (ironically) the idea that the little guy will love it, they give Braddock a break. The message is that if we leave the powerful alone they will do what is appropriate. The so-called real monster is at the other end of the ring where Braddock will pay back his debt of gratitude.
Mythic Model
The leveraging of a mono-myth as pseudo-myth for propaganda purposes is done here on the surface. Braddock-hero starts out as an up and coming prize fighter in a stable 1920's with a clear "shot at the title" followed by a descent into chaos created from both external (the depression) and internal (bad luck injuries). He learns family values as a result of his financial loss and, because of his broken right arm, builds his "left" (always his weakness). He now can climb back into stability with his new weapon (a virtuous left hook) to defeat a low-blowing, decadent monster and gain the title he always quested for.
What does this say? Response.
Braddock himself found his answer in a film. By carefully studying the 16-mm footage of "Max the killer" he learns how he will deal with Max Baer's deadly punch. By extension we too "know" how to deal with future hardships if we pay attention to Braddock. The power of myth as a cyclical re-telling of primal truths resides within our films. For Campbell these truths have become relative and as such, we may glimpse our own reflection as how we wish to see ourselves. Unfortunately, Braddock, as everyman, flatters us. Despite the depression and so called bad luck, sheer talent, hard work and extraordinary ethics will pull you and your family out of chaos but carefully woven into this premise is a disdain for public assistance or political organization. Yes, it appears somewhat important but a man of integrity and ability would consider welfare a debt to be paid back with interest and politics a distant second to the very immediate needs of a family. Public assistance is not necessarily societies obligation to all its citizens and civil obligations are shown as the dubious luxury of those who "squander" time on a bar stool. |
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