The General

Wed, 27 Mar 2013 11:41:29 -0700

by Bryce Vails

Nowadays when people think of silent films the first, and too often only, peculiarity that usually comes to mind are the comedies of Charlie Chaplin. While Chaplin was a deservedly huge star in his time, he was not the only comedic icon of his era. Actors such as Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton shared in Chaplin's glory, and often used each other’s work as inspiration to try and top each other's gags and stunts. But the king of outrageous stunts is certainly Keaton. Nothing tops the finale of Keaton's 1928 film Steamboat Bill Jr. And yet, it is The General from 1926 that stands as his most lauded movie. It has a certain sense of time, place, and speed that greatly benefits the film. And the reality that comes with silent era effects has not dated the film, but rather has aided the film in aging gracefully, allowing modern audiences to enjoy the movie with relatively light rose tinted glasses.

Chaplin was the playful tramp, and Lloyd was the everyman, but Keaton stood out as the lonely soul. It was never easy for him to get the girl (but rest assured he always did), and his innocence in romantic affairs creates a very empathetic character. The character he routinely portrayed (the “Great Stone Face”) fit well into the Civil War setting of the film, and it is important to note the interesting decision to make his protagonists a member of the Confederate army while the Union is cast as the antagonists. Remember, the film was produced during a time when soldiers who served in the Civil War where still alive; indeed, it is possible that some of those veterans worked on The General in some capacity. So this choice was no doubt made in an effort to make the clumsy, haphazard hero appealing to all audiences without offending potential ticket buyers in the Southern United States.

Keaton's character, Johnnie Gray, fits over his usual persona like a glove. And because this character is so quickly defined, the audience can get right to the laughs (something audiences and critics did not do upon the film's initial release). Johnnie is a locomotive engineer for the Confederate Army, and when his train engine, The General is stolen by Union soldiers with the love of his life on board it is only his accidental cunning that can save them. The lion's share of the movie is spent on a prolonged locomotive chase that never seems to overstay it's welcome. Many of the visual gags and stunts performed by Keaton were performed on an actual moving train, adding a layer of suspense to the comedy, encouraging the audience to care about the fates of those onscreen. Seeing Keaton jump from train car to train car full steam ahead with an entire battalion of soldiers rushing by on foot is a spectacular image, heightened by the lack of any filmmaking trickery; optical, paranormal, or otherwise.

The number of "iconic" shots in The General is staggering. The aforementioned marching battalion, the train passing through a burning bridge, and a battle of epic proportions over a raging river is all glorious and likely to stay with any viewer for a good long while, but not as long as the image of the sullen face of Buster Keaton. It is in through this face that the audience understands the character of Johnnie, and all other Keaton roles. To call his on screen demeanor a shtick is to minimize what Keaton created: an iconic persona that has entertained and emotionally captured generations of moviegoers, and continues do so with no signs of slowing down.

The General will be screened in an all-new restoration at this year's TCM Classic Film Festival, which will be going on from April 25 to April 28, 2013 in the heart of of old Hollywood in Los Angeles, CA. If at all possible, I encourage you not to miss this rare opportunity to experience the film as it was originally intended – in a theater with live music. There’s really nothing like it, and TCM recreates this magic better than anybody. Use the image above as a link to check for screening time and availability of passes. I hope to see you there!

Brazil

Mon, 18 Feb 2013 15:24:25 -0800

by Bryce Vails

I have heard countless people countless times offer their opinion on what they believe to be the greatest movie ever made. Most of these choices have their merits. Although I may argue over the particular choice, ultimately it is just an opinion. Some films however, when brought up in this ongoing debate, are difficult to dispute. Brazil is one of these pictures. The gonzo imagery, partnered with a spectacular script and equally impressive musical score, come together to make one of the most interestingly imaginative motion pictures ever made. It may not be my personal pick, but I respect everyone who claims it as his or her own.

From the very opening shot of Brazil the audience knows exactly what they are in for: A darkly comedic and twisted vision of the “future” as only director and writer Terry Gilliam can conceive. Of course as with any Gilliam film (The Life of Brian, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) the details of plot and character remain a mystery, but it is these details that make Brazil something truly special.

Gilliam, along with screenwriters Tom Stoppard (Shakespeare in Love, Empire of the Sun) and Charles McKeown (The Adventures of Baron Manchaussen, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus), have created a world very much inspired by George Orwell’s novel Nineteen Eighty-four and other works of dystopian fiction. While the novels that inspired the film may have more depth and a greater sense of purpose than Brazil, the film’s satirical elements are hard to top. The social commentary on regulation, big brother and consumerism that permeates the movie is more relevant now than even when it came out in 1985. Plastic surgery, cookie-cutter Christmas presents, and pointless bureaucratic paperwork are thoroughly, and effectively bashed. And of course ducts - those poor, poor ducts.

Trough out the film there is a certain artistry on display that carries Gilliam’s unmistakable signature assisted in no small part by Michael Kamen’s score. Kamen’s work (Die Hard, The Iron Giant) carries the emotional weight of the film, capable of lifting the spirit up while break one’s heart, while remaining constantly energetic. It’s actually a surprise that the Academy did not give him a nomination for his work here.

And the stellar cast gives a fine performance throughout. The sheer number of character actors in this movie is almost overwhelming with Bob Hoskins, Ian Holm, and Jim Broadbent as standouts. Not to mention a hilarious (yet small) role for Robert De Niro. But unequivocally, it is Jonathan Pryce’s earnest, and relatable turn as the protagonist, Sam Lowery who seals the deal. Without his grounded portrayal of an everyday man the audience would not be able to relate to the sheer madness that is a Terry Gilliam world.

But perhaps the greatest contributing factor towards the overall style of the film is Director of Photography Roger Pratt. One of Gilliam’s regular cinematographers, Pratt really hit it out of the ballpark with this one. The interior scenes at Records and Information Retrieval are flat and gray, contributing greatly to the oppressive mood caused by excessive regulation and red tape. In contrast, the scenes set out in the city (the more financially well off portions at least), are full of Baroque stylings and neon-colored low-key lighting that heightens the commentary on consumerism to peak levels. And of course there is the Gilliam trademark of “dutch” angles and an overall bizarre placement of the camera. This is most certainly not your typical looking movie.

While some may be put off by the absurdity on hand here, fans of the gonzo are all but required to enjoy. Which is just the audience Gilliam is going for after all. What else would you expect form an alumnus of Monty Python’s Flying Circus? So check your concepts of reality and typical filmmaking at the door and get ready for something completely different.

Kramer vs. Kramer: Fathers Can Be Parents Too

Tue, 12 Feb 2013 21:15:53 -0800

by Carrie Specht

Although pushed into action due to unfortunate circumstances, in Kramer vs. Kramer Dustin Hoffman steps up to his responsibilities as a father and demonstrates that when it comes to children a man is just as capable as a woman of boundless love and devotion.

Families of all shapes and sizes are quite common in today’s American landscape, and even though divorce was not exactly scandalous in 1979 it was still a unique subject for the movies. Sure, it had been depicted on screen before, but never with such sympathy for the husband/father who in this case is suddenly forced to adjust to a life different from the one he had planed.

Hoffman plays a man who is blind sided by his wife (Academy Award winner Meryl Streep) when she suddenly decides to up and leave him and their small child in order to “find” herself. This was a common event for housewives of the era. Many women at the time were questioning their roles in society and wondering if there weren’t more options available to them than the ones allotted by tradition. The side effect of this self-exploration usually required the man in the woman’s life to do some soul searching of his own, and in the process usually ended up discovering the unexplored domain right inside his own home. Such is the source of drama, conflict and growth for Hoffman’s character in Kramer vs. Kramer.

Hoffman’s career minded breadwinner is realistically portrayed as a man who is understandably upset, even outraged by his wife’s actions. Frustrated and overcome, he does his best to set his complicated feelings regarding his wife aside and step up to the challenge of hands-on parenting. He may have lost a wife, but in the end he has a closer relationship with his child, and it is through their shared hardship that he truly establishes a sense of family with the little boy he hardly knew. He faces the tough challenges and basks in the rewards, such as the moment when his young offspring learns to ride a bicycle. I don’t think there’s a better, more exciting or enthralling “proud father” moment in all of cinema history.

Hoffman, of course, has difficult moments. There is a particularly memorable scene when his son wants to eat ice cream instead of what has been prepared for their meal. There is no child psychology at play here; it is a pure and simple power struggle that every parent has experienced at one time or another. Even more difficult is negotiating the waters when his child longs to see his mother. Laying down the law is one thing, but putting aside one’s own personal feelings of anger and resentment for the good of a child can be extremely challenging.

But that is fatherhood in a nutshell: stepping up when you are needed to lay down the law and stepping aside when other needs take precedent, even if that goes against your own desires. What truly matters is the welfare of the child. Kramer vs. Kramer never loses site of this, making it a family classic worth watching even by families who have never experienced the pain of divorce.

The Silence of the Lambs

Sat, 10 Nov 2012 18:09:13 -0800

by Bryce Vails

The Silence of the Lambs may not be the best movie ever made. It is however my personal favorite film, and one I full heartedly recommend to anybody over the age of 17 (there are some pretty mature themes not intended for younger audiences). From the cast to the directing, and the screenplay to the cinematography it just doesn’t get better than this when it comes to cinematic excellence in the last days of the 20th century.

Director Jonathan Demme sets the mood from the very first shot with FBI trainee Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) alone, running towards camera on a wooded trail, sweating decked out in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Although throughout the rest of the movie Clarice is judged by or sought after because of her sexuality, Demme has chosen the first image of her to be the least flattering of the entire film. In fact, our first impression of the rookie FBI agent is one of sexual repulsion. However, from this point forward virtually every male character either objectifies or is sexually attracted to her. Even Dr. Hannibal Lecter (played to perfection by Sir Anthony Hopkins) who treats Starling with respect and shows extreme interest in her personally, finds her alluring. These two opposites set the tone that this is not going to be your usual horror film, not by a long shot.

This directorial touch is but one of the many great aspects that makes Silence the film that it is. The directing, cinematography and acting is all done so superbly it’s impossible to place the credit on just one aspect alone. Particularly notable are the nuances that Foster and Hopkins bring to the table which are nothing less than astounding. The scenes featuring their tete-a-tete dialogue really drives the film’s momentum and maintains the palpable tension felt throughout the film. Considering that both Foster and Hopkins rightfully won Academy Awards for their portrayals in this film, it’s amazing that every other actor on screen more than holds their own. Namely, Scott Glenn as Jack Crawford and Anthony Heald as the slimy Dr. Chilton do a terrific job of supporting the principle cast. And I honestly believe that Ted Levine was snubbed for a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his career defining turn as Buffalo Bill.

In addition to the fine performances one has to admire the phenomenal cinematography by Tak Fujimoto (another snubbed Oscar nomination). The artistry behind the lens pushes Silence beyond the norm of all other horror films, and indeed many films outside the genre. The simple yet effective camerawork, rococo lighting, and moody tone all come together to create a stylized look that doesn't take you out of the moment. There is artistry here, and thought, and a definite continuity that fits the world of the film like a glove. For instance, the camera is often set directly in the eye line of an actor during dialogue scenes creating the illusion that the actor is looking directly at the audience, instilling a sense of discomfort. Fujimoto frames many of these shots so the actor's faces fill the entire screen, further adding to the intimacy between the characters onscreen and those in the audience.

Most of the films exterior scenes were shot with the ambience of a cloudy day giving them a very dark and overbearing mood despite few nighttime scenes (an odd thing for any horror film). But it is with the films' interiors were Fujimoto really shines. He toys with dark and light, obscuring details or entire characters until he wants to reveal them. And the fact that he does not use this technique for shock frights is applaudable. In the first scene between Starling and Lecter, they step towards each other briefly stepping into shadow before returning to light, almost as if they are entering their own twisted world. From that moment on Clarice is in a cat and mouse game of wits with a psychopathic psychiatrist. But even as what is being seen onscreen becomes more and more disturbing the camerawork and lighting stay consistent, never taking the audience out of the moment, letting the plot drive the movie forward. Nothing overly glitzy here, just well thought out, well executed cinematography.

Between the Oscar worthy acting, directing, and writing, the amazing cinematography, tight editing, and a fittingly intense score by Howard Shore, The Silence of the Lambs earns my highest praise.

The Little Shop of Horrors

Sun, 3 Jun 2012 23:26:32 -0700

Playfully quaint and loaded with fanciful humor, The Little Shop of Horrors is a very cheaply made science fiction/comedy so full of whimsy it’s sure to charm even the snobbiest cinephile.

Roger Corman, the king of the B-movies co-wrote, produced and directed this inexpensive little gem. With more than 400 titles in nearly sixty years, Corman is best known for his slam, bam, thank you ma’am style of filmmaking, which includes shooting scenes with two cameras rolling at once while placed at different angles. This form of shooting is now a Hollywood standard, but when Corman started the practice it was unprecedented. Of course Corman rarely shot re-takes and spent little time on lighting scenes. With such a streamlined pace Little Shop was made in just two weeks for an estimated $27,000. And it certainly shows, but what the film lacks in production value it certainly makes up for in appeal.

Jonathon Haze (a Corman regular) plays Seymour, a shy and awkward but likable young man who works in a floundering flower store. Seymour really likes his job and dedicates himself to nurturing an unusual plant; unaware it’s a carnivorous plant that feeds on human flesh. As the plant grows it becomes sentient and forms a close friendship with Seymour. And since it needs food to continue growing it convinces Seymour to kill people in order to survive. The little man complies until the plant grows to outrageous proportions and Seymour is obliged to help destroy it, both saving and winning the girl in the process.

The rest of the cast is really quite good as well, especially flower shop owner, Mel Welles and love interest, Jackie Joseph. Even the smaller roles are well handled by such Corman vets as Dick Miller and a very young Jack Nicholson. The quality of the performances actually elevates the film above its financial confines, and you soon forget about the poorly made sets and murky looking cinematography. No offense to cinematographers Archie R. Dalzell and Vilis Lapenieks (who both went on to have long successful careers in television), but the look of the film definitely suffers from the lack of money. However, the film isn’t meant to impress film critics but to entertain the masses. And that’s pretty much Corman’s manifesto for which he makes no apologies, and I got to hear that first hand from the man himself at the Turner Classic Movies Classic Film Festival in 2011.

Of course, I had heard about The Little Shop of Horrors for years, but had never gotten around to seeing it. So when it landed on the TCMFF schedule with the promise that Corman would be there in person to introduce the film I was particularly keen to see it for the first time on the big screen. And as it turned out my mother joined me for that particular screening. I was a little surprised because I didn’t think the film would have appealed to her in any way. As it turned out she had a special reason for wanting to see it. Besides all the little inside production secrets Corman shared with the audience that night, my mother shared one of her own. Apparently The Little Shop of Horrors was the film my parents saw on their first date. I never knew that before.

I don’t know how much the film had to do with it, but I suppose I owe some thanks to Corman. Not just for my existence, but also for proving through a long and successful career that good cinema doesn’t have to equate with expensive. And visa versa. For a financially challenged, independent filmmaker that means a lot. For Roger Corman it means a life’s work.