Monday, November 28, 2011
Ken Russell (1927-2011)
As a director, Ken Russell always has been a mixed bag to me. To say that he had a tendency to go over-the-top would be an understatement and I found very few of his films satisfying as a whole though he did produce many fine performances in his films even if the films themselves were so-so.
Glenda Jackson (who won her first her Oscar), Alan Bates and Oliver Reed in his adaptation of D.H. Lawrence's Women in Love; Twiggy in the musical The Boy Friend (perhaps his most enjoyable and mainstream outing); the spectacle of Tommy bringing the landmark album by The Who to cinematic life with its eclectic cast including Oscar-nominee Ann-Margret as the deaf-dumb-and-blind boy's mom (covered in beans at one point), a brief bit by Jack Nicholson as The Specialist, Tina Turner's Acid Queen and the band's late drummer Keith Moon as Uncle Ernie, to name but a few; William Hurt's experimentations with mind-altering drugs and isolation chambers to a devolved consciousness in Altered States, based ion the novel by Paddy Chayefsky who wrote the screenplay as well, but hated the film so much that he disowned it and the film credits the script to his given first and middle name, Sidney Aaron; and the loony Crimes of Passion which contains a brave but great Kathleen Turner performance. However, what I remember the most about Russell was one of his many performances as an actor (check out his filmography), particularly his supporting role as Walter in Tom Stoppard's adaptation of John Le Carre's The Russia House starring Sean Connery and Michelle Pfeiffer, an incredibly underrated Fred Schepisi film from 1990. Russell gave an entertaining and compelling turn in his rather small role. For someone whose reputation mainly is that of a director, surprisingly, that might be what I remember about him most. To read the full New York Times obit, click here.
RIP Mr. Russell.
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Labels: Books, Chayefsky, Connery, Fiction, K. Turner, Musicals, Nicholson, Obituary, Oscars, Pfeiffer, Stoppard, William Hurt
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Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Mystery of the Missing Movie (or Body Heat at 30)
By Damian Arlyn
There’s a kind of freedom that comes in knowing you're about to die. A lack of fear. Once you’ve finally accepted that your number is up, a strange sort of detachment comes over you. I’ve always been a pretty apathetic fellow, but I’d never experienced anything like what I felt standing in that alleyway, staring down the barrel of a .38, two fresh corpses sprawled on the grimy ground beside me, knowing full well that my next breath would be my last. I found that I didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything anymore. Not only that, but I’d lost my ability to B.S. There's no deceit in death. A man who lies to save his own skin does so because he still thinks there’s a chance he’ll live. A man who resigns himself to his fate cannot lie. So, in those last few moments of my life, as I reflected back on the twisted course of events that led me there, I knew it was the absolute truth.
It all started two days ago. It was a hot August evening in the city. I sat in my chair watching the ceiling fan spin, which did nothing to cool things off. It just blew the hot air around. The Venetian blinds in my window cast long shadows across my desk where a nearly empty bottle of bourbon sat comfortably next to an empty shot-glass. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost closing time. Suddenly the door to my office opened and a tall, thin brunette dressed to the nines strolled in and closed the door behind her. “Are you Joe Cannon?” she asked.
“If I’m not, then one of us in the wrong office,” I said indicating the name on the door window that clearly read "JOSEPH CANNON: PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR." She sat down in the chair in front of my desk and crossed her legs giving me a swell view of them. "So, what can I do for you, Miss…?"
“My name isn't important. What matters is that I need your help. I would like to hire you to find…" she hesitated, took a deep breath and said, “…a movie.”
“Come again?”
“I need you to help me find a movie.” Now, in all the years I’d been a snoop, I never had a request like this. I’ve educated various women in the extracurricular activities of their husbands. I’ve helped locate missing persons. I’d even tracked down and fingered the occasional blackmailer, thief or murderer, but finding a movie? That was a new one.
“Not my line of work, doll,” I uttered. “Why don’t you try Blockbuster? There’s one down the street.”
“It closed down,” she said. I really need to get out more, I thought. “Besides, I know precisely what movie it is I’m looking for. All I need is a name. I caught it late one night on cable many years ago. I thought it was an excellent example of that genre known as film noir. It involved a man who had fallen in love with a dangerous blonde. Together they plotted to kill her husband but after the deed is done, he starts to suspect that she’s just using him for her own selfish purposes and —”
“I know that film,” I interjected. “It’s Double Indemnity.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not it. I’m familiar with that film too and although it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that it was used as a source of inspiration given the many similarities, the film I’m looking for has some distinct differences. First of all, Double Indemnity was made in the '40s and is in black and white. My film
was made in the '80s and is in color. The protagonist of Double Indemnity is an insurance salesman while the protagonist of my film is a lawyer. That one is set in Los Angeles while my film takes place in Florida in the middle of an intense heat wave. In fact, because of that I believe the title has something to do with ‘heat’ or ‘hot’… also because it’s a very sexy film. There are several love scenes that are quite erotic, though it never crosses the line into becoming pornographic. There is some nudity, but far more is implied than displayed. Whoever made it knows that the most powerful tool in making something appear sexy is the audience’s imagination.” She suddenly stopped talking, a little embarrassed that she’d just gone on for two minutes about this mysterious film. “Please, I have to find it. It means a great deal to me. I was told that if anyone could help me, you could.”
I was about to tell her that I had better things to do than help some needy broad (who wouldn't even give me her name) track down some random flick she’d had a late-night fling with years earlier, but there was something about her eyes that grabbed me: a look of desperation in them that I couldn’t shake. That’s when I made a mistake that you never make in my line of work. For the first time in a long time, I felt sorry for a client. I told her I’d help her out. Her face lit up. As I discussed my pay, she jotted down some more information on a scrap of paper (along with a number where I could reach her) which she handed to me. She rose and sauntered to the door. “Thank you, Mr. Cannon,” she said looking over her shoulder with a smile.
"Call me Joe," I said. "What do I call you?"
"I'm known to my friends as 'The Siren.'"
So, a Greek mythological creature hired me to find a movie. I guess I'd had weirder cases. I decided to start with my old Army buddy Matt Zoller Seitz. Matt was such a film freak that he had forgotten more about movies than I would ever know. The next day I called his workplace. He wasn’t there, but his office told me where I could find him. I caught up with Matt at a local park playing with his kids. He was pushing one of them in a swing when he saw me coming toward him and smiled. “Joe,” he said holding out his hand as I approached him. “It’s been a while. What’s new? You still in the gumshoe business?"
I shook his hand. “Still. In fact, I’m on a case right now. I’m looking for a movie.”
“Well, I’m your man. What do you got?”
“It’s film noir. Story involves some sap who gets mixed up with the wrong dame. Together they kill her husband and then things start to go bad for him.”
“Sounds like Double Indemnity. Released in 1944. Directed by Billy Wilder.”
“Nah, this one’s more recent,” I said pulling out my notepad and looking at the details The Siren gave me. I told Matt that this film was made in the '80s. I mentioned it featured William Hurt as the sap, Kathleen
Turner (in her first movie role) as the voluptuous vixen he falls for, the late great Richard Crenna played her husband, J.A. Preston was the investigating cop, Ted Danson (in what apparently was one of his best performances) portrayed a sleazy rival lawyer who is always dancing wherever he goes and a very young Mickey Rourke was an explosives expert. I went on about what the lady had told me regarding the film’s visual style: how the camera could glide with confidence and grace but also know precisely when to let it rest in a static shot. As I read more and more details off, I noticed Matt’s smile slowly fade away. It was replaced by a look of concern. He was clearly getting uncomfortable. “I…uh, I don’t know that one. Sorry. It just doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You not knowin’ a flick? That doesn’t sound like you, Matt.”
“Well, I guess you can’t know ‘em all, huh?” he said wiping the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta take the kids home.”
“What’s wrong, Matt?”
“Nothing. Just…let this one go, Joe. Let it go.”
Matt’s warning echoed in my head as I drove all over town talking to other friends of mine who happened to know a lot about movies. Everywhere I went I got the same answer. They didn’t know. Of course, I knew they were lying. They did know and they weren’t talking. They were scared. Someone had put the fear of God into them, but who? And why? As the evening rolled in, I was no closer to finding this flick than I was to finding Nick Jonas’ talent. I decided to try the local library. Not only did they have a very extensive collection of
movies to check out, but I happened to know a girl who worked there. Her name was Sheila O’Malley. She was a blonde, bookish type with whom I’d had a thing going a while ago, but she wanted more so I got out while the getting was good. Since then she’d had a string of casual boyfriends, but I still think she was waiting for me to come to my senses again and I was able to use that sometimes to my advantage. I caught up with her as she was getting ready to lock up. “Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” she said smiling wryly. “What brings you here, Joe?” I told her everything I knew about the movie and she agreed to help me out, for old time’s sake. She typed the information into her computer database. “Ah, yes. Here we go. The film you’re looking for is called Body Heat. It was released on August 28, 1981 and was written and directed by Lawrence Kasdan. He’s the guy who wrote the screenplays to Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Empire Strikes Back. He later went on to direct The Big Chill, Silverado and Mumford, but Body Heat was his first film.”
“Yeah, fascinating," I said suppressing a yawn. "Do you have it?”
“As a matter of fact, we do.” She led me to the area where they kept their movies. As she looked through the numerous rows of plastic cases for it, I decided to ask her if she had ever seen the film herself and if so what she thought of it. “Oh, sure. I saw it a long time ago. I quite liked it. I remember thinking that the music in particular was very good. John Barry, the fella responsible for such great scores as Midnight Cowboy, Somewhere in Time and many of the James Bond films, wrote a very lush, sensual jazz score. It captured the steamy essence of the story quite effectively I thought. In fact, it’s one of his best scores.” She stopped and looked off nostalgically. "I can still hear that sultry sax solo playing over those opening credits." I cleared my throat, she snapped out of it, pulled out a case with an image of a mustached guy and a hot blonde dressed in white on the cover. “Here we go.” She opened it and her brow suddenly furled. “Well, that’s strange. It’s not in here.”
“What?” I asked.
“It should be here, but it’s not. There’s no movie in the case. Someone stole it.”
This just gets more and more bizarre, I thought. “Something’s going on here, Sheila. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t feel right. Can you tell me who the last person was to check it out?”
“Sure.” She led me back to her computer where she looked up the film’s rental history. “Someone named Ross Ruediger.” I thanked her and headed for the door. “What are you getting’ yourself into here, Joe?” she called out to me. I pretended not to hear.
So, I had a title and I had a name. I decided to pay a visit to this Ruediger fellow and see what he knew. I found his address in the phone book and the following morning showed up at his home. It was a nice suburban house with a perfectly mowed lawn and a white picket fence. As I approached the front door, I
noticed that it was slightly open. I drew my piece and cautiously entered. The living room had been ransacked. Someone was looking for something. Chairs were overturned, couch pillows were cut to bits and dozens of opened movie cases were spread out all over the floor. It was quite the collection: L.A. Confidential, Brick, Devil in a Blue Dress, The Long Goodbye and many more. What was most striking about this residence, however, was the dead body lying face-up in the middle of the floor. He looked like he had been shot in the chest. I leaned over, pulled out his wallet and checked his I.D. It was Ross. There was very little else in the wallet aside from a couple bucks, a library card and a scrap of paper with some random letters and numbers that looked like they'd been scrawled hurriedly on it: "D.B. 5552314 82881." I pocketed the cash and the paper, rose to my feet and made my way to the kitchen. Unlike the living room it was immaculate. The floor had been swept, the counters were clean and there were healthy potted plants everywhere throughout it. Suddenly something hit me over the head. I fell forward and everything went black.
When I woke up, my ears were ringing like the national anthem and my head felt like it had gone 12 rounds with Tyson. How long had I been out? I opened my eyes and found myself staring up into the faces of two of my least favorite people in the world: Lt. Dennis Cozzalio and Sgt. Jim Emerson of the police department.
“Hey, sleeping beauty. Welcome back to the land of the living,” Cozzalio said. Together, the two of them picked me up and threw me into a chair next to a small table in the middle of the kitchen. They told me that when they received a call from some neighbor who heard a gunshot in this house, they never expected to find me here. They then proceeded to ask me a series of questions in rapid succession, each one taking a turn. It was like watching a tennis match — and I was the ball. I told them everything I knew but decided it was wise to leave out a few little things, such as the truth. Cozzalio wasn’t buying my yarn.
“That’s some story,” he said rolling his eyes. “If I ever enter a fiction-writing contest I’ll have to remember it.”
“Now, why would I lie?”
“To protect your client maybe. Tall, thin brunette. Goes by the nickname 'The Siren?'” I froze. How did he know about her? Cozzalio pulled out my notepad. "It was found on the floor next to you. What's this Siren want with you? And what does it have to do with all these details about some neo-noir movie?"
"You know I can't tell you about what goes on between me and a client, Lieutenant."
"Well, you're not going to be doing her any good by keeping quiet. We just got a call that her body was found in her apartment across town. Looks like she was plugged with a .38.”
“Same weapon it seems was used on Mr. Ruediger here,” Emerson added.
"So, you see, Cannon," Cozzalio continued. "This is a double homicide. Somehow you’re connected to both of them and you damn sure know more than you’re tellin’ me. So, give…or am I gonna have to haul you in on suspicion of murder.”
He was bluffing. “Oh, come on, Lieutenant. You think I came in here, popped this guy and then decided to take a nap until you boys showed up?”
“Then give us something, Cannon.” Emerson barked. “What can you tell us about this Ross Ruediger?”
“He liked neo-noir?” I joked. Cozzalio wasn't amused. Emerson looked confused.
“What’s neo-noir?” he asked.
Cozzalio turned to him. “Neo-noir is a term used to describe a recent sub-genre of movies that attempt to replicate many of the same elements seen in classic examples of film noir from the '30s, '40s and the '50s. Some have said that noir was a genre distinctive to a particular historical era of cinema. Others have said that the genre is more defined by its content (style, themes, etc). Neo-noir tries to imitate the form, if not perhaps the function, of traditional noir and sometimes it’s highly successful, as it was in Chinatown. Other times, such as The Black Dahlia…well, not so much.”
“Can I go now?” I asked. Cozzalio glared at me. He knew he had nothing he could hold me on.
“Don’t leave town,” he snarled.
So, The Siren was dead. Probably shot by the same gun that killed Ruediger. What was going on? What was so important about this movie? I walked the streets trying to figure it all out, but my head hurt. I stopped at a drugstore a block from my office and bought an ice pack. My head was still throbbing as I trudged up to the stairs to my office. Before I could get my key in the lock, the door flew open and a hand pulled me in and threw me to the floor. “Good evening, Mr. Cannon,” a polite but sinister voice said. I looked up and saw a small, extremely well-groomed man in a suit that cost more than a year’s worth of my rent sitting in my chair with his feet up on my desk. I wasn’t sure how, but there was something familiar about him. “I hope you don’t mind that we let ourselves in.”
“Not at all,” I muttered as I slowly stood up. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is David Bordwell and this is my associate Odie.” I turned around and got a good look at the goon who pulled me in. He was easily twice my size with hands as big as cocoanuts. He grunted a greeting. The little guy in the fancy suit pulled a tiny clipper out of his pocket and started to trim his nails as he spoke to me. “Word is that you’re looking for a movie that goes by the name of Body Heat? Is that true?”
“What’s it to you?” The mountain slapped me upside the back of the head and my knees became acquainted with the floorboards once again.
“Let’s just say that I am also interested in obtaining that particular motion picture. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but it is very hard to find these days. All existing copies seem to have vanished. If one is indeed located, it could be very valuable. I was wondering if I could retain your services in finding it for me?”
“Thanks, but I’m not interested.” Again, his henchman smacked me to the floor. That’s it, I thought. I’m tired of being knocked around on this case. As I slowly rose to my feet I shot him a dirty look. “Touch me again and you’ll regret it,” I threatened.
“Easy, Odie.” the suit remarked. “I don’t think you realize how important a person I am. I could reward you very handsomely for it.”
“I don’t know who you are and I don’t care.” I said. Odie took another swing at me, but this time I ducked and brought my knee up into his groin. He went down like the walls of Jericho. “I warned you.” I gloated as he rolled around on the floor whimpering. The suit rose from my chair and walked around the desk toward me.
“It’s so hard to find good help these days.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out a small pad and a pencil and started writing something on it. “If you are ever interested in becoming a rich man, ring this number here. It's my private line.” He ripped the slip of paper from the pad and held it out to me. Reluctantly I took it. With a bow, he was gone, taking his limping sidekick with him.
I sat down at the desk and removed my hat. Who was this guy and why did he seem so familiar to me? I glanced down at the paper and was about to crumple it up when I noticed something. The phone number he wrote was "555-2314." I pulled out the paper I got off Ruediger's body. "5552314." It was the same number. That's when I noticed the letters. "D.B." David Bordwell! Ruediger knew Bordwell! Not only that, he had his private number. The only thing that I had left to decipher on the sheet was the remaining number: "82881." That's when it hit me. I grabbed my phone and called the library hoping Sheila would still be there. She was. I asked her when she had said the release date was for Body Heat. "August 28, 1981," she immediately responded. 82881. It was a date! 8-28-81! Thirty years ago today! In a flash, it all suddenly made sense. I remembered where I'd seen Bordwell before and I knew where to find the flick.
"Sheila, I need you to do something for me," I said. "I need you to call the police department. Ask for a Lieutenant Cozzalio or Sergeant Emerson. Tell them to meet me in 30 minutes at this address."
"What's going on, Joe?" Sheila asked.
"Just do it, Sheila," I asserted. "I know who murdered Ruediger and The Siren. I also know where to find the missing movie." I gave her the address to tell the police and she agreed to call them right away. I hung up and immediately dialed Bordwell's private number to set up a meeting. First, however, I had to make a quick stop somewhere else.
A half-hour later I was standing in the middle of an alley between Cain Street and Chandler Boulevard. My hat's brim dipped low, my trench coat's collar rose high. It wasn't that I was cold. This was just the kind of neighborhood in which you didn't want to draw attention to yourself; the kind of place where the sound of gunshots were so common that neighbors weren't reporting them to the police. I looked around nervously as I waited. Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me.
"Well, that didn't take long, Mister Cannon," I turned around and standing before me was the little guy and the big guy. "Is that it there?" he said pointing to the disc I held in my hand. I nodded. "Where did you find it?"
"At Ruediger's house. When you tossed the place you forgot to look in the potted plants in his kitchen…one in particular. When a man takes great care to mow his lawn and see that his plants are watered and healthy, it should stand out to you when one plant is dying. It means he's got something else hidden in there." Bordwell looked impressed as he held out his hand. "Before I hand it over, I was wondering if you could tell me what would someone with unlimited access to the Warner Bros. movie archives want with a copy of Body Heat?" He smiled and asked me when I realized who he was. "I knew your face when we spoke in my office earlier, but I just couldn't place it. Then I remembered reading an article in Variety a few months ago about how you had taken over the DVD/Blu-Ray division at Warner Bros. studios. I just couldn't figure out why someone in your position would so badly want to get their hand on a copy of this or any other Warner Bros. title."
"Have you ever seen it, Mister Cannon?" he asked. I shook my head. "Well, it's a fine film. A damn fine film. It was well-received by critics back when it was released and the years have been very kind to it. It's one of the treasures of our library and were it to be re-released on DVD and Blu-ray in a special 30th anniversary collector's edition it could make us a fortune…but only if people didn't already own it. The economy has hit everyone hard, Mister Cannon. Consumers don't double-dip anymore. They're tired of having to repeatedly purchase their favorite films in new formats. Just as Ridley Scott's FINAL CUT of Blade Runner promised closure to so many cinephiles, so would this definitive release of Body Heat be the last chapter in the life of a significant piece of cinematic history."
"That's why it's so hard to find nowadays," I continued. "You've been snatching up every available copy out there so that demand would be high for your release of Body Heat with all its 'bells and whistles.' You also bribed or intimidated reputable cinephiles, such as my buddy Matt Zoller Seitz, so they'd keep their mouths shut. Tell me, why did you kill Ross Ruediger? Was he refusing to give up his copy of it? Did he love neo-noir movies so much that he couldn't bear to part with it? Or was he just threatening to spill the beans on the whole operation? And what about The Siren? She was just a woman in love. What did she ever do to deserve what she got?"
"You know, I'm bored with this conversation," he said casually pulling out a .22 and pointing it right at me. "Now, if you don't mind, Mister Cannon, kindly hand over the disc." I tossed it to him. "Thank you."
"Are you going to kill me too? Just as you killed Ross Ruediger and The Siren?"
Bordwell chuckled. "This may be hard for you to believe, Mister Cannon, but I've never heard of this…'Siren.' I didn't kill Mister Ruediger either. In fact, he and I had an understanding. He was very keen on selling me his copy of Body Heat. That's why I gave him my private number. He was supposed to get in touch with me by today, but he never called. However, it's no matter now. Goodbye, Mister Cannon." Bordwell bowed and turned to leave. Odie grunted his usual response and turned with him. Was he telling the truth? Did I have it all wrong? If he didn't kill them, then who did? At that moment two gunshots rang out and both Bordwell and his henchman fell to the ground. The shots came from behind me. I whipped around and standing there holding a smoking .38 was the last person I ever expected to see.
"Sheila?"
"That's right, Joe," she said smiling at me.
"What the…? I don't get — How? Why?"
"It's a long story, Joe, but it goes back several years…to the day that you dumped me. I was heartbroken, devastated. I invited my best friend over to comfort me. I believe you two have met. She called herself 'The Siren.' Anyway, we ended up watching a movie on late night television together. It was Body Heat. I didn't quite know what to think of it that first time. I enjoyed it but was not blown away. Over the years, as I went
through relationship after relationship with other men, I couldn't get certain images and lines of dialogue from that film out of my mind. Kathleen Turner in that gorgeous white outfit standing alone on the pier staring off at the ocean, William Hurt admiring his new fedora in the reflection of the car window, the haunting sound of those beautiful wind chimes…All these moments stuck with me. That's when I decided, a few months ago, I needed to watch it again. By this time I had the job at the library and checked out our copy of it. It was then that the film's greatness became apparent to me. I fell in love with it. Its style, its elegance, its romanticism. It is an impeccably-made motion picture. I realized that I didn't need a man as long as I had Body Heat. But Bordwell and his greedy friends at Warner Bros. were making sure that nobody could get their hands on it. I knew it was only a matter of time before they tried to take the library's copy away too. I had to make sure that didn't happen. So, I chose a sap whom I could seduce into checking it out permanently."
"Ross Ruediger," I said.
"It was a cinch picking him. I saw him in the library all the time. He loved neo-noir and when I came on strong to him one day, he folded like a pup tent. Men are so easy to manipulate. In a few weeks, he would do anything for me…even hold on to my movie for me, hiding it so that nobody could find it."
"And you were able to make sure that it was constantly checked out, so that nobody could ever take your precious Body Heat away from you. Clever." Sheila wore a somewhat triumphant expression. "So, why'd you kill him?"
"Because he was weak. The day after you came by the library, I went over to his house bright and early hoping to get him to give me the movie before you showed up and strong-armed him into handing it over to you. The man loved good movies, but he had no backbone. Bordwell had already gotten to him, as Ross tearfully confessed to me that morning, and talked him into selling it back to the studio. He could no longer be trusted. He had to go."
"So you shot him and then ransacked the place looking for the movie. Is that when I showed up and you ambushed me?"
"You guessed it. I have to admit that I was a little surprised to see you turn up at the library looking for it, Joe. I couldn't figure out why you were suddenly interested in the film, so while you were out cold I went through your pockets, found your notepad and saw the name and phone number of your new client: my old friend, The Siren. I guess the same thing had happened to her. She also had fallen in love with that film that we were both introduced to that night. She must also have became obsessed with having it. Well, I couldn't let her. This movie was mine and mine alone. Nobody was going to take it away from me. Ever." She raised the gun. "I guess I owe you some thanks, Joe. Not only did you locate the movie for me, but if you hadn't broken up with me all those years ago, I never would've even found out about it. Now, get the disc."
"You'll never get away with this, Sheila. The police will be here any —" I stopped when I realized that I had asked her to call the police. She smiled at me. I sighed, walked over to the Bordwell's small body which lay on the ground behind me, took the disc out of his hand and turned back to face Sheila. "Throw it to me."
"Don't do this, Sheila," I pleaded with her. "No movie is worth this."
"You don't know that. You haven't seen it."
"And I guess I never will." I crunched the disc in my hand before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it. Sheila let out a noise like nothing I'd ever heard. It was more than a scream. It was the sound of a person's soul being crushed. She looked at me with tears streaming down her face and a look of intense fury in her eyes.
"You bastard!" she said cocking the gun.
This is it, I thought. This is how you die. I closed my eyes and waited for the gunshot that I knew was going to end my life. There was a loud boom. I actually heard the sound of my own death. So, where did she hit me? I couldn't tell. I felt nothing. Did she miss? I opened my eyes just in time to see Sheila fall forward. At that moment, Sgt. Emerson emerged from around the corner holding his gun. He asked me if I was OK. I told him I was fine. Just in shock. "Cozzalio's been having me follow you around ever since you left Ruediger's place this morning. Good thing too."
"Where were you when she killed the other two?" I asked.
"I was…um, indisposed at the moment," he said looking a little embarrassed. "I ran over as soon as I heard the gunshots and that's when I saw her pointing that .38 at you. Don't worry. I heard her whole confession. You're off the hook, Cannon." Within 10 minutes, there were a dozen cops at the scene, the alley was quartered off and Lt. Cozzalio was taking my statement. This time, I decided to tell him everything, leaving nothing out.
"Well, it's only a shame you had to destroy the movie too, Joe. We could've used that."
"I didn't destroy it." I said pulling another disc out of my pocket. "While I was picking up Body Heat at Ruediger's place I grabbed another disc just in case. I don't even know which one it was. Sin City I think." I handed it to him.
"All this trouble over a movie," he said holding it up and looking at it. "I hope it was all worth it." I asked him what would happen to it. "Oh, it's evidence now," he answered. "It'll get put away with all the other junk for a long, long time. Why? Were you interested in watching it?"
"No, thanks," I replied lighting a cigarette. "Too many people have died for that thing." Cozzalio was still examining it as I turned to exit the alley. I stopped, however, and glanced back over my shoulder one last time before walking off into the night. "But I hear it's damn good."
A special word of thanks to all of my film-blogging friends who allowed me to use their names in this crazy, but amusing, little endeavor of mine:
Matt Zoller Seitz
The Self-Styled Siren
David Bordwell
Jim Emerson
Ross Ruediger
Odie Henderson
Sheila O'Malley
Dennis Cozzalio
Black-and-white image courtesy of Jim Ferreira Photography.
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Labels: 80s, K. Turner, L. Kasdan, Mickey Rourke, Movie Tributes, R. Scott, Wilder, William Hurt
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Monday, January 10, 2011
Peter Yates (1929-2011)
As a director, the Hampshire, England-born Peter Yates embraced a wide range of genres in the stories he brought to the silver screen, running the gamut from police thrillers to science fiction tales, from relationships dramas to beautifully rendered American slices of life, earning four Oscar nominations along the way, two for directing and two for producing. Yates has died at 81.
Though he began his career as an actor, Yates found his greatest fame behind the camera. He started doing second unit and assistant directing work on such notable films as Sons and Lovers, The Entertainer with Laurence Olivier, The Guns of Navarone and The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone. He made his feature directing debut in 1963 with Summer Holiday, a musical romance starring pop star Cliff Richard. The following year, he turned to comedy with a film called One Way Pendulum.
For much of the mid-1960s, he worked in television, directing episodes of The Saint starring Roger Moore and Secret Agent starring Patrick McGoohan.
He returned to features in 1967 with a dramatization of the Great Train Robbery called Robbery, but it was the film he made in 1968 that made his name: Bullitt. Starring Steve McQueen as a San Francisco cop, Bullitt still contains one of the famous chase scenes in movie history, thanks largely to the hilly environs of its setting.
His next film couldn't have been more of a departure. In John and Mary, Dustin Hoffman and Mia Farrow play two people who meet at a bar, have a one night stand and then spend the next day getting to know one another.
In 1971, he helmed Murphy's War where Peter O'Toole played the title character, the sole survivor of a ship attacked by a German U-boat during World War II who washes up on an island and plots how to take out the U-boat all by himself.
With Robert Redford as his lead, 1972's The Hot Rock took Yates into the heist genre. With a script by William Goldman adapted from a Donald Westlake novel, Redford gathers his crew to steal a big diamond from a museum at the behest of an African doctor who wants it returned to his homeland. The problem: Every time they get it, they keep losing the damn thing and having to steal it again.
Yates filmed a crime classic the following year when Robert Mitchum starred in The Friends of Eddie Coyle. The next year, Yates went in a completely different direction again with the Barbra Streisand comedy For Pete's Sake.
Comedy was still on his plate in 1976 with Mother, Jugs and Speed about the competition between private ambulance companies which brought together the unusual trio of Bill Cosby, Raquel Welch and Harvey Keitel. The next year, he submerged himself with the adaptation of Peter Benchley's thriller The Deep.
His next film though, at least as far as I'm concerned, will be his legacy and remains his best. It brought him those first two Oscar nominations as he filmed Steve Tesich's brilliant script Breaking Away, a film that is as great today as it was the first time I saw it, if not better. He even served as executive producer for the short-lived television series of the movie.
Even though Tesich wrote the screenplay for his next film, Eyewitness, and it starred William Hurt and Sigourney Weaver, the film was a better idea than a movie and bit of a letdown. However, nothing could prepare for his next release, the monumentally silly sci-fi monstrosity Krull in 1983.
Fortunately, he had another 1983 offering to get the taste of Krull out of one's mouth and it earned him those final two Oscar nominations. The Dresser really was an actor's movie (literally) more than anything else as it told the story of an aging and dotty Shakespearean actor (Albert Finney) and his dresser (Tom Courtenay) who more or less serves as his protector. Both Finney and Courtenay were nominated as well.
Following The Dresser, Yates made several films, but nothing to equal those from the early portions of his career. There was Eleni with Kate Nelligan, Suspect with Cher, The House on Carroll Street with Kelly McGillis and Jeff Daniels, the wretched An Innocent Man with Tom Selleck, Year of the Comet, Roommates with Peter Falk and D.B. Sweeney, The Run of the Country with Finney and Curtain Call with James Spader.
His final two projects were made-for-television adaptations of Don Quixote and A Separate Peace.
Even with some dogs on that resume, Yates produced a helluva body of work and an eclectic one at that with several titles that will last for generations.
RIP Mr. Yates.
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Labels: Dustin Hoffman, Falk, Finney, Jeff Daniels, Keitel, Mia Farrow, Mitchum, Musicals, O'Toole, Obituary, Olivier, Redford, Sigourney Weaver, Streisand, Television, William Hurt
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Sunday, November 21, 2010
From the Vault: Alice
For his 20th cinematic trip out as writer-director, Woody Allen ventures into a whimsical galaxy reminiscent of his work in the "Oedipus Wrecks" segment of New York Stories.
Requisite actress Mia Farrow stars as Alice, a wealthy Manhattan housewife who explores the meaning and direction of her life with the help of an acupuncturist named Dr. Yang (the late Keye Luke) who specializes in magical herbs.
Much of the joy of Alice comes from the various fantastical trips that Dr. Yang's potions take Alice on, so it would be unfair to spoil them in a review.
Unlike the New York Stories segment, which shared the magical elements of Alice, Allen's new film doesn't wear out its welcome. "Oedipus Wrecks" tended to be a one-joke premise that went on too long but Alice just uses its fantasy devices to illuminate the larger story of Alice's transformation.
What sparks Alice's self-seeking quest is Joe (Joe Mantegna), the father of one of her children's classmates. For the first time in her staid married life, Alice feels the need to stray.
However, her strict Catholic upbringing and sense of duty keep her from admitting that her husband Doug (played as a jerk to the subdued hilt by William Hurt) hasn't fulfilled her needs and that Alice must live for herself before her church or her husband.
The themes in Alice are universal and have been addressed by Woody before. Infidelity, religion, family, love and dreams. It's typical Allen, only in Farrow's face.
Farrow's transformation in Woody's movies has been amazing. She has become his alter ego in many ways, serving as his surrogate in the films in which he doesn't appear. It's Catholic guilt instead of Jewish guilt, but the neuroses have become nearly one and the same.
In addition to Farrow, Hurt, Luke and Mantegna, Allen continues his trend of large, surprising casts. Cybill Shepherd is fine in her couple of scenes as a successful producer who doesn't want to be reminded of where she came from and Alec Baldwin has some of the best moments as the ghost of Alice's late love.
The funniest part of the film though belongs to Bernadette Peters' one-scene cameo as Alice's muse, desperately trying to help her write a novel.
Overall though, this is certainly a lesser effort by Allen. It is entertaining, gaining momentum as it goes along, but there still is something lacking.
Granted, it would have been nearly impossible to have anything but a letdown after 1989's excellent Crimes and Misdemeanors, but Alice is certainly not a waste.
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Labels: 90s, Alec Baldwin, Cybill Shepherd, Mia Farrow, William Hurt, Woody
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Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Resisting the expansion urge
By Edward Copeland
Too often when filmmakers choose to turn a short story into a movie, they can't help but enlarge the tale, feeling more is needed to justify feature length. In the case of The Yellow Handkerchief, director Udayan Prasad and screenwriter Erin Dignam have let Pete Hamill's original story dictate their actions and the result is a simple, compact and sweet film.
William Hurt has been so good for so long but it seems as if it's been ages since we've seen him get to strut his stuff in a lead as he does here in The Yellow Handkerchief. Hurt stars as a recently freed ex-con seeking to reconnect with his past who stumbles into the lives of two teens with problems of their owns.
Kristen Stewart plays Martine, uncomfortable with her burgeoning sexuality and unhappy with her home situation. Eddie Redmayne plays Gordy, a teen who seems to have embraced his awkwardness but uses his car as a charm to keep people attracted to his orbit. Both performers are good but I was particularly impressed when I learned Redmayne is British. Why is it that when American actors try different regional dialects they so often stick out like a sore thumb but Brits are so skilled at slipping into American accents without detection?
Much of the film includes flashbacks as Hurt's character as he recalls life with his wife May (Maria Bello) and the events that led to his imprisonment. Hurt's performance is a quiet one, but a powerful one.
Dignam and Prasad have managed to make a movie of The Yellow Handkerchief that really is a poignant filmed essay on loneliness with a little bit of hope for good measure.
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Labels: 00s, Maria Bello, William Hurt
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Monday, November 19, 2007
Oscar's rules for GLBT characters
By Edward Copeland
This post was for the Queer Blog-a-Thon hosted at Queering the Apprentice, which apparently no longer exists. Be warned: the words below will contain spoilers for a lot of films, too many to mention, so don't read it and whine later.
The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences has been fairly generous in the past 20 or so years in nominating (and sometimes rewarding) actors and actresses who play gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered characters on screen. However, this does come with a price. Not to their careers, but in deciding whether or not the role gets nominated in the first place.
There seems to be only two types of gay roles that get deemed worthy of Oscar recognition: ones that are comicly broad or one where the gay character in question either ends up dead or alone. Look at just a couple of highly praised roles that got snubbed come Oscar time. Everyone thought Dennis Quaid was a lock for a nomination with his tortured married gay man in the 1950s in Far From Heaven, but he didn't make the cut. In the end of the film, his character has accepted his sexuality and found a boyfriend: no nomination for him.
Rupert Everett was a lot of fun as Julia Roberts' best gay friend in My Best Friend's Wedding, but his character was out, proud and presumably in a relationship. Strike him from your nominating ballot.
Now, here come the spoilers, as I look at all the performers who did get nominated or won an Oscar for playing a gay character. I'm only counting characters that are explicitly gay, not implied ones such as Clifton Webb in Laura For sake of simplicity, I'm going chronologically.
Peter Finch in Sunday Bloody Sunday (1971)
The first openly gay character that I can find with a nomination set one of the patterns: He's alone at the end.
Al Pacino and Chris Sarandon in Dog Day Afternoon (1975)
Sarandon's character of Leon is already institutionalized (and wants nothing to do with Sonny) when we meet him. Sonny (Pacino) ends up alone and in prison.
James Coco in Only When I Laugh (1981)
The first instance (post Dog Day Afternoon) of Oscar nominating an openly gay character was for Coco's broad comic turn in this lesser Neil Simon outing.
John Lithgow in The World According to Garp
Robert Preston in Victor, Victoria (both 1982)
Preston's great turn definitely belongs more in the broad comic category, though he might also be an exception since he is allowed to have a boyfriend by film's end. Lithgow, as the NFL player turned transsexual in Garp, might be an exception. He's alive at the end, but his role is mostly played for laughs and the film never provides him with a significant other.
Cher in Silkwood (1983)
Another possible exception, though the film makes it unclear if she's alone at the end, though she certainly looks guilt-stricken over possible involvement in her friend Karen's death.
William Hurt in Kiss of the Spider Woman (1985)
Ding ding ding. We have a winner. While the movie was certainly a drama, Hurt does a lot of histrionic flouncing AND he ends up dead in the end, even after his straight cellmate (Raul Julia) gives him a mercy fuck.
Bruce Davison in Longtime Companion (1990)
It was five years before another gay character earned a nomination and Davison's character got the double whammy. First, he has to watch his lover die of AIDS, leaving him alone, and then he dies as well (and not even on screen).
Tommy Lee Jones in JFK (1991)
Here's another example of a broad performance in a drama and while Jones' character lives in the end, it is complicated by the fact that he is portrayed as a villain (and with some over-the-top gay orgy scenes that only Oliver Stone could dream up). In contrast, Joe Pesci playing the less showy gay character who does get killed, didn't earn Academy notice.
Jaye Davidson in The Crying Game (1992)
First, Dil's lover gets killed during an IRA kidnapping and then when he/she falls for his captor, Fergus (Stephen Rea) gets sent to prison and Dil waits patiently, even though Fergus shows no intention of abandoning his heterosexuality.
Tom Hanks in Philadelphia (1993)
Gay and dead takes home the prize again, though at least Hanks' portrayal wasn't a broad one, even if Denzel Washington gave the better lead role in the film.
Greg Kinnear in As Good As It Gets (1997)
I don't think Kinnear's character had a significant other by film's end, but I do remember he took a bad beating.
Ian McKellen in Gods and Monsters (1998)
Here is an openly gay actor nominated for portraying a true-life openly gay director. Alas, James Whale dies in the end (as he did in real life) but the real travesty was that McKellen (and Nick Nolte and Edward Norton) lost to Roberto Benigni (Life Is Beautiful).
Kathy Bates in Primary Colors (1998)
Bates was great as a take-no-prisoners political operative working on the campaign of a Bill Clinton-like candidate. Alas, her lesbian character had principles and ended up firing a gun into her head.
Hilary Swank in Boys Don't Cry (1999)
Swank won the first of her two Oscars for lead actress by playing the gender-confused Brandon Teena. It also was the first of two times that Swank made it to the winner's circle by getting beaten to death.
Javier Bardem in Before Night Falls (2000)
Based on a real person, Bardem's character has to fight problems in Cuba before getting to N.Y. for one of the longest death scenes (from AIDS) I've ever seen.
Ed Harris in The Hours (2002)
The same year that the Academy snubbed Dennis Quaid for his fine work in Far From Heaven, they nominated this awful performance by the usually fine Harris as an artist dying of AIDS.
Nicole Kidman in The Hours (2002)
If Virginia Woolf hadn't walked herself into the river, this nomination and win probably would have never happened.
Julianne Moore in The Hours (2002)
In a way, her character here is similar to the one Quaid plays in Moore's other 2002 film. She's married, but unable to accept her sexuality. By the film's end, she appears to be alone, so she gets a pass while Quaid got snubbed. It may also explain one of the rare occasions where Meryl Streep didn't get an Oscar nomination since her lesbian character in The Hours had a lover in the end and doesn't die.
Charlize Theron in Monster (2003)
Another win based on a true story. Theron took the executed lesbian serial killer right up to the winner's circle.
Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote (2005)
This may be the true exception to the rule. Based on a real life character, the story didn't follow Truman Capote to his death and he did have a longtime companion. The closest this comes is denying him his crush on the executed killer.
Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Two nominated performances of gay character, so the Academy got to take one of each: Gyllenhaal's character ends up dead, Ledger's ends up alone.
Felicity Huffman in Transamerica (2005)
I'm not sure where to place this performance of an in-process transsexual. She doesn't die in the end.
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This post was for the Queer Blog-a-Thon hosted at Queering the Apprentice, which apparently no longer exists. Be warned: the words below will contain spoilers for a lot of films, too many to mention, so don't read it and whine later.
The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences has been fairly generous in the past 20 or so years in nominating (and sometimes rewarding) actors and actresses who play gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered characters on screen. However, this does come with a price. Not to their careers, but in deciding whether or not the role gets nominated in the first place.
There seems to be only two types of gay roles that get deemed worthy of Oscar recognition: ones that are comicly broad or one where the gay character in question either ends up dead or alone. Look at just a couple of highly praised roles that got snubbed come Oscar time. Everyone thought Dennis Quaid was a lock for a nomination with his tortured married gay man in the 1950s in Far From Heaven, but he didn't make the cut. In the end of the film, his character has accepted his sexuality and found a boyfriend: no nomination for him.
Rupert Everett was a lot of fun as Julia Roberts' best gay friend in My Best Friend's Wedding, but his character was out, proud and presumably in a relationship. Strike him from your nominating ballot.
Now, here come the spoilers, as I look at all the performers who did get nominated or won an Oscar for playing a gay character. I'm only counting characters that are explicitly gay, not implied ones such as Clifton Webb in Laura For sake of simplicity, I'm going chronologically.
The first openly gay character that I can find with a nomination set one of the patterns: He's alone at the end.
Sarandon's character of Leon is already institutionalized (and wants nothing to do with Sonny) when we meet him. Sonny (Pacino) ends up alone and in prison.
The first instance (post Dog Day Afternoon) of Oscar nominating an openly gay character was for Coco's broad comic turn in this lesser Neil Simon outing.
Robert Preston in Victor, Victoria (both 1982)
Preston's great turn definitely belongs more in the broad comic category, though he might also be an exception since he is allowed to have a boyfriend by film's end. Lithgow, as the NFL player turned transsexual in Garp, might be an exception. He's alive at the end, but his role is mostly played for laughs and the film never provides him with a significant other.
Another possible exception, though the film makes it unclear if she's alone at the end, though she certainly looks guilt-stricken over possible involvement in her friend Karen's death.
Ding ding ding. We have a winner. While the movie was certainly a drama, Hurt does a lot of histrionic flouncing AND he ends up dead in the end, even after his straight cellmate (Raul Julia) gives him a mercy fuck.
It was five years before another gay character earned a nomination and Davison's character got the double whammy. First, he has to watch his lover die of AIDS, leaving him alone, and then he dies as well (and not even on screen).
Here's another example of a broad performance in a drama and while Jones' character lives in the end, it is complicated by the fact that he is portrayed as a villain (and with some over-the-top gay orgy scenes that only Oliver Stone could dream up). In contrast, Joe Pesci playing the less showy gay character who does get killed, didn't earn Academy notice.
First, Dil's lover gets killed during an IRA kidnapping and then when he/she falls for his captor, Fergus (Stephen Rea) gets sent to prison and Dil waits patiently, even though Fergus shows no intention of abandoning his heterosexuality.
Gay and dead takes home the prize again, though at least Hanks' portrayal wasn't a broad one, even if Denzel Washington gave the better lead role in the film.
I don't think Kinnear's character had a significant other by film's end, but I do remember he took a bad beating.
Here is an openly gay actor nominated for portraying a true-life openly gay director. Alas, James Whale dies in the end (as he did in real life) but the real travesty was that McKellen (and Nick Nolte and Edward Norton) lost to Roberto Benigni (Life Is Beautiful).
Bates was great as a take-no-prisoners political operative working on the campaign of a Bill Clinton-like candidate. Alas, her lesbian character had principles and ended up firing a gun into her head.
Swank won the first of her two Oscars for lead actress by playing the gender-confused Brandon Teena. It also was the first of two times that Swank made it to the winner's circle by getting beaten to death.
Based on a real person, Bardem's character has to fight problems in Cuba before getting to N.Y. for one of the longest death scenes (from AIDS) I've ever seen.
The same year that the Academy snubbed Dennis Quaid for his fine work in Far From Heaven, they nominated this awful performance by the usually fine Harris as an artist dying of AIDS.
If Virginia Woolf hadn't walked herself into the river, this nomination and win probably would have never happened.
In a way, her character here is similar to the one Quaid plays in Moore's other 2002 film. She's married, but unable to accept her sexuality. By the film's end, she appears to be alone, so she gets a pass while Quaid got snubbed. It may also explain one of the rare occasions where Meryl Streep didn't get an Oscar nomination since her lesbian character in The Hours had a lover in the end and doesn't die.
Another win based on a true story. Theron took the executed lesbian serial killer right up to the winner's circle.
This may be the true exception to the rule. Based on a real life character, the story didn't follow Truman Capote to his death and he did have a longtime companion. The closest this comes is denying him his crush on the executed killer.
Two nominated performances of gay character, so the Academy got to take one of each: Gyllenhaal's character ends up dead, Ledger's ends up alone.
I'm not sure where to place this performance of an in-process transsexual. She doesn't die in the end.
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Labels: Bardem, Capote, D. Quaid, Denzel, Hanks, J. Gyllenhaal, Julia Roberts, Julianne Moore, K. Bates, Lithgow, Neil Simon, Nicole Kidman, Oliver Stone, P.S. Hoffman, Pacino, Pesci, R. Preston, Tommy Lee Jones, Whale, William Hurt
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Friday, November 02, 2007
Measure yourself at least once
By Edward Copeland
With Into the Wild, Sean Penn has made a quantum leap as a filmmaker. His previous efforts as a director, such as The Crossing Guard and The Pledge, left me pretty cold. In Jon Krakauer's book about the true story of a lost young man, Penn the filmmaker truly seems to have found himself.
Into the Wild also offers a chance to see the actor Emile Hirsch in a new light. My first exposure (that I can remember) to Hirsch was in Alpha Dog earlier this year, and he left me less than impressed. However, his work here, as Chris McCandless aka Alexander Supertramp, is quite impressive.
McCandless is a recent college graduate in 1990 with an eye on Harvard Law but buried resentment toward his stiff, WASP parents (William Hurt, Marcia Gay Harden) inspires him to follow his own path: Living off the land in Alaska. As he tells one person he encounters on his journey, for Americans seeking new things, the road has always led West.
Along the way, Hirsch gets ample help from a fine ensemble of actors including Catherine Keener, Vince Vaughn, Brian Dierker and Hal Holbrook who, with his role here and his guest appearance in season 6 of The Sopranos, may have become the go-to actor for representing aged wisdom.
Penn also wrote the screenplay and since I've never read Krakauer's book, I can't be certain if the words attributed to McCandless or to his sister Carine (Jena Malone) were truly theirs. Sometimes the lines seem a bit too polished, but they mostly work.
Cinematographer Eric Gautier offers a lot of stunning imagery and most of Penn's directorial touches serve the film well, even when they occasionally step over the line into being too showy (as when the word PEOPLE literally leaps off the page of a book Chris is reading). Penn also makes great use of close-ups, particularly in a tense, early dinner scene among the McCandless family.
Eddie Vedder's original songs for the film work quite well, even if they almost become indistinguishable from one another.
On the whole, Into the Wild may be a little too long, but it's so well made, well acted and well stocked with interesting ideas, that the journey is more than worth it.
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With Into the Wild, Sean Penn has made a quantum leap as a filmmaker. His previous efforts as a director, such as The Crossing Guard and The Pledge, left me pretty cold. In Jon Krakauer's book about the true story of a lost young man, Penn the filmmaker truly seems to have found himself.
Into the Wild also offers a chance to see the actor Emile Hirsch in a new light. My first exposure (that I can remember) to Hirsch was in Alpha Dog earlier this year, and he left me less than impressed. However, his work here, as Chris McCandless aka Alexander Supertramp, is quite impressive.
McCandless is a recent college graduate in 1990 with an eye on Harvard Law but buried resentment toward his stiff, WASP parents (William Hurt, Marcia Gay Harden) inspires him to follow his own path: Living off the land in Alaska. As he tells one person he encounters on his journey, for Americans seeking new things, the road has always led West.
Along the way, Hirsch gets ample help from a fine ensemble of actors including Catherine Keener, Vince Vaughn, Brian Dierker and Hal Holbrook who, with his role here and his guest appearance in season 6 of The Sopranos, may have become the go-to actor for representing aged wisdom.
Penn also wrote the screenplay and since I've never read Krakauer's book, I can't be certain if the words attributed to McCandless or to his sister Carine (Jena Malone) were truly theirs. Sometimes the lines seem a bit too polished, but they mostly work.
Cinematographer Eric Gautier offers a lot of stunning imagery and most of Penn's directorial touches serve the film well, even when they occasionally step over the line into being too showy (as when the word PEOPLE literally leaps off the page of a book Chris is reading). Penn also makes great use of close-ups, particularly in a tense, early dinner scene among the McCandless family.
Eddie Vedder's original songs for the film work quite well, even if they almost become indistinguishable from one another.
On the whole, Into the Wild may be a little too long, but it's so well made, well acted and well stocked with interesting ideas, that the journey is more than worth it.
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Labels: 00s, Holbrook, Keener, Sean Penn, The Sopranos, William Hurt
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Sunday, April 08, 2007
Gangs for the memories
This post is running as part of the Mob-a-Thon being conducted by The Boob Tubers to mark the return of The Sopranos for its final nine episodes.
By Edward Copeland
To mark the return and final stand (at least as we've been led to believe) of The Sopranos, the folks at The Boob Tubers have called for a Mob-a-Thon today on mobsters and gangsters in general. So, I've tossed together a list of 10 of my favorite movie gangsters, in no particular order, to mark the occasion. Inevitably, many good ones have been omitted such as the various Corleones and Duke Mantee. I've also limited myself to one role per actor, so people such as James Cagney won't be doubling up.
Not just top of the world ma, but top of the heap. Cagney's triumphant return to the genre that made him famous in 1949 marked one of the greatest criminal creations ever put on screen. How on earth he failed to get an Oscar nomination for Raoul Walsh's classic is mind-boggling. I haven't seen Richard Todd in The Hasty Heart, but I'd rank Cagney's Jarrett higher than Broderick Crawford's winning Willie Stark in All the King's Men, Kirk Douglas in Champion, Gregory Peck in Twelve O'Clock High and John Wayne in Sands of Iwo Jima. Jarrett beats them all — and would probably do it literally if given the chance. Jarrett's mental instability makes Tommy in Goodfellas seem well adjusted. He has mother issues that almost rival Norman Bates' and can be particularly detached from his killings. When the henchman of a rival asks if Cody can really kill him in cold blood, Jarrett replies, "No, I'll let ya warm up a little."
Speaking of Tommy, he did win an Oscar for Martin Scorsese's mob masterpiece which really should get the bulk of credit for The Sopranos. Sure, no one went to a shrink here, but the depiction of "normal" family life among mobsters wasn't really portrayed until this movie. (Let's face — it the Corleones were upper class all the way.) I had to laugh when in the series finale of HBO's Rome, the by-then barking mad Marc Antony starts ranting, "Am I a clown? Do I amuse you?" Pesci's Oscar was most deserved. His ability to change moods on a dime truly frightens. He's laughing one second, killing the next, but in all of the movie's minutes with him, he's riveting.
"Mother of Mercy. Could this be the end of Rico?" Not as long as prints of Mervyn LeRoy's landmark gangster film exist and keep being preserved and transferred to whatever new media arrive. It was hard to pick just one Robinson performance for this list, but I settled on the most famous. Part of me wanted to go with John Ford's delightful The Whole Town's Talking from 1935 where Eddie G. got to play both an ordinary schmuck and the vicious gangster he's mistaken for. Another part wanted to single out Rocco in John Huston's Key Largo. Honestly, both of those other films are better ones than Little Caesar, but it's hard to argue with a character and a performance this iconic.
I had to go with a tag team on this one because Hoskins and Gwynne as Owney Madden and his invaluable lieutenant Frenchy Demange in Francis Ford Coppola's underrated Cotton Club simply are inseparable. Sure, the real gangster of the piece is James Remar's menacing Dutch Schultz, but Hoskins as club owner Madden and Gwynne, miles removed from Herman Munster, really highlight the film with their loving, fractious platonic relationship. The bond between the two is exemplified by the scene where Frenchy returns to Owney, battered and bruised after being held hostage by some young thugs. He conceals his anger at Madden's handling of the crisis before asking to see Owney's beloved pocketwatch and smashing it to smithereens. As Owney is ready to explode, Frenchy pulls a wrapped box out of his coat pocket and Madden sees that Frenchy already had a replacement pocketwatch at the ready. The duo hug. The viewer shouldn't be worried about the romantic fates of Richard Gere and Diane Lane or Gregory Hines and Lonette McKee — Hoskins and Gwynne are the couple we couldn't bear to see part ways.
"This killing of the police captain's wife is costing us ... all ... too ... much." Don't let Corrado Prizzi's decrepit and near-death demeanor deceive you: This don is still sharp as a tack and able to manipulate those around him like a pro. The iconoclastic Hickey earned an Oscar nomination for this great role, but lost to the sympathy vote for Don Ameche in Cocoon who, let's be frank, wasn't even the best supporting actor in Cocoon. Decades from now, when people no longer know what breakdancing even is, John Huston's great comic mob tale should stand the test of time and Hickey will be one of its strongest assets in a great cast that includes Jack Nicholson, Kathleen Turner, Robert Loggia and Anjelica Huston. Have another cookie, my dear? I certainly will if it's Don Corrado offering the treat. It's a snack you can't refuse.
Bill Murray as one of the great movie gangsters? You wouldn't be puzzled if you'd seen his work in John MacNaughton's Mad Dog & Glory. The movie itself is a mixed bag, telling the story of a shy police photographer (Robert De Niro) who unwittingly saves the life of the mobster and would-be stand up comic who rewards him by giving him one of "his girls" (Uma Thurman). Murray has been justly praised in recent years for his acting chops, but truly 1993 may have marked the turning point. Not only did Murray create a complete original with Frank Milo, smooth and scary simultaneously, it also was the year he starred in Groundhog Day, so really the Academy snubbed him in two categories that year, though that was a particularly fruitful year for male performances. If you'd never seen Bill Murray before and Mad Dog & Glory were your introduction, you'd ask in amazement: Where has this guy been hiding? It would have made him a star if not for the fact he already was one.
When you think of conflicted movie mobsters, most people leap to poor Michael Corleone, pulled into the family business he never sought but becoming as ruthless as he needs to be. Do we know why Michael is conflicted? Does he ever say that he recognizes that the path he goes on is the wrong one? No. He just wants to stay rich but become legit. Jules Winfield however, a gangster of a different kind, decides to change his ways because of what he considers divine intervention. Samuel L. Jackson has never really been able to equal the greatness he was able to display in his role in Pulp Fiction. While the film is filled with great lines and performances, no one quite puts the brilliant spin on Tarantino's words the way Jackson did as Jules. To watch his transformation from ruthless killer to reformed criminal in gestation, even within the fractured narrative, is a wonder to behold. Jules tells his partner Vincent (John Travolta) that he considers himself retired and plans to "walk the earth" like Cain in Kung Fu. I hope Jules got his wish and got out and no one pulled him back in.
Who knew that Gandhi could be so frightening? When Ben Kingsley arrives on the screen in Sexy Beast, he unleashes such ferocity and heat that you fear that the celluloid will melt as it runs through the projector (if anyone still gets to see films that way). He should have won that supporting actor Oscar that year. To think that one man could give performances for the ages as the epitome of nonviolence and the embodiment of brutality truly amazes. Kingsley even got to do a sardonic take on himself on an episode of The Sopranos when last we saw them and he was really the only highlight of one of the series' weakest episodes.
Here's another recent case of a past Oscar-winning best actor who comes back with a memorable supporting turn as a bad guy. Hurt, sometimes criticized for coldness and who the late Spy magazine once labeled "the thinking man's asshole," uses that reputation to his advantage here in David Cronenberg's most accessible film. He enters the film late, after Ed Harris has already given a memorable appearance as a villain, and proceeds to steal the entire film. While Hurt does have scary moments, what really makes Hurt's Richie so memorable is that he's so damn funny. Some complained that his appearance in the film was so brief that he didn't deserve a nomination. It's not the size of the role, it's the impression it leaves afterward.
It's hard when you've been called "the most vile gangster in the galaxy" to leave you off a list of memorable gangsters, even if that galaxy is far, far away. Jabba's appearance in Return of the Jedi was a great payoff for a character who'd been mentioned but not seen in two previous films (until George Lucas had to go back and ruin things by inserting him unnecessarily in Star Wars). Tony Soprano often is noted for his girth, but he's got nothing on the Hutt, who outshines the New Jersey boss in his lust for money, power and pleasure. He was a truly unique creation but thanks to Leia's strength with chains (though I still don't see how she'd be strong enough, Jedi blood or not, to pull off strangling him to death), Jabba is bantha fodder now.
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Labels: Cagney, Coppola, Cronenberg, De Niro, Edward G., Gregory Peck, Huston, Kingsley, Lucas, Murray, Nicholson, Pesci, Samuel L. Jackson, Scorsese, Star Wars, Tarantino, Travolta, Walsh, William Hurt, Zemeckis
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Wednesday, February 14, 2007
An unrequited love triangle
This post is part of the Lovesick Blog-a-Thon being coordinated by 100 Films. Check them out for a full index of posts across the blogosphere.
"...I would give anything if you were two people, so that I could call up the one who's my friend and tell her about the one that I like so much."
By Edward Copeland
Love triangles proliferate throughout the history of film, literature, theater, etc., but it's not as often that a work of art tackles a romantic geometric puzzle where the points are mostly love of an unrequited nature. No film has ever captured it more vividly, touchingly or hilariously than James L. Brooks' Broadcast News. Sure, there is a sprinkling of satire about the state of television news, but it's the stunted relationships between Jane Craig (Holly Hunter), Tom Grunick (William Hurt) and, most especially, Aaron Altman (Albert Brooks) that give this great film its punch.
If needy were a turn on?"
I am Aaron Altman. OK, not literally. James L. Brooks doesn't know me and didn't pattern the role on me, but there probably is not a character in the history of film to whom I feel such a close kinship, especially when I first saw Broadcast News in its original release in 1987 (It turns 20 years old later this year — we are both getting old). Actually, come to think of it, for much of my younger years my nickname was "Alex" after Alex Reiger on TV's Taxi because people came to me for advice a lot and James L. Brooks co-created that show as well. Maybe he has been writing my life. On the plus side, as many bad moments as I've had in my life over the past couple of years, none might be as bad as Spanglish or I'll Do Anything.
There have been two "Jane Craigs" in my life, though ironically the one who most closely mirrored her, right down to being a driven perfectionist who set aside time for crying, I didn't even get to know until well after Broadcast News had been released. (As Joan Cusack's character tells Jane at one point, "Except for socially, you're my role model.") Also, there never really was a Tom Grunick equivalent, though many aspects of the fictional Aaron and Jane rang true. I plead guilty to drunken attempts at confession as poor Aaron does, saying lines similar to his declaration that the "one thing that makes me feel really good and makes immediate sense is you" which got a sympathetic and sincere "aww" from Jane, which only made things worse. Even I wasn't nervy enough to try for an impromptu, alcohol-induced kiss and I certainly wouldn't have been cogent enough at the time to respond, "Well, I felt something."
The marathon phone conversations ring especially true alongside the one-sided wish for something more than friendship. Especially in college, phone calls with Jane Craig No. 2 could stretch on well into the morning and cover just about any conceivable topic: from school to current events, from work to romance, from dreams to masturbation. You name it, we probably discussed it. We'd talk about her misfired attempts at romance (I only wish I could have used Aaron's line when Jane complains that at some point she's crossed a line "where she's started to repel people she's trying to seduce" and he replies that Tom must have been good looking because "Nobody invites a bad-looking idiot to their bedroom").
That provides a nice segue to the other side of the film's unrequited triangle: Jane's feelings for Tom. Granted, Tom and Jane do come thisclose at times to having a go at it, for most of the film Jane's infatuation with Tom seems to be one sided, even if she doesn't share the deep friendship with him that she shares with Aaron and holds Tom in low regard professionally. When she questions Paul, the head of the news division (Peter Hackes), about the decision to have Tom anchor a special report, Paul responds in one of the film's many memorable lines: "You are absolutely right and I'm absolutely wrong. It must be nice to think you always know better, that you're the smartest person in the room" to which Jane brilliantly responds, "No, it's awful." Well, Jane certainly doesn't know better when it comes to Tom. She's not suffering from unrequited love really, more like unrequited lust.
In one of the masterstrokes of Brooks' screenplay, Jane goes nuts preparing for her big date with Tom to the correspondents dinner at the same time that Aaron stops by to prepare for his first shot at anchoring the weekend news. Aaron is understandably annoyed as he watches Jane fret over every detail, begging her to at least "pretend this is awkward" while Jane denies it's a date but merely "co-workers attending a professional conclave" as she plops a package of condoms in her purse. Of course, Jane's attempts at seduction are nearly as clumsy as Aaron's, even without the added burden of friendship. Her disdain for Tom's lack of ability always rears its head (prompting Tom at one point to tell her that he likes "her as much as I can like anyone who thinks I'm an asshole.") and she'll get worn out, declaring that she feels like she's a "dead lump of poured-out flesh" and then invite him up to her apartment. Of course, Jane's attraction to Tom really raises the tension in her friendship with Aaron. Aaron's unrequited love for Jane could stay comfortably in remission until someone like Tom shows up, increasing the probability that Aaron's door to romance with Jane will be slammed shut forever.
The tenuous work relationship between Aaron and Tom provides fun as well as Aaron seeks every opportunity to show Tom up, though he does take his advice on how to prepare for his anchoring shot. One of the other great things about Broadcast News is that Tom is not conventionally dumb, he's not mean and even though his ethical standards are less than pure, he really does seem to be a nice guy. At one point at a party, Tom asks Aaron, "What do you do when your real life exceeds your dreams?" to which Aaron replies, "Keep it to yourself." For the most part, Tom usually means well and though Aaron (and least in my eyes) is the more sympathetic character, a lot of the time he doesn't, always doing his best to sabotage Tom, less out of meanness than out of frustration over his feelings for Jane. Near the film's climax, as Tom is bidding Aaron farewell he says, "You're a prick — in a great way." Aaron likes how that makes him sound and it's true.
Finally though, his feelings for Jane finally prove too much following the disaster of his anchoring try ("At some point, it was so off-the-chart bad, it just got funny," Aaron tells Jane) as he interrupts her big date. Jane chooses this time to admit to Aaron that she thinks she may be in love with Tom. That's the final straw for Aaron, who bursts forth with anger and confession. At first, he tries to remain the sympathetic friend, agreeing with Jane when she says that this try at a relationship with Tom is important for her, even though she says it's really about her being a "basket case." Of course, Aaron can't help himself — this is his last chance and he tries to play every card he has — and sober no less.
He starts out by trying to posit the theory that Tom, while a nice guy, is really the devil "lowering our standards bit by little bit, flash over substance," Aaron says before adding, "and he'll get all the great girls." A suitably angry Jane fires back at Aaron that what they have isn't a friendship and she thinks he might be the devil. "You know I'm not. If I were the devil, you'd be the only I'd tell," he says before finally getting to the crucial admission that he's in love with her. Ever the journalist, prone to self-criticism, Aaron sighs, "What do you know? I buried the lead." The entire exchange exhausts the both of them ("Does anyone win these things?" Aaron asks), especially after Tom calls and, having seen the tape of Aaron's disastrous anchoring, says he understands that Jane's probably needed there and cancels the rest of the evening, to which Aaron viciously says, "Thanks for dropping by" before sending Jane out the door alone.
The answer to Aaron's question about winning, at least in the case of Broadcast News, is no and I think that's part of its genius. At the time, my mom expressed disappointment after seeing the film that Jane and Aaron didn't get together (Hey, she's my mom — of course she's going to root for me). Before the epilogue, Jane asks Aaron to meet her and they settle on "the place near the thing where we went that time." Aaron's bitterness is still palpable and Jane asks him if he's really going to stay mad at her forever to which he says, "I hope so," a feeling I could completely understand but one that isn't fair or really feasible, though Aaron tells her:
every few years at dinner and we'll never act on it."
Frankly, I think Aaron still was in denial somewhat, since there's never any evidence to show that his attraction to Jane is reciprocated. As lovers around the world celebrate their togetherness today on Valentine's Day, there really is no better way for the rest of us poor schmucks to spend this day than to watch Broadcast News and remember the ones who got away or who were always beyond our reach. On a personal note, as far as my two "Jane Craigs" go, No. 1 and I did remain close friends and I was able to put my romantic feelings for her into permanent remission. As for No. 2, the one who most closely resembles Holly Hunter's character, our path was much shakier and as of today no longer exists. An ill-advised jaunt through Europe together many years ago caused the first rupture (damn you James L. Brooks — Alex Reiger and Elaine even took a trip to Europe together on Taxi, though at least Alex got laid). Years later, it was more a natural growing apart as I realized that Jane Craig No. 2 really wasn't that good a friend to me, more wrapped up in herself than in events that were occurring in my life. Jane Craig No. 1 though provided a friendship that I'll never regret and that I always will treasure.
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Labels: 80s, Albert Brooks, Blog-a-thons, Holly Hunter, Movie Tributes, William Hurt
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Friday, February 10, 2006
It's not the size of the role...
By Edward Copeland
With William Hurt's much-deserved (in my opinion) nomination for A History of Violence this year, my thoughts have turned to some of the great single-scene or particularly small roles that were able to grab the viewer's attention in unprecedented ways.
Hurt's brief bit is by no means the Oscar's only instance of short scene-stealers — Beatrice Straight won for basically one monologue in Network and Judi Dench won with very limited screen time in Shakespeare in Love.
Geraldine Page also snagged a nomination for essentially one scene in The Pope of Greenwich Village. Network also produced a great monologue for Ned Beatty that earned him an Oscar nomination. All those nominees were fine by me except for Dench, who was really just getting makeup Oscar love for losing for Mrs. Brown the year before to the wandering accent of Helen Hunt in As Good As It Gets. Then there were also some brief nominations that were a complete puzzlement like Ethel Barrymore's nomination for The Paradine Case, one of Alfred Hitchcock's worst films.
So, as they come to me, some of my favorite brief roles.
Alfred Molina in Boogie Nights. When you get right down to it, the scene is completely extraneous to the movie — the climax of a film about the evolution of the porn industry well into the 1980s should have involved AIDS, not a standard drug deal. Still, Molina is masterful with his drug-addled dialogue set to the tune of Night Ranger's "Sister Christian."
One of my favorite single sequence tour-de-forces is Bill Murray in Little Shop of Horrors. His masochist wouldn't come off as great without Steve Martin's sadistic dentist to play off, but he's great.
Christopher Walken is a master of the monologue, but his one scene telling a child-size version of Bruce Willis about the journey of a gold watch in Pulp Fiction is priceless.
Another role that is essentially a single monologue, Jack Lemmon in Short Cuts. A brief but great role that few besides me remember is Swoosie Kurtz in Against All Odds where she is delightfully flaky as the secretary of a crooked lawyer who decides to help Jeff Bridges.
The year Frances McDormand won lead actress (for what in my opinion was a supporting role, but that's an argument for another time) for Fargo, she also gave a great single scene performance in Lone Star. Throughout the film, Chris Cooper's character's unstable ex-wife is referred to and when the situation requires Cooper to visit her late in the film, McDormand nails the character in a way that brings earlier references to vivid life.
Michael Mann's Collateral offered two great one scene performances: Barry Shabaka Henley as a jazz musician targeted for elimination and Javier Bardem as a crime lord. In another Tom Cruise vehicle, Lois Smith had a memorable one-scene turn in a greenhouse in Minority Report.
For a while last year, there was buzz that Lynn Redgrave might get nominated for her great single-scene at the climax of Kinsey as a woman whose life was profoundly affected by the sex researcher, but when that film folded, only Laura Linney was left standing.
It's more than one scene, but Tony Shalhoub's cab driver of indeterminate origin in Quick Change is a riot. Another short one that cracked me up was Maximilian Schell in The Freshman. "Carmine said one boy, here are two."
The original version of Love Affair and its remake by Warren Beatty produced two great short turns by Maria Ouspenskaya and Katharine Hepburn, respectively. Ouspenskaya even managed an Oscar nomination for her performance. Another one scene wonder that earned an Oscar nomination was Sylvia Miles in Midnight Cowboy, though it's been a long time since I've seen that one.
Most of the ones that are springing to my mind right now are more recent ones, but I'm sure brief turns in older films will come to my mind once the conversation gets going. The ones that immediately occur to me are Leslie Howard, Anton Walbrook and Raymond Massey's brief bits in the Powell/Pressburger masterpiece 49th Parallel aka The Invaders.
I'll leave you with this one: while certainly not a nomination-worthy performance, Garry Marshall's turn as the manager of the Desert Inn in Lost in America always cracks me up. "We're through talking now."
He may be through, but I hope you aren't.
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TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
With William Hurt's much-deserved (in my opinion) nomination for A History of Violence this year, my thoughts have turned to some of the great single-scene or particularly small roles that were able to grab the viewer's attention in unprecedented ways.
Hurt's brief bit is by no means the Oscar's only instance of short scene-stealers — Beatrice Straight won for basically one monologue in Network and Judi Dench won with very limited screen time in Shakespeare in Love.
Geraldine Page also snagged a nomination for essentially one scene in The Pope of Greenwich Village. Network also produced a great monologue for Ned Beatty that earned him an Oscar nomination. All those nominees were fine by me except for Dench, who was really just getting makeup Oscar love for losing for Mrs. Brown the year before to the wandering accent of Helen Hunt in As Good As It Gets. Then there were also some brief nominations that were a complete puzzlement like Ethel Barrymore's nomination for The Paradine Case, one of Alfred Hitchcock's worst films.
So, as they come to me, some of my favorite brief roles.
Alfred Molina in Boogie Nights. When you get right down to it, the scene is completely extraneous to the movie — the climax of a film about the evolution of the porn industry well into the 1980s should have involved AIDS, not a standard drug deal. Still, Molina is masterful with his drug-addled dialogue set to the tune of Night Ranger's "Sister Christian."
One of my favorite single sequence tour-de-forces is Bill Murray in Little Shop of Horrors. His masochist wouldn't come off as great without Steve Martin's sadistic dentist to play off, but he's great.
Christopher Walken is a master of the monologue, but his one scene telling a child-size version of Bruce Willis about the journey of a gold watch in Pulp Fiction is priceless.
Another role that is essentially a single monologue, Jack Lemmon in Short Cuts. A brief but great role that few besides me remember is Swoosie Kurtz in Against All Odds where she is delightfully flaky as the secretary of a crooked lawyer who decides to help Jeff Bridges.
The year Frances McDormand won lead actress (for what in my opinion was a supporting role, but that's an argument for another time) for Fargo, she also gave a great single scene performance in Lone Star. Throughout the film, Chris Cooper's character's unstable ex-wife is referred to and when the situation requires Cooper to visit her late in the film, McDormand nails the character in a way that brings earlier references to vivid life.
Michael Mann's Collateral offered two great one scene performances: Barry Shabaka Henley as a jazz musician targeted for elimination and Javier Bardem as a crime lord. In another Tom Cruise vehicle, Lois Smith had a memorable one-scene turn in a greenhouse in Minority Report.
For a while last year, there was buzz that Lynn Redgrave might get nominated for her great single-scene at the climax of Kinsey as a woman whose life was profoundly affected by the sex researcher, but when that film folded, only Laura Linney was left standing.
It's more than one scene, but Tony Shalhoub's cab driver of indeterminate origin in Quick Change is a riot. Another short one that cracked me up was Maximilian Schell in The Freshman. "Carmine said one boy, here are two."
The original version of Love Affair and its remake by Warren Beatty produced two great short turns by Maria Ouspenskaya and Katharine Hepburn, respectively. Ouspenskaya even managed an Oscar nomination for her performance. Another one scene wonder that earned an Oscar nomination was Sylvia Miles in Midnight Cowboy, though it's been a long time since I've seen that one.
Most of the ones that are springing to my mind right now are more recent ones, but I'm sure brief turns in older films will come to my mind once the conversation gets going. The ones that immediately occur to me are Leslie Howard, Anton Walbrook and Raymond Massey's brief bits in the Powell/Pressburger masterpiece 49th Parallel aka The Invaders.
I'll leave you with this one: while certainly not a nomination-worthy performance, Garry Marshall's turn as the manager of the Desert Inn in Lost in America always cracks me up. "We're through talking now."
He may be through, but I hope you aren't.
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Labels: Archers, Bardem, Chris Cooper, Cruise, Dench, Geraldine Page, Hitchcock, Jeff Bridges, K. Hepburn, Laura Linney, Lemmon, McDormand, Michael Mann, Murray, N. Beatty, Steve Martin, W. Beatty, Walken, William Hurt, Willis
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