Posted: April 28th, 2009 | Filed under:Uncategorized | Comments Off
In Prague with friends, I was extremely insistent we visit the Communist museum. I thought the exhibits of communist control would feel distant from recent history. After all, the museum is above a McDonald’s and next to a casino. Yet as I wandered the halls and learned about the Velvet Revolution, I found middle-aged museum-goers in tears. They still remember the mandatory conformity, the limits of expression, and most importantly, the arrests. Tom Stoppard, who wrote the semi-autobiographical Rock’N’Roll, also remembers the communist years with the same immediacy. His sprawling play, now running at the Studio Theater, requires careful attention and a solid grasp of history. It’s complex entertainment, rich with rewards and great tunes.
It’s Cambridge in the late 60s, and a brilliant young Czech named Jan passionately argues with Max, his mentor. Prague Spring just began, and Jan wants to go back to his homeland and be where the action is. Max accuses Jan of being an impure communist, whereas Jan sees no problem with sacrificing his Marxist ideals to achieve some workable solution. Such curmudgeonly protests cannot stop Jan, so he leaves England and takes his rock n roll records with him. The lives of these two will occasionally intersect over the following decades, and the play looks at their friends and family, with a focus on how communism (and rock music) affect them.
Max is married to Eleanor, who has breast cancer but still manages to tutor the beautiful Lenka on Sappho’s poetry. Eleanor and Max a daughter, Esme, who gleefully embraces the 60s lifestyle. She has her own daughter, Alice, on a commune. Meanwhile Jan and his friend Ferdinand discuss music and the nature of rebellion. Jan doesn’t think it’s only rock n roll – he argues rock music in Prague best symbolizes freedom in a communist state. Yet as the years continue, the regime becomes increasingly totalitarian, and soon Jan’s finds his records destroyed.
The material is certainly ambitious – its considerable ideas are at times difficult to take in. I often found myself thinking about the intricacies of a character’s argument, only to find they’ve veered into an entirely new topic, or have burst into tears. The intersection of the mental and the physical, as well as ideals and practice, clearly fascinate Stoppard. Sappho and Syd Barrett become symbols for elation and fleeting sanity, and the Plastic People of the Universe serve as a lightning rod for totalitarian censorship. The characters are erudite in the same way, and soon the play feels like one big conversation about human nature. I don’t intend that as a criticism – Antebellum, currently playing at Woolly Mammoth, could not find the right combination of philosophy and character development that Rock’N’Rollconsistently achieves.
In the hands of weak actors, such dialog could easily sound clunky. Thankfully the cast manages to infuse even the most abstract diatribes with humanity. As Eleanor in the first act and Esme in the second, Lisa Harrow shines by undergoing an alarming array of emotions. Her Eleanor scenes with Max are among the most relatable, and even inspire some spontaneous applause. As Max, Ted van Griethuysen is commanding presence, the kind of brutish intellectual whose considerable size matches his ego. Van Griethuysen spends much the play angry (perhaps even when it’s unnecessary), and he pithily delivers the play’s funniest lines. Stafford Clark Price, who plays Jan, has a completely convincing accent, and his youthful idealistic eyes convincingly soften as the years continue. The production is elegantly effective. Record libraries and tables rush between scenes as classic rock plays (I like how abruptly the music ends when a new scene begins). And helpful displays illuminate the year as the play continues.
Like other stories similar in scope,the play is a messy affair. Lives intersect in surprising ways, and long after characters bitterly fight, a nostalgic sheen softens the disputes. The ideas behind arguments, which are at times maddeningly specific, become more universal. It’s no surprise that such a massive undertaking has some shortcomings. The final twenty minutes are inevitable and appropriate, yet lack the urgency of the first act. Such a complaint is minor – Rock’N’Roll is a great play, the kind you should probably see twice. Once it’s over, just be sure to budget time for discussion and a trip to Som Records.
Posted: April 27th, 2009 | Filed under:Uncategorized | Comments Off
Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! I review recent new releases, and then mention similar movies worth checking out. If all goes according to plan, you’ll have some new additions to your Netflix queue. Or someone with whom you can angrily disagree.
It’s fitting that I write my review of Daytime Drinking in the midst of a hangover. I am able to fondly remember the memories of last night and also wonder why I took that last shot of whiskey. Making its debut at the DC Film Festival, Young-Seok Noh‘s wry comedy demonstrates an excellent understanding of the compulsion to booze. Because of the movie’s easygoing pace, it’s easy to overlook the observant screenplay and careful acting. Many moments are equally sad and funny, yet I found myself consistently laughing.
Hyuk-Jin is having a shitty day, and it’s about to get worse. His girlfriend just broke up with him, and his inebriated friends aren’t much help. They suggest getting out of town – one friend remarks that he’s close with someone who runs a small bed and breakfast. Against his better judgment, Hyuk-Jin heads to the mountains, only to find that his friends got so drunk they forgot about the plans. It’s off-season and there is hardly anyone around. Hyuk-Jin buys some booze, and tries to make the most of his time. He’s depressed and is the kind of pushover that anyone can easily exploit. He runs afoul of a cute girl, only to discover that she has a boyfriend (or pimp, I’m not quite sure). They get shitfaced together, Hyuk-Jin pulls a move on the girl. He wakes the following morning on the side of a mountain road. His wallet and phone are missing, as are his pants. Some of the people he later encounters are kind, and have bizarre customs. Hyuk-Jin only wants to get home, strangers only want to get him drunk. He gets increasingly depressed, and comes perilously close to snapping.
The movie is funny precisely because Young-Seok Noh understands his characters so well. Hyuk-Jin, for example, is a pushover. He’s too meek to assert himself, so when he gives away wine and a door slams in his face soon after, it’s easy to understand why. From the audience I heard several coos of pity, but Sam-dong Song, who plays the protagonist, never makes his character too pathetic. His stoic persistence saves the story from becoming too miserable; in fact, his reactions are the source of the movie’s many best jokes. One understated moment in particular, in which Hyuk-Jin has an unexpected visitor in the shower, had everyone in the audience rolling with laughter. The style is consistent with is subject. There are few quick takes, and the camera often lingers for extra seconds. The result is occasionally tedious and ultimately effective. As Hyuj-Jin and his new fiends get drunk and dance around, the stationary camera observes like a friend too plastered to participate. I emerged from the theater with a sharp understanding of the characters. Still, Daytime Drinking‘s biggest weakness is its production values. Some shots have the sharp detail of excellent film stock, others have the grainy look of a cheap digital camera. Perhaps more importantly, whoever wrote the subtitles has a poor understand of English. Slang is incorrect, there are subject/verb errors, even some spelling errors. Thanks to the lighthearted tone, such mistakes add the movie’s quirky charm.
Most Korean movies I’ve seen are deeply disturbing. Daytime Drinking is the first I’ve seen from this country which lacks any scenes of sado-masochism. That is not to say, however, that the movie has a universal appeal. There are allusions to drinking customs that I don’t quite understand (any Korean readers care to explain?). The movie provides modest entertainment that’s handled uncommonly well. Like many long benders, I’m sure my memories of it will grow more fond as time passes. Now that my hangover is mostly gone, I just need to figure where I can pick up some soju.
Here are other solid movies in which young men go on disastrous multi-day binges:
Bright Lights, Big City. At the height of his popularity, Michael J. Fox starred in this adaptation of Jay McInerney’s novel. He plays Jamie, a New York City fact checker who hates his life and overcompensates with booze and cocaine. Jamie is reeling from the loss of two women – his mom recently died, and his supermodel wife (Phoebe Cates) left him. Like any bright-yet-reluctant substance abuser, he needs an enabler. He finds one in Tad (Kiefer Sutherland), a party animal with Superman-like stamina. Tad’s cute, younger cousin has not yet been corrupted by the New York City lifestyle, so when she visits, she provides Jamie with a chance to straighten out. Since the book is written in second person (it begins with, “You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning”), I idly wondered whether the camera would solely be from the protagonist’s perspective. I was wrong. The story is told in a conventional style, and features the occasional voiceover. Fox does solid work as an addict – he plays the high-functioning kind, the one who looks alright as long as you don’t look too close. The only other actor to leave an impression is Jason Robards, who plays Jamie’s boozy, nostalgic mentor. Yes, stories of 80s excess are annoyingly common, yet those who aren’t annoyed by Bret Easton Ellis will likely enjoy this occasionally observant drama.
Under the Volcano. Albert Finney won an Academy Award for his portrayal of Geoffrey Firmin in this John Huston-directed movie. Firmin is a British diplomat living in 1930s Mexico– he has little responsibility and only really retains his title. He spends every conceivable moment drinking – there are some allusions to the tumultuous political climate, yet they’re secondary to the booze-soaked task at hand. There is no hope for the man – even when his estranged wife returns to Mexico, and his half-brother also arrives. They go through the motions of rescue, yet resignedly understand that oblivion is Firmin’s sole destination. Huston is no stranger to Mexico (if you haven’t yet, watch The Treasure of the Sierra Madre), and his scenes, particularly those set in local watering holes, drip with atmosphere. Yet it is Finney alone who makes the movie special. Before him, drunks were played as over-the-top caricatures. Ray Milland, who won Best Actor for The Lost Weekend, is a shining example of this. Finney’s performance is assuredly controlled – he never overacts, and consistently hits the right notes. Firmin is the kind of drunk who, in fleeting moments of relative sobriety, urgently must communicate his true feelings. It is the kind of acting that any drinker, myself included, can instantly respect.
Withnail & I. Of all the movies about articulate inebriates, this one is easily my favorite. It focuses on two unemployed English actors as they escape London squalor for countryside squalor. They can barely keep themselves together, and rely on drink to get through the torturous day. Marwood (Paul McGann) is the more sensible one – when a desperate Withnail wants to chase lighter fluid with antifreeze, Marwood wisely observes that one shouldn’t mix drinks. Withnail (Richard E. Grant) is the brilliant one – he easily converses with his uncle in Latin, and deftly dupes his friend. Both actors are quite funny yet never go for the easy punchline. The biggest laughs from the fact that they are clearly not meant for the countryside – at one point, Withnail ponders a live chicken and asks, “How do we make it die?” They are at their best in bars and restaurants, where they can easily exploit unsuspecting entrepreneurs. As the story continues, it becomes clear that Marwood and Withnail are growing apart, and that their dubious lifestyle cannot continue. The movie therefore becomes a swansong of their friendship and of alcoholic excess. It should come as no surprise that Marwood has some success, whereas Withnail is reduced to performing Hamlet before zoo animals (his final bow is terribly sad). With its endlessly quotable dialog and unique attitude towards 1960s England, Withnail & I should be on any respectable boozehound’s DVD shelf.
Posted: April 20th, 2009 | Filed under:Uncategorized | Comments Off
In lieu of a normal column, I’m dedicating this post to my buddy Phillip, the Man of the Hour whose bachelor party I’m attending. He’s an unabashed horror nut – he does not care about quality, and (much to my chagrin) will watch anything as long it’s violent and grisly. To ameliorate such bad habits, I’m going to suggest some quality horror that’s perfect for the hours in which drunken male revelers recover from the previous night’s debauchery.
Posted: April 13th, 2009 | Filed under:Uncategorized | Comments Off
Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! I review recent new releases, and then mention similar movies worth checking out. If all goes according to plan, you’ll have some new additions to your Netflix queue. Or someone with whom you can angrily disagree.
I’d imagine that mall security guards are the scourge of those punks who wear Vans and hang out in the parking lot. Surely some (if not most) security guards abuse their authority, yet none likely approach the depths of Ronnie Barnhardt, the hero of Jody Hill‘s Observe and Report. Here is an uncompromising character study of a deranged man, and how his sad life coupled with mental illness lead to violent behavior. It’s a comedy that pulls no punches, one that could inspire belly laughs as well as confused outrage.
On the surface, Ronnie Barnhardt is the kind of man with whom many are familiar. He understand he’s not well liked, and compensates by abusing his power. Things aren’t any better at home – Ronnie’s Mom (Celia Weston) is a drunk who has a limited understanding of how to nurture her child. Ronnie cannot escape mediocrity, so it follows that he watches over the mall with an odd combination of disdain and pride. When a flasher in a trench coat sexually assaults patrons, the sanctity of Ronnie’s workplace comes into question. Even worse, the object of Ronnie’s affection, Brandi the make-up girl (Anna Faris), happens upon the flasher’s middle-aged genitalia. With the help of his lispy deputy Dennis (Michael Peña) and two hapless Asian twins, Ronnie begins his hapless investigation. Soon Detective Harrison (Ray Liotta) is on the scene, and his real authority undermines Ronnie’s. The case goes nowhere, and Harrison takes it out on Ronnie by pretending the guard has a shot at becoming a police officer. Needless to say, Ronnie’s bipolar disorder is hindrance, so when rejection finally comes, Ronnie’s behavior becomes more unhinged than ever before.
With this movie, Hill demonstrates a mastery of tone. He frequently juxtaposes comedy and horror, pity and scorn, thrills and disgust. No character is particularly likeable, yet they are all watchable since they all seem plausibly human. Many of the actors, Farris in particular, play familiar characters, yet the shrewdness of Hill’s script makes the performances fresh. Rogen wisely downplays the omnipresent goofy laugh of his Apatow movies, and instead focuses on the rage and sadness of his character. The timber and language of Ronnie’s voiceover sounds uncannily like Christian Bale’s Batman, and Rogen strikes the balance between mockery and sympathy. Farris, on the other hand, turns her character into a clueless bitch, the kind of woman who thinks good looks are an adequate substitute for kindness. Her scenes with Ronnie are among the best in the movie, and they culminate in something so brazen and disturbing that I couldn’t help but laugh. Michael Peña proves a pleasant surprise – he turns peculiar mannerisms and deviant behavior into a truly unique creature. He’s a catalyst for Ronnie’s descent into insanity, and the violence of the later scenes are over-the-top yet understood. Hill earns his the disturbing shocks of his final slow-motion chase.
I am always refreshed by a movie that surprises me, and Observe and Report is shining example. It has the kind of fare typically found in raunchy R-rated comedy, yet handles the material in an interesting way. Sure, there are some bits that are familiar (the hilariously protracted “Fuck you” sequence comes to mind), yet Hill is interested in character before humor. There are some moments, as when Celia Weston brilliantly discusses her inebriated filth, where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’m not sure who is the audience for this movie – its appeal certainly isn’t mainstream, and it’ll definitely make audiences uncomfortable. Maybe there are those who think Taxi Driver needed more laughs? Certainly for those who yearn for original voices and risky content, it’s a movie that shouldn’t be missed.
Here are other movies in which an otherwise ordinary man enters a world of uncompromising violence:
Straw Dogs. Sam Peckinpah directed this bizarre movie in which an emasculated intellectual is driven to bloodlust. Dustin Hoffman stars as David, an American academic who visits his wife’s childhood home in England. He works on his thesis while the wife Amy mingles with the locals from her past. Tensions arise when David boorishly interacts with the townsfolk and his wife proves irresistible. The marriage shows strain, and while David is out hunting, Amy gets sexually assaulted. The pot finally boils when drunken Englishmen begin a rampage on David’s home, causing him to solemnly state, “I will not allow violence against this house.” He uses all manner of weapons at his disposal – everything from boiling whiskey to a large bear trap. Peckinpah directs his scenes with increasing anxiety. He does not make David into an everyman, and instead… well, I’m not sure what point Peckinpah wants to make. Is David inherently violent? Are his actions, however cruel they may be, justified? In the midst of this chaos, David treatment of his wife becomes increasingly misogynistic. Is Peckinpah saying such an approach is the only way? This is weird, uncomfortable movie that seems confused about its message. It’s worth seeing as a curiosity and for its conclusion, which sometimes plays like a very adult version of Home Alone. Does anyone who has seen it have any thoughts?
The Virgin Spring. Ingmar Bergman directed this fable, set in 14th century Sweden, that directly inspired Wes Craven’s The Last House on the Left. Whereas Craven focuses on savage violence, Bergman concerns himself with forgiveness and the meaning of revenge. Max von Sydow stars as a stern but loving father who takes in three drifters for the night. After dinner, the father learns that the two of the three raped and murdered his daughter. Distraught with grief, the father locks the drifters in his house, and kills them all (even the innocent younger one). Those who expect disturbing violence will be disappointed- the bloodletting happens offscreen, and we instead see soul-searching soliloquies and an existential crisis that follow. As with many Bergman movies, The Virgin Spring is not entertaining in a traditional way. It offers its rewards to those who are willing to think deeply about its subject. You should see this movie because it establishes a context – both for Craven’s masterpiece and other Bergman features. It may not be entertaining, yet the movie has a solid narrative that chugs along, which will prove invaluable if you want to tackle the Swedish director’s more challenging features. I, for one, am still waiting for an appropriate time to discuss Cries and Whispers.
The Foot Fist Way. We here at BYT love Kenny Powers to an obscene degree. His unjustifiable narcissism and casual misanthropy is refreshing. But before Powers fucked us up with some truth, Danny McBride starred in The Foot Fist Way as Fred Simmons, a hateful Tae Kwon Do instructor. Fans of Eastbound & Down will find similar things to love here – Simmons demands worship, and is not afraid of abusing his students verbally as well as physically. Co-writer Ben Best (who plays Clegg on Eastbound) turns up as Chuck “The Truck” Wallace, Simmons’ martial arts hero. The studio is fledging, so perhaps an appearance from a C-list celebrity will help things along. Needless to say, Chuck the Truck proves a disappointment – he humiliates Fred, and leaves brutal combat as the only appropriate recourse. As with Observe and Report, co-writer/director Jody Hill is not afraid of making his character monstrous and pathetic. And the violence here is surprisingly brutal. This kind of character study was perfected in Eastbound. It follows that the earlier Foot Fist Way is comparatively weaker, and feels like Napoleon Dynamite with an extra dose of cruelty. Still, you should watch for McBride’s fantastic performance as well as his breathtaking break-up scene.
That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week when I go to a bachelor party.
Posted: April 6th, 2009 | Filed under:Uncategorized | Comments Off
Welcome to “Another Movie Guy?”! I review recent new releases, and then mention similar movies worth checking out. If all goes according to plan, you’ll have some new additions to your Netflix queue. Or someone with whom you can angrily disagree.
There are same faces that drip with character. They may not necessarily be expressive, yet in watching such a face regard the world, one already has a strong sense of the soul behind it. Edgar Flores, the hero of Sin Nombre, has such a face. In his late teens, his is a face that’s weary with experience and hopelessness. Even the faintest glimmer of hope has little positive effect on him. You can’t really blame the guy – the optimism of a new start dwarfs in comparison to the senseless rage of his past.
Flores plays Willy, a young MS-13 member. Part of his job entails recruitment, and he finds Smiley, a pre-pubescent boy who can only see the glamor of the gangster lifestyle. The only positive thing in Willy’s life is Martha, a sweet girl who dimly understands what Willy’s life entails. Gang members share everything, so when the leader discovers the cute young secret, he tries to rape Martha and accidentally kills her in the process. Soon Willy, his boss, and the young recruit have a new assignment: they hop on the roof of a train, and steal from the desperate travelers who want nothing more than to cross the border. Here the boss finds Sayra, another sweet girl. Willy thwarts the second rape attempt by killing his boss, an act which also ensures his fate. The young gangster has no choice but to cross the border with the girl he protected.
The plight of border crossers could easily have become too political. Writer/director Cary Fukunaga, making his debut, sidesteps such land mines, thereby giving the movie some emotional resonance. His style is mostly understated, and there are some excellent long takes, reminiscent of Martin Scorsese, that detail the routine of a violent lifestyle. When the train arrives to pick up the immigrants, the image is haunting. The details, however, are ultimately what make the story memorable. While riding on the train, Sayra and her family encounter friendly locals who toss fruit on the roof; later, they encounter mean-spirited boys who throw rocks. Ironically, the inevitably of the story is its biggest hindrance – the MS-13 code seals the fate of all the characters, so the conclusion lacks any substantive impact. Sin Nombre‘s strongest asset is the quality of the acting. Flores memorably plays a young man who was once angry, and now sees the senselessness of his harsh world. He seems to mourn his youth with every waking moment. Tenoch Huerta, who plays Willy’s boss, is striking not just because of his monstrous facial tattoos, but because of his casual misanthropy. As Sayra, Paulina Gaitan exudes an interesting combination of innocence and determination.
Reading over the preceding paragraphs, I realize how much of a downer this movie sounds. Only a handful of the travelers make it across the border. It seems as if no one can escape the gang’s clutches. Yet for all its depressing content, Sin Nombre is not a downer. There’s a tenacity that the Willy and Sayra embrace – it’s a value that makes it easy to cheer for them, even when the conclusion seems foregone. Fukunaga easily engaged my sympathies, but offers a comparatively ordinary story. If nothing else, his debut shows potential, so I anxiously await his next feature.
Here are other examples of teenagers who prematurely lose their innocence in a world of violence:
Pixote. Long before the release of City of God, director Hector Babenco gave us this disturbing look at young criminals in a Brazilian slum. The movie follows the titular character as he enters a reformatory with other orphans. Once inside, Pixote witnesses a rape and other acts of brutal violence. He escapes with Lilica, a transvestite, and a handful of others, yet life in Rio is no less desperate. The kids form an unlikely family with Sueli, a prostitute who has seen better days. Despite the desperate need they have for one another, the bond they form is hopelessly fragile. The movie is episodic in nature, and shows in wrenching detail just how hopeless their lives are. Some sequences, such as Sueli’s gruesome self-inflicted abortion, still linger in my memory. The cast is excellent and natural (most are taken right off the street). Babenco’s movies is certainly less exciting than City of God, and probably better for it – the inelegant style accurately reflects the desperate, lonely lives the boys lead. And in a poignantly sad development, Sao Paulo police gun down the actor who played Pixote six years after its release.
Bully. No one documents the depths of youthful depravity better than Larry Clark, and this movie (based on a true story) is his most haunting. Bobby (Nick Stahl) is the head of small circle of friends in Hollywood, Florida. He’s a sadist who gets his jollies by humiliating his best friend Marty (Brad Renfro) and by forcing himself on any girl in his path. The friends have enough of it, and conspire to kill Bobby. Anyone familiar with Hitchcock knows that murder is no easy task, and the inevitable death scene is especially ugly. Once Bobby expires, the friends agree to hide their secret. The combination of dim minds and narcotics makes for loose lips, so once the police start asking questions, the plan crumbles. Sure, the kids are amoral and have no sense of responsibility, and that’s what makes them so terrifying. It’s conceivable that kids so reckless could be walking among us. Of all the performances, Stahl is most memorable as a monster who maybe gets what he deserves. Clark, who also directed Kids, again depicts the youthful void that exists when teens lack imagination and amibition. He does not exploit, and instead strives to understand what makes their minds so hollow.
La Haine. I wouldn’t be surprised if some kids from The Class grow to resemble the characters in this French drama. It focuses on three young friends who live in a Paris housing project . They all come from different ethnic backgrounds – Jewish Vinz (Vincent Cassel) is the most hot-headed, African Hubert (Hubert Koundé) the most mature, and Middle-Eastern Said (Saïd Taghmaoui) the most carefree. The small group may be diverse, but they face the same cruel treatment from the French police – a point that director Mathieu Kassovitz shrewdly argues with his harsh black and white photography. Similar to the characters of Bully, the young men of La Haine (which means hate) violently lash out over their lack of opportunity. The movie follows them over the course of a day, not really developing a plot, and instead focusing on how alienated from society these outliers feel. They reference hip-hop and Taxi Driver(see above), showing how disconnected they feel from French culture. With such personalities, it is only natural that the conclusion erupts in a violent confrontation. The movie is compelling for its visual sense and fierce acting, and for reminding us The City of Love casts tens of thousands aside.
