Posted: May 26th, 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.
Chelsea speaks with the flat tones of a reassuring, sophisticated woman. She’s beautiful and well-dressed – men value her not as a companion but as a symbol. Chris speaks with the unwavering optimism of consummate salesman. As a personal trainer whose own physique is his strongest credential, he easily signs his clients on for extra sessions. They are a successful couple. Both rely on looks for their luxurious lifestyle, yet the sacrifices she must make come with a heavier toll. Steven Soderbergh’s The Girlfriend Experience regards these characters with cool fascination. The result is not emotionally engaging, yet the movie acutely observes the tension between what we want and what we need.
It is October 2008, and the financial bailout is on everyone’s mind. Chelsea (Sasha Grey) and Chris (Chris Santos) are unhappy with their careers, and put out feelers for better things. Chris talks to his boss, and patiently argues he deserves a cut of the gym’s profit. Chelsea, a high class call-girl, wants to expand her portfolio and attract wealthier clients. She talks to a reporter about the particulars of her job, and is reluctant to discuss her feelings. She describes her clients in a diary, and uses the clinical descriptions that Patrick Bateman employs in American Psycho. A sleazy web developer thinks she might have a shot at the big time: escorting billionaires in Dubai. She is presentable arm candy, a good listener who functions as facsimile girlfriend. Clients uniformly regard her as a reprieve from their everyday lives. Sex is ancillary, and men pay her to listen. Perhaps Chelsea’s career blocks any serious emotional connection. One day she sees relationship potential with a client, and is strikingly cavalier when discussing him with her boyfriend. Chris’ attraction to Chelsea is real, and is hurt when she nonchalantly breaks the rules.
Soderbergh made his debut with Sex, Lies, and Videotape, so he’s no stranger to this kind of story. Here he successfully finds a style to match his subject. The interiors – elegantly decorated apartments and posh restaurants – have a superficial sheen that mirror the language of the characters. Everyone speaks reservedly, with platitudes that mask any substantial thought or feeling. It is fascinating to watch Chelsea interact with her clients. They all want the same thing, and uniformly feel trapped by their day-to-day lives. Soderbergh excels at drawing parallels. At work Chris has the same superficially pleasant interactions as Chelsea; there are hints that he functions as her boyfriend experience. As Chelsea, Sasha Grey gives a surprisingly nuanced performance. Grey is 21-year-old porn star with an impressive filmography. At first I didn’t think the star of such films as I Wanna Bang Your Sister and Asstravaganza 3 could subtly portray a woman whose career hinders any chance of a genuine connection. In retrospect, a porn star is the perfect choice. Grey consistently hides her thoughts, and is almost heartbreaking in the few moments when her emotions bubble to the surface.
The Girlfriend Experience studies behavior more than character. Soderbergh shoots from a distance and obscures faces, thereby giving the impression of an eavesdropper. And like many of his other movies, the screenplay has a disjointed chronology, so plot developments lack the context that might elicit emotional impact. Such choices have a fascinating result. Without dramatic tension, it is easier to hear the similar rhythms of conversation, and how hollow the characters are (it is worth noting the screenwriters are also responsible for the mediocre Ocean’s 13). With a nada budget and no big actors, Soderbergh crafted a movie rich with insight. If anything, it’ll remind you why overreliance on movies like Grand Theft Anal 11 will leave you feeling empty.
Here are other observant movies about the world’s oldest profession:
The Naked Kiss. I saw this movie two weeks ago, and even though it’s not entirely successful, it made quite an impression. Constance Towers plays Kelly, a hooker who is looking for a second chance. She moves from the big city to Grantville, and local cop Griff is her last trick. Soon she finds work at a children’s hospital, and gets engaged. Other young woman want work at Candy’s Place, the local brothel. Kelly does her best to save the townsfolk. Ultimately the dark side of everyone, including her fiance, disappoint her. I’m not sure whether director Samuel Fuller meant The Naked Kiss to function as a comedy, yet some scenes are so over the top that I could not help laugh. At one point Kelly has a physical altercation with Candy, and it culminates with the literal line, “Nobody shoves dirty money in my mouth.” Fuller defines his characters with broad strokes, and peppers each scene with melodrama, sleaze, violence, and depravity. The camerawork is bold and calls attention to itself – it’s as if Fuller deliberately calls attention to the ludicrous plot development. The actors play the material straight, which makes the campy tone all the more surreal. You can’t really get wrapped up in a story like this, but if you approach the movie with the right mind set, I promise you won’t be bored.
The Man From Elysian Fields. When a rock star appears in a dramatic role, I’m always a little skeptical. It was pleasant surprise to discover that Mick Jagger, who plays Luther the classy pimp, actually has the chops to keep up with Oscar winners. Andy Garcia is Byron, a writer whose latest is gathering dust in the bargain bin. Desperate for money, Byron meets Luther at a bar, and the two discuss business. Luther runs Elysian Fields, an escort service that “tend[s] to the wounds of lonely women in need of emotional as well as spiritual solace.” Byron’s first assignment is Andrea (Olivia Williams), who has an ailing elderly husband Tobias (James Coburn). Of course Tobias knows about Byron, and the idea is for Andrea to have some young companionship – Byron finds himself helping Tobias’ novel. Soon Byron’s wife becomes suspicious of his new job, and soon everyone’s life spirals out of control. Such a comedy of manners is rarely made, particularly in a modern setting, and it’s a shame. The movie is wryly funny, with exquisite performances and memorable dialog. Jagger excels at portraying a man so sophisticated that people do not believe he is capable of emotion. Jennifer (Anjelica Huston), amazing as always, plays Luther’s sole remaining client, and the two have a memorably delicate scene in which they discuss their odd relationship. Too many comedies, particularly ones with Kate Hudson, are on autopilot. Here’s one that’s sophisticated and wise – it’ll leave you wondering why they don’t make more like this.
The Walker. Paul Schrader continues his examination of the male psyche with this memorable thriller. Woody Harrelson plays Carter Page III, an escort whose clients are the elderly women of Washington society. He plays cards and gossips, always look presentable, and is welcome at any diplomatic event. Carter is gay but not in the closet, and provides companionship for his clients. Soon one of his clients (Kristin Scott Thomas) finds her lover dead. Carter, always the dependable one, does what he can to protect her, and finds himself embroiled in scandal. Clients begin to disappear, and Carter takes it upon himself to investigate the murder. Harrelson is the real star here – he normally plays tough characters, and his performance is sly and cool. He is witty but not too witty, values his place, and rightly understands how best to function as a companion. Lauren Bacall and Lily Tomlin play two of Carter’s regular clients, and are pitch-perfect. Schrader is never content to make a simple genre movie, and The Walker is no exception. The moral lines drawn are clear but deep, and the subtle plot developments require careful attention. Sure, everything gets sorted out, but what matters is how Carter learns about himself. And unlike most movies set in Washington, this one gets its geography right.
That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week when I’m a depressed Belgian woman.
Posted: May 18th, 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 seems appropriate that the rock band Anvil experience their peak only a few months after the release of This Is Spinal Tap. The bands suffer similar indignities. While Rob Reiner mercilessly skewers his characters, the stars of Sacha Gervasi‘s Anvil! The Story of Anvil easily win the audience’s sympathy. Lifetime friends Lips and Robb, the band’s only original members, could have easily sunk into depression or move on with their lives. Yet metal is their only passion, so they must succeed. Gervasi documents familiar highs and lows, but because the band has such a relentlessly positive attitude, their story nonetheless has some emotional impact. It’s like This is Spinal Tap, only more heart-warming.
In the summer of 1984, Anvil tours with metal acts like Scorpions and Bon Jovi. After the tour, other bands succeed by stealing Anvil’s sound. Due to poor management and an unprofessional record company, Anvil spends decades in obscurity. Now guitarist/singer Lips and drummer Robb are in their fifties, and work blue-collar jobs. They can still rock – sometimes the band plays for their small legion of devoted fans. Then Lips gets a surprising phone call – a devoted fan named Tiziana booked them a European tour. Lips and Robb leave their families behind for Europe, and of course everything goes wrong. They miss gigs due to improper planning, and when they do perform, no one pays them. Yet Lips and Robb return to Canada more determined than ever. They record a new album, this time with better production values, and hustle the major labels for a new contract. Again and again they face rejection, and (almost) abandon all hope.
Robb and Lips are key to the movie’s success. They are nice guys, perhaps to a fault, and trust the wrong people too easily. Even when Lips gets angry, such as the time he profanely berates a Czech club owner, he still is a nice guy. For the most part, Lips has a contagiously goofy grin. Robb, on the other hand, is more subdued and pragmatic, and serves as a good foil. They are devoted best friends, more like brothers, and routinely speak with painful earnestness that is more endearing than pathetic. Their outlandish creativity does not match their down-to-earth nature. Lips often plays his guitar with a dildo, and Robb paints pictures of bowel movements. It becomes clear that even in their 50s, these guys merely have raw talent, and can only be as successful as their professional associations permit them. Gervasi was once a roadie for the band, and the familiarity with his subject serves well. Others speak to the camera with recognizable reservation, but Rob and Lips are remarkably candid. It should come as no surprise that Anvil finally achieves some success – what is surprising, however, is how moving the final scenes are. Sure, Gervasi shamelessly edits the scenes to get the happiest conclusion possible, but after 25 years of strife, Anvil absolutely deserves such sentimentality.
There is a brief moment in Anvil! The Story of Anvil that explicitly references This is Spinal Tap. As Anvil prepares in the recording studio, there is a shot of an amp that goes to 11. If you recall, David St. Hubbins sounds like a pompous idiot when he tries to explain the extra number. Lips and Robb never discuss the mockumentary, yet the brief shot demonstrates that even if Lips and Robb take their music seriously, they do not take themselves seriously. These little touches (there are more) help make the movie a smashing success. Lips and Robb completely won me over – I wouldn’t be surprised if Anvil! The Story of Anvil becomes the most popular documentary since The King of Kong.
As a special added bonus, Anvil will perform Wednesday at E Street after the 9:45 show.
Here are other entertaining rock documentaries in which the director regards his subject with an odd mix of sympathy and mockery:
Hated: G.G. Allin & the Murder Junkies. If nothing else, GG Allin (born Jesus Christ Allin) gave audiences something to watch. As leader of the Murder Junkies, he would routinely do terrible things to himself on stage – knock in his teeth with a microphone, fight audience members, smear feces on his body, shove fruit up his ass. Occasionally he would play songs too, which were similarly crude and profane. Todd Phillips, director of Old School and the upcoming comedyThe Hangover, rightly saw Allin as an excellent subject for a film school project. He follows Allin and his band around to get some idea of about what made this guy tick. Allin’s idea was that such obscene behavior would make rock music dangerous again – personally I think he suffered from the perfect storm of emotional trauma, drug addiction, and narcissistic masochism. There are still some memorable scenes, particularly the one in which an contemptuous audience member dares Allin to kill himself (to the chagrin of many fans, Allin did not fulfill his promise of killing himself on October 31, 1992). Phillips initially adopts a neutral stance on his subject, but becomes more critical as the movie continues. When the Murder Junkies frontman finally overdoses in 1993, Phillips regards his death as just another rock cliché. Watching this movie is akin to watching a sideshow – the novelty of Allin wears thin. Yet if you’re as fascinated by rock’s lunatic fringe as I am, I highly recommend it. Just be sure to budget time for a shower afterward (no, I’m not kidding).
Overnight. Troy Duffy is best known for directing The Boondock Saints, a Tarantino knock-off that’s adored by legions of college sophomores. Given what transpires in Overnight, which details Duffy’s rise and fall, it’ll be a surprise if he ever amounts to anything else. Duffy starts with a promising future – the former bartender just got a movie deal with Miramax, and Harvey Weinstein signs his band. Weinstein and Duffy even become co-owners of an LA bar. Willem Dafoe signs on to star in the movie. Now it’s worth noting even before all this good fortune, Duffy already has a massive ego, so these developments inflate his ego to a truly obscene degree. We see Duffy alienate his bandmates, talk shit about everyone (especially actors), and generally act like a king-sized prick. Trust me when I say you’ll want Duffy to fail. Thankfully he does – I won’t spoil just how he fails, except to say that he ends up worse than where he started. At first directors Tony Montana and Mark Brian Smith are just filming their friend. Only when things start to go south does Overnight’s true subject emerge. The result feels a little lop-sided. The first half has more in common with a home movie than a documentary, whereas the second half is an incisive portrayal of one man’s considerable decline. Nonetheless, this is entertaining little movie, particular for those who have seen The Boondock Saints more than a few times (as I have). I can’t think of a single better instance of pure cinematic schadenfreude.
Heavy Metal in Baghdad. Director Suroosh Alvi sets the tone of his documentary right at the first shot. Looking at the camera, Alvi describes the extreme measures he must take to protect himself just so he can interview Acrassicauda, Baghdad’s sole metal band. He says he does this because “Metal fucking rules.” Vice magazine featured Acrassicauda (which means “black scorpion”) in a 2003 issue, so in 2006 Alvi and co-director Eddy Moretti travel to Iraq to see how the band is doing. In 2003, they band shows promise, and the guitarist in particular has a great deal of talent. The lyrics provide an unique perspective of Iraqi life. Acrassicauda plays anywhere, and like many other metal bands, they develop a small-but-devoted fan base. Fast forward a few years later – they haven’t played a show in months, a rocket destroys their rehearsal space, and as refugees in Syria, matters only become worse. Band members describe a situation that I imagine many displaced Iraqis face every day. Alongside Acrassicauda’s story, the co-directors show how they reach the band, and give their impressions of what they see along the way. The end result is like a 60 minutes segment but with Vice’s sardonic edge. Whereas Hated and Overnight never really transcend their subject, Heavy Metal in Baghdad is important viewing, and a must-see for anyone with an interest in the effects of American foreign policy.
That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week I when I date a call girl.
Posted: May 11th, 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.
Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised by the conversations I have with cab drivers. The ones who spend hours listening to NPR impress me with their political acumen, and could easily take on any cable news pundit. Others grill me with bizarre hypothetical questions. Some even tell me their life story in disturbing detail. Yet some cab passengers, I know of one in particular, prefer silence above all else. A gregarious cab driver and his ornery passenger are at the center of Goodbye Solo, the new drama by Ramin Bahrani. Naturally the cranky man warms to the passenger, but Bahrani isn’t interested in a by-the-numbers story. His characters have genuine flaws and virtues, and are seen with uncommon clarity.
William (Red West) has an interesting proposition for Solo (Souleymane Sy Savane), a Senegalese immigrant with a big smile. On October 20th, William will give Solo $1000 if he drives to the top of a mountain and leaves his fare there. Solo is the kind of guy who loves company and conversation, and becomes curious. William gruffly refuses to provide any further details, but Solo finally agrees to the deal. He instinctively sees William has a death wish, so he makes it his job to learn more. They spend time together, and Williams finds himself crashing on Solo’s couch. In the morning William meets Quiera (Carmen Leyva), Solo’s wife, and her daughter Alex (Diana Franco Galindo). Solo shares more – he’s saving money for family back home, and has aspirations to become a flight attendant. Quiera thinks Solo’s ambitions interfere with family, and becomes so frustrated she throws him out. Solo decides to move in with William. The two learn more about each other, and the 20th gets closer and closer.
Every element of the movie feels so natural, and it’s easy to overlook how well they all work. Bahrani uses a simple narrative style, one that does not district from his characters or message. Takes are generally long, giving the audience time to consider the ebb and flow of conversation. Some shots, particularly those atop the foggy mountain, are eerily beautiful. The performances are uniformly the stellar – the actors seem to embody and not perform. Souleymane Sy Savane is a wonder. He’s constantly talking, friendly and likeable, and uses his positive attitude to hide his fears. Some moments are funny (such as his nonstop use of hip-hop slang with friends), yet in Savene’s hands, Solo does not become a caricature. We see all his dimensions. And William is not just a cranky old bastard (although he’s that too). We learn little about why he wants to die, but his eyes betray his attitude. From the beginning, the audience sees old wounds in his eyes. West, who was once Elvis’ bodyguard, never strains for affect. He speaks directly, never gets too emotional, a decision which makes him all the more sympathetic. Much to my relief, Alex is written as a believable child, not a precocious movie character cliché.
The final scenes helped me realize how special Goodbye Solo is. In a way, the conclusion is inevitable. Nevertheless, these two men handle their situation with respect and dignity, and it becomes clear that they (and by extension the audience) understand each other on a deep level. The relationship is authentic and true, and Bahrani proves that careful observation is the key to a poignant conclusion. William helps Solo change in a subtle way, and better prepares him for what lies ahead. The addition of Alex makes it all more wistful than sad. How Solo carries himself, particularly in the final interactions with Alex, are quietly inspiring. Sure, you’re excited to see Captain Kirk kick some Romulan ass, but you won’t regret also seeing this tiny drama. Hurry fast, though – it’s only playing at E Street until Thursday.
Here are other gently paced dramas about ornery people and the unlikely bonds they form:
The Straight Story. David Lynch is a director movie nerds often adore – I am not among them. I find the nightmarish dream logic of Lost Highway and Mulholland Dr. maddening, and Blue Velvet never struck me as a masterpiece (although a David Foster Wallace essay I recently read made me reconsider my position). It should come as no surprise then that my favorite Lynch movie, The Straight Story, possess none of the characteristics that distinguish his work. It tells the story of Alvin Straight (Richard Farnsworth), a proud septuagenarian with poor eyesight who wants to see his brother one last time before he dies. He’s in no position to drive and doesn’t even own a car, so Straight hitches a trailer to a John Deere mower, and sets off on the 300 mile journey. Along the way he meets colorful strangers with instinctive kindness, and we learn more about the man. A lot is done through dialog, simple and true, and through quirky behavior. Straight stubbornly refuses to use a stranger’s phone, not even going into his house, and only agrees to park nearby. A movie like this is effective precisely because it carefully regards the characters, and does not exploit them for sympathy. For months I refused to see this movie – my parents doggedly recommended it, insisting that I’d find no Dennis Hopper or Sting. There were right – sometimes all you need is a simple story told exceedingly well.
The Station Agent. I wonder have never guessed that Thomas McCarthy, the actor who played the opportunistic reporter in The Wire’s fifth season, would make unique character-driven dramas. This movie is his directorial debut, and marks the first time I noticed Peter Dinklage, who is now on the short list of actors whose mere presence causes me to smile. He plays Finn, a distant man who inherits a train depot when his only friend dies. He goes the depot to sit around and think about trains, and runs afoul of Joe (Bobby Cannavale), an affable guy who runs a food cart – he’s the kind of man who gets excessively friendly when he’s lonely. Finn consistently rejects Joe’s company, yet Joe is relentless, and the two become uneasy friends. Meanwhile Finn is almost run over Olivia (the always sublime Patricia Clarkson), a sweet woman who is reeling from the death of her son. These three come from different backgrounds and sometimes heartbreakingly clash, yet they work out their issues in a way that’s surprisingly true-to-life. McCarthy has an ear for good dialog, and gets terrific performances. Dinklage in particular is a stunner – he has a commanding presence, and does an effective job of demonstrating how a little person might deal with everyday life. I particularly like his scene in a bar where he gets so fed up that he finally calls attention to himself in a hilariously brazen manner. The Station Agent is one of those rare dramedies that excels at both funny and serious scenes. Between this and , I eagerly wait to see what McCarthy rolls out next.
Four Minutes. I’m not sure how this one turned in my queue, but I’m glad it did. It’s the kind of foreign drama that’s easily overlooked. Traude (Monica Bleibtreu) is a severe German woman who teaches piano lessons at a women’s prison. She meets Jenny (Hannah Herzsprung), who is clearly psychotic and very talented. She plays soulful piano with her hands handcuffed behind her back. Traude finds Jenny obscene (she loathes “colored music”), but adopts Jenny as her pupil out of sheer appreciation of her gift. They have tenuous relationship and form a friendship of sorts. They both have old wounds – Jenny is the victim of childhood abuse, Traude lost her true love in WW2. Soon Jenny develops as a highly skilled pianist, and gets ready for a recital. Forces struggle to keep Jenny from performing, yet you know the movie will conclude with the Big Performance. Both actresses are stellar – it’s difficult to convincingly portray crazy, yet Herzsprung is consistently believable. She wisely understands the audience won’t understand the nuances of Jenny’s psychosis, and so opts to be simply suggestive. Bleibtreu plays the kind of piano teacher that could haunt my nightmares, but has reasons for her cruel demeanor. The movie’s title does not make sense until the final scene – it one of raw emotional power, something not seen too often. The scene alone could justify you renting this movie, even if all the ones preceding it are similarly captivating.
That’s it for this week’s “Another Movie Guy?”! Tune in next week when I’m a real-life Spinal Tap.
Posted: May 4th, 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 walked to E Street thinking, “Does 12 Angry Men, an American classic more than 50 years old, require a Russian update?” I’m not necessarily sure it does. Still, Nikita Mikhalkov‘s 12 does offer audiences a fresh approach to the familiar story. Broadly speaking, the characters and developments are the same. The dialog and long anecdotes have a distinctly Russian feel (characters often note this), and there are some stylistic flourishes that take the audience out of the deliberation room. Often Mikhalkov overwhelms the simple story with excessive direction, a fact which nearly derails the movie, but the overall effect is persuasive.
Twelve men from varying backgrounds are told to determine whether a young immigrant is guilty of first degree murder. Instead of an ethnically ambiguous NYC kid from the wrong side of the tracks, we now have a Chechen accused of murdering his step father, a Russian army officer. Everyone involved, even the bailiff, thinks a guilty verdict is a foregone conclusion. The courthouse is in repair, so the men are herded into a high school gymnasium, complete with medicine balls and gym mats. One lone juror, a nervous looking man in a suit, decides to vote not guilty. Unlike Henry Fonda in Lumet’s feature, this man is not particularly hung up on the idea of reasonable doubt. Instead he simply thinks a man’s livelihood requires some discussion. So the men begin to talk. A cab driver does not hide his contempt for Chechens and Jews. The Jewish juror does not seem to mind, and comments on each interesting twist. All the jurors, even the dim one with verbal tics, gets one long monologue about their personal lives. Meanwhile we get flashbacks to the defendants life as a Chechen refugee, and see the hardships he suffered.
12 is at its best when considering it alongside the American original. For example, it’s fascinating to think how differently Americans and Russians express anger. Emotions play an even higher role here. At one point the Cab Driver uses a protracted anecdote to appeal directly to a juror’s fears, and successfully switches his vote. All the characters seem obsessed with the wisdom one gains from suffering. The Nervous Man uses a descent into alcoholic abyss as justification for his decision. Another one discusses the Russian over-reliance on laughter as a means to disguise fear. Together the jurors reconstruct the famous sequences from 12 Angry Men. Remember when Henry Fonda deliberately walks around the jury room to determine how long it would take the old man to reach a window? It’s recreated here, but with an animated zeal that takes on a strangely comic tone. Like the Lumet classic, the performances are all uniformly strong. No character is given a name, yet they all have distinct personalities. I particularly liked the crazed Cab Driver and the Chechen surgeon who knows how to bust a move with a military-issue knife. Of course you already know the verdict this jury reaches. Yet there is one final fascinating debate, one that calls into question the value of mercy over justice.
I think I’ve mentioned in this column before I’ve served as a juror on a first degree murder trial before. The experience is nothing like 12 Angry Men, so there’s absolutely no way it’s like 12. Still, I found revisiting 12 Angry Men helpful in the deliberation process, and I therefore have no doubt 12 would help me serve on a Russian jury. Mikhalkov’s meandering story clocks in at a little over two and a half hours, and sometimes feel too lazily paced. Some monologues become tedious, the editing (particularly in the beginning) is too showy, and the Chechen flashbacks repeat the same shots over and over again. The director is clearly bursting with ideas, sometimes to the detriment of the story. His effort is nonetheless a noble one, and it merits careful attention. Sure, the movie is not absolutely essential, but it is absorbing, especially if you’re interested in how completely alien values turn the American original into something distinctively unique.
Here are other classic legal thrillers that would make for an interesting remake in the hands of the right director:
Judgment at Nuremberg. My former roommate, a gay man 20 years my senior with a strong affinity for Hollywood’s golden age, considered me a philistine for never seeing this movie. After finally watching it, I can see his point – the movie deals with serious issues in an surprisingly engaging manner, and is a showcase for several major stars. Spencer Tracy plays Judge Haywood, a quiet man whose task genuinely humbles him. Chief among the Nuremberg defendants is Ernst Janning (Burt Lancaster), who proudly tries to rationalization how decent people could be complicit in monstrous act. Of course, the prosecuting attorney (Richard Widmark) is having none of it, and intends to portray the defendants as wholly evil. Haywood finds some middle ground between viewpoints, and gets help from Mrs. Bertholt (Marlene Dietrich), who helps demonstrate how an entire nation can turn a blind eye. Ultimately it is Maximilian Schell, who plays the defense attorney seen above, who has the most captivating scenes*. The courtroom arguments are fierce and sometimes disturbing (the prosecutor shows a film reel of mass graves), yet sharp performances and well-drawn characters keep the story from becoming too somber. It may be long (there’s an intermission), but the engaging subject will make time fly by.
Anatomy of a Murder. It’s funny how James Stewart is sometimes an annoyingly affected actor, yet his performances always find the right notes. That’s the case in this small-town legal thriller. Stewart plays Paul Biegler, a broke small-town lawyer who has a big case fall on his lap. Lieutenant Manion (a very young Ben Gazzara) kills a bartender because the bartender allegedly raped Manion’s wife Laura (Lee Remick). Soon a big-time prosecutor (George C. Scott) arrives, and Biegler has to sort through the dubious motives of those involved. Laura is not exactly an innocent damsel in distress – she’s a flirt who may have had a relationship with the bartender. Lieutenant Manion is not exactly a pillar of virtue with a who underwent a momentary lapse of sanity – he’s deeply possessive and with a violent streak. Biegler first appears overwhelmed by the task at hand, and ultimately rises to the challenge with a clever legal defense. Courtroom dramas are a dime a dozen – you should still rent Anatomy of a Murder for its gorgeous black-and-white camerawork, its sharp performances, and above all for its surprisingly wry script. The business regarding use of the word “panties” alone should justify a rental.
Rashomon. Akira Kurosawa is widely regarded for his samurai epics, but it is this unnerving fable that left the strongest impression on me. In the midst of jury deliberations, I even cited the movie as a reason why others should be skeptical of witness testimony, and why one juror in particular should not confuse credibility with accuracy. Set in feudal Japan, the story revolves around four testimonies of a vicious crime – the rape of a woman the supposed murder of her samurai husband. The witnesses look directly act the camera, inviting the audience to function as the jury. Kurosawa then reconstructions the testimony, and naturally all the stories contradict one another. The woman claims to be unsure whether the murder took place, the bandit claims he seduced the woman and is innocent of the murder. Serving as a conduit for the dead man’s spirit, a thoroughly creepy medium says the samurai killed himself out of shame (as all samurai are wont to do). The culmination of all these contradictions is deep feelings of unease, and doubt that one can ever arrive at truth. Unlike the other courtroom dramas in this column, Rashomon clocks in at a quick 88 minutes. You really have no excuse to avoid this one, especially since its title has become pop culture shorthand.
