Jayclops' musings on his favorite pasttime and escape.
Vignettes, in coffee and cigarettes.
July 11, 2007Coffee and Cigarettes (Jim Jarmusch, 2003)
I am not familiar to Jarmusch’s films but only with the fact the he is an important figure in contemporary American independent cinema. As with my usual foray into serious film viewing, there is always the need to supply myself with helpful references and it has always been paramount to consider earlier films rather than the most recent ones as an appropriate approach in understanding the entire gamut of the filmmaker or the genre. Thus, putting in Coffee and Cigarettes, one of Jarmusch’s recent efforts, is both challenging and exciting. Critics and followers, who obviously have more authority, were quick to put it as a slight, rather regrettable effort. The film actually dates back to 1986 and the vignettes were gradually developed as Jarmusch went to do more films like the more popular Dead Man which starred Johnny Depp. So admittedly, I have to make do with WYSIWYG. Diss character and plot development, there is nothing much that goes on given the short running time of each of the stories. But that doesn’t mean it’s pure gibberish because it isn’t. In fact, I enjoyed it more than what I actually expected. Yes, it is a major talkie but I didn’t find myself painstakingly un-shutting my eyelids as I did when I watched Fellini’s 8 ½ or Godard’s Alphaville. Of course, it helped that it is in vignettes which after feeling weirded out on the first one, would make you anticipate for the next. Therein lies also the strength of this film, because while some subject matter laid down on the coffee table, some makeshift, may appear mundane, the humor is so strikingly addictive like coffee and cigarettes, thanks also to famous icons ranging from film to music, supposedly playing themselves in fictional situations. There is the frantic Roberto Benigni with Steven Wright, Cate Blanchett playing two cousins, Bill Murray chilling out with the Wu Tang Clan’s RZA and GZA, Tom Waits and Iggy Pop, White Stripes’ Jack and Meg White, Alfred Molina meeting up with British comedian Steve Coogan, Steve Buscemi and others that are probably more popular but thanks to my limited and juvenile pop-culture knowledge, I couldn’t recognize. The characters have the ability to be memorable themselves despite the arbitrariness or outright lack of justification, perhaps also because of their mere presence or iconic stature, say Cate Blanchett, or Pop and Waits who are Jarmusch’s musical deities. Some situations are so blatantly pointless that sometimes border on annoyance yet there is always some x-factor injected in it that you cannot entirely dismiss it. Say the seemingly urgent rendezvous of two friends that ends up with actually nothing major except that the other one leaves restless because he couldn’t quite accept the fact that the other would actually tell him there’s nothing wrong despite the feeling of urgency, or the blonde bombshell reading a gun/ammunition magazine who’s pissed at the smitten waiter who keeps on wanting to refill her coffee cup. Perhaps it’s probably the humor, which is infectious in the scene where Alfred Molina, who may possibly be gay, meets up with Steve Coogan, who may possibly be a distant relative thanks to the well-researched genealogy (which may possibly be an obvious ploy). Jarmusch is consistent with the minimalist style which prevails in every episode – the overhead lingering shots of coffee cups and cigarettes and the black and white contrast of the picture which is similarly matched by the melding of both black and white actors, the juxtaposition of both cultures. There are repeated references to ill-effects of both drugs and Nikola Tesla’s theory of acoustic resonance made more obvious in the Jack and Meg White episode where Jack displays to the uninterested Meg his ‘Tesla coil’. With the jarring ambiguity to the first-timer, this is clearly an artist’s self-indulgence. But like the smitten waiter, I’ll bear the brunt of the bombshell’s rejection not so much as to get close to her but to be engulfed in the intrigue of her obsessive connection to her coffee cup.
The melancholy of adventures.
July 10, 2007L' Avventura (Michaelangelo Antonioni, 1960)
Straightforwardly translated, Michaelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura means the adventure, or as the film narrates, a series of adventures. Interestingly, in Italian, the term also refers loosely to brief sexual encounters, one-night stands, “the terra incognito of strangers feigning intimacy as they try to find love without moral compasses”, Sohlman (2004) in his Senses of Cinema review writes. The Criterion Collection edition of the film starts with the recognition Cannes Special Jury Prize, evidently, the “for the new language of film and the beauty of its images” sort of cements the inevitable praise the film has heaped despite its negative reception at its world premiere.
This is my first viewing of the film, or any Antonioni material for that matter, but admittedly it would be a chore to intentionally re-view the two-and-a-half length of it even for the purpose of probing through its rich content and dense melding of symbolisms and its subtexts. For a very intriguing opening premise, it also kind of drags its way into intolerable length and unforeseeable end. But that is what’s great about European cinema, more notably the nouvelle vague and the rise of Italian luminaries such as Fellini and Antonioni, and most importantly during this cinematic era, because films like L’Avventura leave so much a venue for boundless discussions and exploration into the art form.
The first part concerns the mysterious disappearance (and search) of Anna (Lea Massari) in an equally mysterious island off Sicily in the Aeolian Sea. She is flanked with a bunch of supposedly rich class friends along with her boyfriend Sandro (Gabriele Ferzetti) and her best friend Claudia (Monica Vitti). The search trails off into a trivial matter and is altogether brushed off as the narrative shifts into Sandro’s pursuit for Claudia and her submission to the playboy architect. From then on, the ‘sexual adventurism’ attachment is depicted in an isolated encounter with the sexpot Gloria Perkins who caused a commotion of the male populace, the sexual fling between a young painter and disgruntled younger wife of an old but rich man, and Sandro and Claudia’s love affair. The film ends yet with another astounding photographic composition, but one that leaves with so much profundity.
When finished, I initially thought that Antonioni wanted to show a humanistic side to isolation, emotional alienation to put it more extensively. I would like to think that as individuals, at some point, we remain emotionally distant to one another despite the intimacy of our relationships or the lack of it. This is depicted in the dynamics between Claudia and Anna and Claudia and Sandro, and putting it in the milieu of the ominous barren islands, the lingering melancholy of the Italian landscape and the forgotten but emphatic array of old Catholic churches serves its metaphorical dialectics. True enough, L’Avventura is first of Antonioni’s foray into the subject of ‘existential alienation’ which would continue with La Notte and L’eclisse.
Sohlman (2004) in Senses of Cinema expounds more on the interior realism aspect of Antonioni’s exposition. The director seemed to be more concerned of depicting a side to humanism that is apt to the current social and spiritual milieu of Italy that period. A kind of spiritual barrenness that is marked by the “absence of traditional moral restraints” where one is leaning more to the “temporal and hedonistic” thus a kind of sexual liberation we see in the submission of the characters to unbridled desires, but just like its loose Italian reference to one-night stand, brief yet leaving us in a state of utter sadness and listlessness.
Having read that, I was almost tempted to categorise it to the more popular term cinema of the intent, where audiences rarely delve as it treads on touchy territory from the profound, suggestive to even speculative. (Dan Schneider in Unspoken Cinema, in the DVD review of the film points out that “intent is meaningless”.) Recently, we are reminded of the very recent Babel who made buzz at 2006 Cannes and won Best Director for Alejandro Gonzalez Inarittu, not to mention heaped Oscar nominations. While Babel is entirely different from L’Avventura, it fares comparatively with the stunning visuals and the beauty of its isolated scenes. Inarittu, receiving the Golden Globe for Best Picture, explains that really, the film is about compassion and the collective miasma of yearning to communicate, or something to that extent, though it received a varied response from critics and non-critics alike. Interestingly, it was at the Cannes premiere when the L’Avventura was reportedly booed that Antonioni explained that “this new man is burdened with the heavy baggage of emotional traits which cannot exactly be called old and outmoded but unsuited and inadequate.”
Towards the end Claudia lays her hand, after much uncertainty, to the weeping Sandro’s shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the bastard’s two-timing stint, the cinematic translation of forgiveness. And time and again, despite the jarring circumstance we have indulged ourselves with, just like the contemplative bores that we are, we find ourselves lured and ready to take in more.
Intergalactic megatronic hangover.
July 4, 2007Transformers (Michael Bay, 2007)
I couldn't actually believe myself but there I was, gripping the adjustable resters, gritting my teeth and feeling my toes curl up as the monstrous machines roared, rolled out and smashed its way downtown New York. I cheered and clumsily clapped at the antics to the discreet dismay of the lady beside me. Almost an hour before, I actually stood at a queue for fear that it might elongate to unmanageable proportions and to think I hate being in a theatre in the midst of noisy people. This is actually the first time I stood that long waiting for the next show (Tuesday LFS at that) and I dunno if it was coincidental that we had the meeting on the same mall I was suppose to watch the flick plus the torrential downpour outside that made me endure, but it sure as hell more than paid off.
I doubt that even half of the people who've watched Transformers here religiously followed the iconic intergalactic machines in the animated series, I myself can confess I can't remember a single episode of the ones I happened to watch. But the mania can't be stopped and the eager populace trooped and lined up. Probably a few only knew that we are actually one week ahead of its U.S. release date (July 4 or 6), but for piracy-centric third-world countries like the Philippines, this has proven to be a good marketing strategy that will somehow abate the proliferation of bootlegged copies of summer blockbusters which features the special participation of actual moviegoers in silhouettes.
So back inside the theatre. When the NBEs started mayhem down metro, a kid was videotaping himself running while saying something like "This is way cooler than Armageddon!". For a moment, I thought that was Bay himself admitting to usual crap but finally having come to terms with this one thanks to Spielberg. Many non-film buffs and ignoramuses actually thought Spielberg directed this one. Yes, this is definitely way beyond Armageddon and Pearl Harbor, not because Bay and his team are operating on a simplistic boy-and-his-car narrative but the visual splendor of the near-perfect CGI brought about uncontrollable action and energy that stirred everybody in their seats. There's Bay's usual military adventurism stuff and sometimes annoying camera movements but whatever irrationality there, was extinguished pronto by the super-agile, kung-fu-ass-kicking robots. Despite the whole Autobots team appearing during the near last third of the two-and-half-hour ride, they still proved to be the real kings of playground-Earth.
Perhaps that is one of the things that I could've wanted done - for Bay to actually spend time jazzing up each of the Bots. One that would create a bit of an impression and a stamp of individuality for Jazz and the rest of the gang other than their leader Optimus Prime and the favorite Bumblebee and the equal scene-stealer Megatron, who's locked up in cryostasis since the 1930s. Which brings me to the search for the main protagonist Sam Witwicky's grandfather's glasses which was dropped in the Arctic Circle during one his grandpa's expeditions. The glasses which Sam auctioned on eBay actually hold some map coordinates to the location of The Cube, the ultimate source of the Universe and the eventual destruction of Earth once Megatron has gotten his hands on it. The frozen Megatron found in the Arctic proves to be one of those top secret shit that explained the presence of Sector 7, an unknown agency even to US DND Secretary John Keller played by Jon Voight.
Another gem of this movie is casting Shia LaBeouf as Sam. He's quirky and his antics are done in perfect timing. The inevitable cheesiness of his quips are negligible thanks to his cunnning delivery. I couldn't have imagined anyone for the role which is no wonder why Spielberg believed in this boy errr guy so much. And that's probably why his character is loved and easily liked because he can be wacky, nerdy, goddamn serious and sometimes sexy in a geeky kind of way. I always thought Shia would be one of the next big things when I saw A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints (For those who want to see Shia's dramatic thespic abilities, I suggest you go see this one.) The ultra-hot chicks Maegan Fox and Rachael Taylor not just appear to tantalize us with their curves but their characters packs some weight into the story as well. Josh Duhamel (is he and Fergie still a hot item?) plays the soldier and eager father whose first exploits with the Decepticons in the Qatar military base we saw during the opening salvo.
There is some good sound editing here despite the overbearing score which perhaps serves the purpose of upping the ante in needed scenes, say Shia on the verge of falling of a building while Megatron catches up. And the mechanical and electronic nature of the bots' voice prevents lines like, "I owe my life to you," or "we are in your debt", or the repetitive "more than meets the eye" from being too cheesy. Transformers really packs some neat shit and explodes in your face that you can't help but cheer like an eight-year old kid and not feel guilty about it. "I gotcha boy!," ensures Optimus, with me hanging on to Allspark and dear life. Sweet.
Humanity and wilderness.
June 28, 2007Walkabout (Nicolas Roeg, 1971)
It is difficult not to be mesmerized by Nicolas Roeg’s Walkabout. Undeniably, it’s beautifully shot, not just because you have every feast of nature unfolding at your very own eyes masterfully shot by Roeg himself, but the film also has an irresistible story, an experience worth going through despite the lingering uncertainty that reverberates on the fate of the characters who stride along with nature’s mysterious yet mystical magnanimity.
From the start, we are already introduced to the concept of the walkabout – the rite of passage of an adolescent Australian male aborigine to adulthood/maturity wherein he is thrown to the wilderness to not just live but survive, even at the cost of other fellow aborigine. But even before we are introduced to this fellow about to venture into his walkabout, we see a white schoolgirl (Jenny Agutter) who’s roughly about eighteen and his young inquisitive brother (Lucien John, Roeg’s own son), both clad in uniform running aimlessly and escaping from a berserk father who starts shooting at them, sets the car into flames and shoots himself in the head. The two find themselves unable to get back to main road. They are lost.
We are sucked into the desert journey and we find ourselves in the abundance of elements that sets us into a reflective mood. For one, we are clearly drawn into a comparison of life in the urban jungle and the real one where man is deduced into a mere creature along with other animals whose basic skill would be to live and live alone. The director does not dwell on the obvious and trivial, but the experience is something transcendental. On the other hand, the striking contrasts – splicing shots of meat chopping for instance – may seem disruptive but does not diminish the film’s beauty.
It is also worth noting that Roeg wants us to focus in the setting of the desert as the world and life’s path where we are able to utilize our intellect (common sense), get in touch with our emotions and fulfill our humanity. The white schoolgirl and her younger brother remained nameless and the young aborigine’s language is never translated (?) to stress that what is important lies in the fundamental, even in the ways we communicate with each other. The film also points out that man’s deliberate destruction of nature in whatever form does not only lead to environmental cataclysm but also signifies an inner disruption in the very core of man.
With the abundance of flora and fauna, it may seem as a bloated National Geographic episode on the Australian outback, but of course, it’s more than just being caught up in the resplendent beauty of God’s creation. It is a testament to the inexplicable life-changing wonders and a timely check, no matter how repetitive it may be, on humanity’s stewardship.
Ode, to erstwhile love.
June 25, 2007Stolen Kisses (Francois Truffaut, 1968) a.k.a. Baisers Volés
In The 400 Blows, Francois Truffaut introduced us to Antoine Doinel, a character which he holds so dear because Antoine is the cinematic expression of his own self. The 12-year old Doinel in Truffaut's first full-length feature film reflects his own bitter childhood experiences from the broken home, dropping out of school and being thrown into jail. Truffaut made a short which is a part of L'Amour à vingt ans (Love at Twenty), Antoine et Collette, which chronicles Antoine's first love experience. In Baisers volés (Stolen Kisses), the story supposedly left off from a military camp where Antoine was detained and dismissed because of being unfit and useless.
Jean Pierre Leaud reprises his role as Antoine, now grown up but clearly exhibits the same boyishness and childlike brashness as the twelve-year old boy. Seeing him get caught up in usual misfits on a grander scale is enough to put you on a nostalgic mode - where you see the young Antoine in the memorable beach scene in 400 Blows. Despite the official declaration in his dismissal letter that he is considered psychologically unfit for any job, Antoine effortlessly shifts from one job to another, four in fact, throughout the entire duration of the film.
When he visits Christine, his one-time fiancée, Christine's father offered him his first job, a hotel porter which after a cunning display of wits would lead him to work as an undercover agent with the help of veteran detective whom he helped solved a particular case. Not long before he is assigned to one of the agency's weird case. He has to take on impersonating a salesboy in the shoe shop owned by a certain Mr. Tabard, who confesses that he strongly feels he is being watched. While working in the store, he alleges that Mme. Tabard is having an affair, only to be seduced by the wife whose casual exchanges with Antoine are both funny and sensual. Mme. Tabard, who may not be fifty-ish at first glance and who does not resemble such body for a woman her age, appears at Antoine's doorstep, adamant that both of them should make love.
Despite the preoccupation of his work and his brief and comical encounters with the opposite sex (fresh from Army dismissal he hires a hooker who wouldn't let him kiss her and some time dates a a woman six inches taller than him), the film ultimately tags us along Antoine's pursuit for Christine and their venture towards marriage - a very romantic proposal at that which at first does not appear to be what it seems. It is important that we see a balance between Antoine's work and personal life because Truffaut would want us to see Antoine as perfectionist and romantic but hard to commit.
Truffaut never oversentimentalizes on the romantic pursuit preventing it from being mushy or melodramatic and presents each scene with effective economy that each has a definitive impact. For instance, the concluding scene is one of memorable and surprising but not the irrational kind. It has no place in the on-and -off love story of Antoine and Christine but it kind of puts a unique stamp to the character of Antoine. Antoine's declaration that the man who comes up to both of them while sitting on a porch one sunny day and confesses to Christine that he has been tailing her for a long time and confesses his love for her, 'must be mad' is an affirmation of his erstwhile character and his definitive transition to maturity. Antoine's story. for me, will perhaps be the most enjoyable and significant coming-of-age tale that can only be made memorable and lingering in the hands of its master steerer.
An array of class and what-not
June 22, 2007Gosford Park (Robert Altman, 2001)
Since my foray into rekindling my erstwhile passion for hard-nose cinema, I had a grand time of being introduced to the revered auteurs of the art whose work I have not had the slightest inkling (e.g. Truffaut, Tarkovsky) or those I have just mostly read (e.g. Bunuel, Kubrick). One of these that intrigued me the most must be Robert Altman whose famous trademark of crisscrossing narratives among his films I have only come to know by secondary sources. I have to admit also that the fact that this revered director never got an Oscar (like Kubrick) add up to the interest. Not that it really matters as I would have come to believe.
Altman’s last film, A Prairie Home Companion, was released last year based from radioman Garrison Keillor’s screenplay. But it would have to be Gosford Park, one of his latest that is touted to etch him as perhaps one of the genre’s best, stamped with his usual adeptness and consistency. In Gosford Park, a number of actors, some forgettable, pass the screen with utmost consciousness and grace that you feel like you’re watching a play. The characters the actors play all have stories to tell and perhaps some secrets to be revealed and Altman treats each one with both lightness and depth.
Most importantly, the film is an examination of class structures as shown by the Upstairs (the lords, the countesses, and an array of supposedly royal descent) and Downstairs (maids, valets and servants) class. The exchanges of the opposites are a sight to behold. The countess-and-maid dynamics of Maggie Smith and Kelly MacDonald is suffused of hilarity and heartbreak as well as the valet-master relationship. If you think that the interplay of class wit and rhetoric is fun to look at up stairs, wait till you see what happens downstairs. The presence of an American director Bob Balaban) among the guests is also a fitting diversion as well as the non-fictional character of British icon Ivor Novello (Jeremy Northam).
This is a great acting ensemble piece which can only pull off given the presence of brilliant British actors some unknown. Helen Mirren plays Mrs. Wilson, the chief maid whose restrained and characteristic enunciations hide a deep-well of emotions and buried secrets. Michael Gambon plays Sir McCordle, the snobbish and irritable owner of the manor whose obviously young wife Lady Sylvia (Kristin Scott Thomas) is a ‘milk-starved’ lady who couldn’t care less when her husband was murdered. Clive Owen and Ryan Philippe (who sports a fake Scottish accent) play valets to Lord Scotbridge and the director respectively – one would turn out to be an actor.
There is always a great challenge with the style and in Gosford Park some characters are easy to forget or if not some exist to emphasize the others’ presence. It wouldn’t be difficult though to notice who arises as the primadona provocateur and what-not. The key to achieving the most from the characters is through keen attention to the dialogue, not disregarding others, or you may not know what the business is all about and find yourself completely baffled in the end. After all this is an English murder mystery, though in the end you’d be so completely enamored by the unfurling of the story and the gracefulness that Altman stamps it with that finding out the truth would be a side dish.
A game of chess with Mr. Death.
June 20, 2007The Seventh Seal (Ingmar Bergman, 1957)
The images in Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal may feel so classical and outdated, indeed it is, but it still gave me the creeps. For instance, death is literally personified by a hooded figure whose black robe reveals only the pale face of the actor (it sort of reminds me of Phantasm, a movie that gave me nightmares when I was a kid). Mr. Death appears periodically throughout the entire movie especially in scenes where he is much needed and when the director wants to make a point about him. He does not go into frenzied scaring tactics but the contrasting black robe he dons is enough to give me shivers. In a particular scene where he deceives the knight into revealing his game tactics, it just spooked the hell out of me. Call me overacting, but it worked for me.
Supposedly after the Crusade, the knight, Antonius Block (Max Von Sydow) arrives and rests unconsciously at first on the rocks of the tranquil beach, his squire (Gunnar Bjornstrand) and the two horses around. He meets Death (Bengt Ekerot) and haggles with time that he can still do a good deed or two while he travels back home to the castle. They commence a game of chess which recurs in the film while the knight is on travel. We are transported to a time where Europe is supposedly hit by the Plague. The vast lifeless atmosphere and plains and the presence of the Plague signifies the absence of God and the knights’ return to his home signifies his quest to seek for the Omnipotent.
Death reappears at various moments in the film emphasizing the line “I have been at your side for a long time” which has been uttered by Death himself, clearly indicating Death as a reality we have to face. In Meet Joe Black, we are averted by death’s horrible notion by personifying it with Brad Pitt. Here, death is as real as it can be and the game of chess displays man’s tactics to do away with it but we are still fooled by its deceptive nature.
Along his journey, the knight encounters a procession of people carrying crosses, whipping themselves like a scene from Holy week which couldn’t be more blatant enough. When he meets a girl who is alleged to have slept with the devil bringing down the plague, he asks her of God whom the devil must have talked to. But as the girl was burned at the stake, she just stares back in nothingness with empty eyes. On the other hand, he also meets a couple with a plump infant which to say the least depicts Joseph, Mary and Jesus (Jof and Mia can be assumed as Swedish derivatives?), whom he will be tasked to save.
There can be no question with the spirituality that the director imprints with his work. But it is even more achieved with resonance through the thematic elements that allow us to experience the absence of God and man’s unending quest for answers, good and evil, faith and our reconciliation with it. The knight’s journey after all, is ours.
The ties that bind.
June 17, 2007What's Eating Gilbert Grape? (Lasse Hallstrom, 1993)
I am always fascinated by actors who play the mentally challenged for as long as I had my far-out ambition for acting is concerned,. So the autistic, schizophrenic, manic-depressive, and the Hannibal Lecter-type fall into this category. Though I think that accepting roles which require you to do abnormal things, is quite a chore considering the amount of research and character study that is entailed to mimic say their mannerisms, I think that it is still less daunting than having to play ‘normal’ people.
In What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?, a pre-Titanic Leonardo DiCaprio plays the retarded 17-year old Arnie, the younger brother whom Gilbert (Johnny Depp) is forced to keep his eyes on, especially that with Arnie’s constant trips up the town’s water tank (this is actually a prophetic scene which can be compared to his king-of-the-world histrionics). This scene has been a familiar crowd-drawer and Gilbert has always promised the authorities to take care of it or else Arnie is put in detention or special care.
What’s Eating Gilbert Grape is Depp’s film but for most, this will be remembered as Leo’s launch pad. Who’d ever think that the scrawny and dirty little retard will actually become one of Hollywood’s hot properties? Being demented, dysfunctional or abnormal has been typical Oscar bait these days, and Leo’s role as Arnie landed him his first Oscar nomination. Whatever the Academy’s preferences are, I do have to agree that Leo pulled this one off like it was a piece of cake. It was a nuanced portrayal and the ease by which he blended in every scene is easily recognized.
Arnie seems to be Gilbert’s burden, whose care he was entrusted for by his humongous mother (Darlene Cates) after their father died. So even when Gilbert goes to the local grocery where he works for, he carries along Arnie and in turn Arnie assists him whichever way he can, except of course when Arnie’s screws loosen up and he goes back to climb the water tank again. They have two sisters as well who takes care of the house because their mother needs to be attended to as well. Perhaps brought about by the depression caused by her husband’s death, Momma has grown to unimaginable proportions that getting her out of the couch is like operating a bulldozer.
When a new girl in town (Juliette Lewis) enters the picture, Gilbert is forced to reflect on his priorities and things that matters most. Despite clearly focusing on the family and the ties that bind, the story also offers a glimpse into the life of a little town, the people and the secrets personified by the character of a disgruntled housewife who makes out with Gilbert when he delivers the groceries. I was kinda shaking my head when the house was burning and it feels like it’s abruptly forced into the picture. The script could draw a little more interest but the shots of countryside vistas are spectacular which imposes a feel-good quality to the film’s whole mood.
Love, pineapples and planes.
June 14, 2007Chungking Express (Wong Kar-Wai, 1994)
During the last scenes with Tony Leung and Faye Wong, when you know the film is about to end, a cheesy smile was painted on my face. I don't exactly know if the characters really hit it off but deep inside you know it feels right. This feeling of pleasant uncertainty is a great way to wrap Wong Kar-Wai's Chungking Express. What lyricism the director has achieved with subtle restraint in In the Mood for Love, this one solidifies the amalgam of both substance and style in a restlessness that doesn't need to be concealed. It's everywhere - in the kinetic mostly handheld camerawork, and among the core of the characters amidst the backdrop of a globalized pop culture.
Set in present day Hong Kong (1994 at that time), two stories are told in such unrelated fashion but impresses in the end two different aspects of love in a modern city with the usual squalor, crime and indifference. Individually, we see the characters as isolated 'dreamers and voyagers' but the city also speaks their commonalities and how these converge in the varied forms of communication whether in a spark of conversation or in the language of love Even in the unconscious and conscious 'touch' of each other we see a disparate connection of these commonalities.
The first story is brief and oftentimes we are focused to seeing either of the individual: a cop, He Qiwu (Takeshi Kaneshiro) and the anonymous woman with a blonde hair (Brigitte Lin). He lives a listless and calculated life as shown by his seeming obsession to numbers ("we are .01 centimeter close to each other") and time - he vowed to have another girlfriend 30 days after he broke up with his previous, May, whom we get to know only in telephone conversations. The blondie lives a hurried life being involved in drug deals. Hers is also a life cloaked in uncertainty as described by her constant wearing of sunglasses day and night. Their encounter is brief and the cop's romantic prodding is not reciprocated by the tough woman. The characters may seem detached but there is a longing you can't describe.
As abruptly as the first story ends, the second one unfurls without us immediately knowing it. In the fast food junction where He eats, he lays his eyes on the new attendant (Faye Wong) who would fall in love with another cop (Tony Leung) whose relationship with a stewardess is on the rocks. The waitress is enamored by this intriguing cop but they can't seem to strike a decent conversation because she always play the radio so loud with the same song, "California Dreamin'". But she eventually gets the keys to his apartment and start cleaning and providing basic necessities such as soap and canned food. He eventually finds out but a budding romance would have to wait. She leaves for California and pursues her dream of being a stewardess. She leaves a boarding pass to the cop but the destination was blurred.
What I love most about this film is how the director plays with pop-culture references and thematic extensions. The fast food as an offshoot of urbanization; Coke, McDonalds, even Del Monte as pervasive images globalisation; and the song California Dreamin' is complemented by the Cantonese version of The Cranberries Dreams played loudly in the soundtrack. On the other hand: the telephone as a medium of communication but sometimes blurs our ability to 'connect'; the canned pineapples on the verge of expiration which describes our hurried but often futile efforts to savor the last stages of a relationship or the obsessive beginnings marked by a desire for hefty servings; and the planes and the childlike playfulness with it both emphasizes the importance of the journey and the beauty of waiting.
Revenge is a funny thing.
June 11, 2007Ocean's Thirteen (Steven Soderbergh, 2007)
So Danny, Rusty, Linus and the rest of the gang are back, but this time they’re not in it for the money. Oh yes, revenge will be the thing that keeps the fire burning. After Reuben (Elliot Gould) succumbed to myocardial infarction after he is double-crossed by the shady hotel magnate Willy Bank (Al Pacino) rendering him speechless and seemingly brain-dead, the gang vowed to avenge him. So the guys will pull out a grand heist on the opening of Bank’s new casino that will make him all-time bankrupt. And not just any heist, we’re talking of plotting that spans two countries and every unimaginable scheme both planned and spur-of-the-moment.
Grand opening day. Imagine every table in the wide casino expanse winning at least 100,000 bucks not to mention somebody winning the 30 million by just playing roulette. Big time sucker, but Al Pacino plays Banks with a cool restraint that you’d wish he’d lash out some more. Pull out a pistol and start firing or something. But of course this is Danny Ocean’s movie and he still gets to stick out the ‘loser’ finger and telling Banks he wouldn’t call the cops, period. There's also Ellen Barkin who plays Bank's 'right-hand man'. Her exchanges with Matt Damon are one of the things to look forward and also The Incredible Yen whose English vocabulary consists of the word shit.
The whole masterplan for revenge wouldn't immediately strike you funny but unbelievable. These guys have so much love for each other they'd go to such great heights to pull the thing off. Though there are some tricks that borders on irritating it's still enjoyable to watch. Revenge actually comes two-fold and I'd say the second one was funnier. Wait till you get to see Andy Garcia and Oprah herself. So much for espionage really. The most important thing is to enjoy the ride.
