Die Nibelungen

This weekend I watched the Fritz Lang-directed version of the German legend Die Nibelungen. It felt like I was viewing the foundational text for every fantasy and historical epic film that's ever been made. Lang accomplished similar feats for the sci-fi genre with Metropolis and the crime/noir genre with M.

It's bizarre that the film was either lost or in poor condition for so long, and the folks at Kino Lorber deserve for high praise for doing such good work with the restoration and Blu-Ray release. They saved a true masterpiece, and the lighting, lavish sets, and intricate costumes all really pop in a way that I imagine could only be matched by seeing the film during its original theatrical run.

Reviews: Carol, Anomalisa, and The Mermaid

Carol

Directed by Todd Haynes

Written by Phyllis Nagy adapting the novel by Patricia Highsmith

Starring Rooney Mara (Therese Belivet), Cate Blanchett (Carol Aird), and Kyle Chandler (Harge Aird)

Music by Carter Burwell

Cinematography by Edward Lachman

Edited by Affonso Gonҫalves

Todd Haynes' sixth feature opens with a man walking into a hotel dining room noticing our protagonist, Therese Belivet, having a hushed conversation with the elegant Carol. He walks over to them and lays his hand on Therese's shoulder asking her to head out with him. Carol gets up to leave and touches her other shoulder in the process. These small gestures signal that Therese has yet to fully come into her own, is still dominated by others, and handicapped by her own insecurities. They also point to the kind of film Carol will be. One of subtlety and hidden, yet passionate, emotions. The man and Therese enter a car driving to a nearby party. As the ride progresses, Therese stares longingly out of a window beautifully sprinkled with rain and bathed in red and green neon lights. She remembers how she first met Carol. By the time we learn everything and the story ends, the beginning scene will have been totally re-contextualized, and Carol revealed to be a quietly radical queer/feminist film.

In his piece for the A.V. Club about Carol's Oscar snub, Nico Lang lays out how mainstream stories featuring LGBT issues and characters have almost always focused on suffering. Obvious examples include dying of AIDS (Philiadelphia, Dallas Buyer's Club) or doomed, tragic romance (Brokeback Mountain). These tropes tend to collapse the everyday reality of gay life for cliché narratives that are geared more towards easy consumption for straight audiences.  Of course, Carol does not totally avoid these issues either. It wouldn't be honest if it did. Set in the Eisenhower era, most of the secondary characters are not accepting of the same-sex attraction between the two leads. The central couple has to overcome these attitudes, internal suppression of their own desires, and multiple other obstacles. But, whenever the plot looks like it's going to re-tread well-worn beats, it doubles-back to focus on the main relationship. It's extremely satisfying as Therese and Carol are allowed to be real people. Their sexuality a part of their identity for sure, but not the only part.

Much of the romantic mood can be ascribed to Edward Lachman's cinematography. His touch recalls, but doesn't copy, classic melodramas in the way Blanchett's red nail polish, lipstick, and outfits jump off the screen. And the way Mara is often shot in frames within frames or blocked off from other character (depicting her isolation) is a nice expressive, Sirk-esque flourish However, the rest of the palette is made up of muted colors such as light pink, green, brown and yellow. This, and the fuzzy quality of the 16 mm film stock, creates a lush, creamy, yet also naturalistic look that doesn't resemble any movie from that time period. Imagine what a current director trying to make a New Hollywood movie that was commenting on 50's women's pictures would do and you've almost got it. The only other film that's popped into my head as comparable is Wong Kar-Wai's In the Mood for Love. The two don't look anything alike, but both refract the past through a modern sensibility.

Anomalisa

Directed by Charlie Kaufman and Duke Johnson

Written by Charlie Kaufman

Starring David Thewlis (Michael Stone), Jennifer Jason Leigh (Lisa Hesselman), and Tom Noonan (Everyone Else)

Music by Carter Burwell

Cinematography by Joe Passarelli

Edited by Garret Elkins

Costumer service guru Michael Stone is a depressed, middle-aged white guy. He's unsatisfied with his career, stressed out by his familial obligations, and reflecting on a past serious relationship that he abruptly walked out of. As he flies into Cincinnati for a business conference, it's obvious that his life is in shambles and that Stone has an excess of bile and contempt for those around him. Soon however, he will meet a woman called Lisa who will change everything and give him a new lease on life. That set-up (the impression given in the trailers) sounds like the basics of a stereotypical indie film, Manic Pixie Dream Girl included. Luckily, Anomalisa is not that. In fact, it's a robust critique of that kind of story arc.

The commercials also don't get across the weirdness and madness of Kaufman's vision. This is a stop-motion animated film, even though a lot of the action could be mapped to real-life locations and actors. The mundane nature of the film's universe combines with the hyper-clarity of the doll's movements and looks to create a strange distancing feeling that effectively captures Michael's psychological state. This sensation is further enhanced by Tom Noonan voicing literally every other character, the similar designs of the different figures, and the visible faceplate lines present on everyone. It's perhaps the only time that the phrase "uncanny valley" could be used to described something in a positive way.

In addition, Anomalisa captures a type of everyday terror that is awfully rare outside of the greats of the horror genre. The Fregoli Hotel's hallways seem to extend into infinity, like a bizarro version of one of Jacques Tati's creations or a twisted set out of The Apartment. Multiple times, Michael lapses into nightmare visions of the world around him. In one, he notices, and then attempts to take off, his faceplate. In another, he is summoned to the depths of the hotel where he discovers a surreal office space and has a weird encounter with the manager. And in a rush of dread, Michael's subjective, dulled view of everyone else becomes a terrifying reality. Later on, he loses all control of his brain and mouth during a public speech.

This unnerving tenor extends to the key relationship. Michael initially sees Lisa as his only escape from the crushing atmosphere around him (represented by her having a distinct voice). Quickly it is revealed that this is not the case, and Michael is pushing off dealing with his own problems by unloading his desires onto Lisa. In a morning-after scene where Lisa's face is obscured by a blinding sun, Tom Noonan's voice starts to creep back in and any suggestion that Anomalisa was going to have a happy ending is swiftly sucked away.

The Mermaid

Directed by Stephen Chow

Written by Stephen Chow and Co.

Starring Chao Deng (Liu Xuan), Yun Lin (Shan), Show Luo (Octopus), and Yuqi Zhang (Ruolan)

Music by Raymond Wong

Edited by Cheung Ka-fai and Cheng Man-to

Cinematography by Choi Sung-fai and Lau Tak-ming

The Mermaid has broken box office records in its native China to become the highest-grossing movie of all time there. Chinese-Americans have also responded well to the import, giving it a decent per-screen average here in the states. You wouldn't know either of those facts if you don't regularly keep up with film news because Stephen Chow's manic rom-com was unceremoniously dumped in America in a scant few theatres without any promotion form Sony. You can chalk this neglect up to the studios' usual aversion to any and all things foreign and subtitled.

A shame, because the film's beats are basic and easy to follow. The comedy springs from visual gags that are understandable across all regions and languages. This would have been an excellent opportunity to crack open the domestic market to a more global variety of filmmaking. The over-the-top tone and relentless pace may have tripped up some local audiences, but we'll never know because the movie was never given a chance.

Anyway, the characters and conflicts are set up quickly and concisely. Billionaire playboy Liu Xuan has decided to purchase an island off the coast of China and turn it into a theme park/real estate venture. In order to purge the local aquatic wildlife, sonar-generating mines are deployed in the water. These have the side-effect of disrupting a group of mermaids, including heroine Shan, blustery Octopus, and a matriarch who likes to use here giant tail to recount legends with the water. They decide to use Shan's feminine charms to woo Liu Xuan into a trap to kill him.

 First, they snip Shan's tail so it can be used as a pair of makeshift feet (a sly comment on the lengths women are forced to go to attract men). The fish people are eventually pushed to use all the powers in their arsenal as Shan first fails in her mission, and then starts falling for their rich oppressor. Sea urchins, tentacles, and fishbone knives are all deployed in funny and creative ways, and the mermaid's abilities humorously include launching themselves through the air.

All of the effects and action are crafted with cartoony/plasticky CGI. The deliberately tacky look is simpatico with the slapstick gags and high-energy acting . By eschewing realism, Chow actually overcomes the trouble that other movies have with computer imagery. The uncanny valley is a non-issue here because no attempt is made to hide the flaws of the artificial set and character designs. Furthermore, the physical trappings are so bright and colorful that there's not the upsetting disconnect between the real actors and fake surroundings found in modern blockbusters.

Have movies gotten worse or do bad movies just get more press?

A common refrain heard today among critics and in film buff circles is that movies have gotten demonstrably worse than they were in the past. Let's say the split comes at some point in the 80's when studio-dominated, market-tested blockbusters and high-concept fare (Top Gun, Indiana Jones)  became the dominant mode of production in Hollywood. Thus ending the small amount of creative, experimental, and director-driven space that had been opened in the New Hollywood era due to wider societal/cultural changes, shifts in taste, and political upheaval, typified by works such as Bonnie and Clyde and Taxi Driver.

However this thesis either doesn't take into account, overlooks, or chooses to ignore the number of low-quality films that have been made in the past. To be fair, that precise amount can be hard to arrive at, as we've winnowed down what movies are known and discussed through critical reflection and popular knowledge, but the concept is at least worth considering for a minute. Theater-going was viewed in a drastically different way before the invention of television. Since there were no other sources of on-screen entertainment, watching movies was a weekly, or even daily, activity that often included shorts, serials, cartoons, and newsreels. It wasn't seen as an event in the same it is now. Given that fact, it makes sense to conclude that at least the same number (probably more) of films were being made back then as they are now. Furthermore, the studios had even more of a lock on what got through the system and a well-oiled PR/infotainment/tabloid machine was already in place. Given these characteristics, it makes sense to conclude that, yes, there has always been a pretty high level of sub-standard product being pumped out by tinseltown.

So if overall quality hasn't changed, what has? The biggest difference between now and then is more in the way that movies are marketed and consumed. With the proliferation of other forms of video distraction, first TV, and then video games and the internet, the situation has gradually worsened for the silver screen. As different forms of media began competing with viewers' attention spans, the stakes got higher and executives decided that less risk-tasking and sure-fire hits were the only way forward. Hyper-intensive advertising campaigns and focus group-testing followed suit, severely limiting what type of films got made, what topics and ideas could be explored, and how much aesthetic/formal experimentation was allowed. This was not the same kind of dominance that the studios had between the 30's and 60's. Yes, there were sever limits to honestly and openly tackling subjects like sex, violence, and radical politics, but directors, stars, and producers were allowed a certain level of freedom if they stayed within certain limits. The careful, though-out framing; intense, shadowy cinematography and brooding, troubled characters of The Maltese Falcon were only possible because the film was a genre picture and the bad guys got their comeuppance at the end, following the conservative morality of the Hays Code. Such complexities would not be rubberstamped today due to higher-ups' (wrong) fears that they would alienate potential ticket-buyers.   

With the executives' media blitzes fully operational and the rise of a sycophantic internet film culture, it has become nigh impossible to avoid projects you have no desire to see or have an advanced, negative critical reception. Case in point, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. If you've simply existed in the past month, you're guaranteed to at least have heard about it, let alone read/see any in-depth coverage. It doesn't matter if you're entirely fed-up with superhero flicks or find their faux natural/gritty aesthetic visually uninteresting. No matter you're stance or opinion, you've likely been bombarded with images, reviews, news, stats, and trailers. Anything that can be written about the film has been written and has been propagated throughout all levels of the internet and television.

And woe is you if you wanted to cut yourself off from all the babble. Even the better websites have had to at least review the thing. This has had an extremely damaging, limiting effect on what can be talked about online. Akira Kurosawa's birthday (he died in 1998) occurred during the same week as Batman v Superman was released. While there were short news items about the event and a few overviews of one or two his most well-known works, I have yet to see any longer, more in-depth retrospectives on any sites except for random blogs. That the birthday of one of the greatest cinematic artists of the 20th century was overshadowed by the latest $100 million+ superhero ad is a sad statement on the state of film criticism.

How can the corporate takeover of film culture be stopped? The easiest pressure point would be for editors, writers, film buffs, and cinephiles to ignore blockbusters, stop reporting box office results, and take a more selective approach about the type of news that gets disseminated. It would quite difficult, and possible suicidal, to get such a project going, but that (plus a commitment to analyzing older, foreign, and lower-budget fare) is what's required to start incubating a considerate community.

Image Association: 2001 and The Prestige

I don't really care for the comparisons between Stanley Kubrick and Christopher Nolan (I think they generally have different styles, themes, preoccupations, etc.), but I did notice a few shots in The Prestige that recalled 2001: A Space Odyssey: one of Tesla's machine that looks all monolithy and a scene set in a morgue that is reminiscent of the room that Dave's journey ends in.

















06/27/2016 Update: Near the end of Inception, in the last level where Leo's target is conversing with his dream-dad, there's a shot that even more directly recalls Kubrick's Sci-Fi spectacle.