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The Blues: Piano Blues ***
I've been watching this series of short films off and on for the last six months. Piano Blues is the final film in the series, directed by Clint Eastwood, who has often represented his love of jazz and blues in his films and, to a lesser extent, his own film scores. The conceit of this film is to have Eastwood sit on the piano bench next to some of his musical heroes and to hear what said heroes can improvise while talking with Eastwood. When the musicians seem to know and like Eastwood, this idea plays out rather well (as it does with Ray Charles, for example, who seems comfortable with everyone); when the musicians are less familiar with Eastwood, the camera seems intrusive and the moment becomes awkward (as with Dr. John); when the musician is a genius, we couldn't care less whether Eastwood is there or not (Dave Brubeck).
If you can stand Eastwood's clumsy interviewing techniques (he seems to want to be pals with each of the musicians he talks with--not a bad way to strike up a conversation, perhaps, but not extremely effective in drawing out information and/or insights from the musicians that we may not have heard before), the generous screen time given to the performers makes this film worthwhile, particularly during the Brubeck segment, where a seemingly frail and fading man suddenly transforms into an intensely focused player of great emotive power.
As I've commented before in regard to some of the other films of this series, your enjoyment of this project will likely come in direct proportion to your enjoyment of blues in general. I'm not sure an indifferent viewer will be stirred into any new appreciation of the genre, but capturing these performances on film is a worthy effort in and of itself.
The X-Files: I Want to Believe ***
Similarly, this latest and likely final entry into the X-Files canon will not have much to offer for anyone who was not a fan of the original series. Based on the many unenthusiastic reviews I read, I was prepared for the worst, but I found the film to be a surprisingly entertaining and occasionally moving return to the series. On the other hand, I own every season of the series on DVD, including the cringe-inducing final two seasons that attempted to replace Mulder and Scully with different FBI agents. Thankfully, the film keeps its focus on the two characters that made the series, despite its occasionally ridiculous episodes and convoluted mythology, such a pleasure to watch. Gillian Anderson must be given particular credit for imbuing Dana Scully with a kind of resigned weariness that Anderson herself must feel in revisiting the character. As she often was in the series, Scully is the moral center of this film, and it is her reactions and decisions that are most compelling. (The fact that I have been deeply in love with Gillian Anderson for the last fifteen years notwithstanding.)
The story itself is rather tame by X-Files standards, though it does deal with an urban legend coming to life in new and extreme ways. The setting of the film also provides opportunities for some wonderfully moody shots of Mulder and Scully and friends backlit by wintery landscapes and foregrounded with falling snow. The film also makes several nods to established lore from the series, though never in a heavy-handed or obnoxiously cute fashion. Indeed, these nods are sometimes so subtle that only experienced fans will get anything out of them.
Ultimately, I ended up regarding this film as a kind of valentine for long-term fans, a sentiment emphasized in the easter-egg shot at the end of the credits. I didn't feel that the film abused or tarnished my fondness for the series, and allowed me to walk away feeling better about the series than I did after the final episode. But if you're new or even ambivalent about The X-Files, this film won't change your mind. (It seems this lesson may have already been learned by moviegoers; I was the only person in the theater at the screening I attended.)
Memento ****
Though the innovative backward-storytelling technique of this film has long since infiltrated popular culture (to the extent that I first encountered it on an episode of Seinfeld), my intellectual engagement with this film was in no way diminished. Even for what ultimately is not a tremendously creative story, the novelty of watching a semi-mainstream film that doesn't assume you're an idiot is rewarding in itself. The acting is uniformly excellent, and even if the twist doesn't come as a huge surprise, one must applaud Christopher Nolan for having the audacity to assume that his audience may come to the movies for something other than mindless entertainment. Which brings us to . . .
The Dark Knight *****
By now, the conventional tropes of the superhero film are well established, and even the best of the more recent films in the genre (Iron Man) do not greatly deviate from the pattern. As with the comic-books that birthed them, superhero movies offer the same thrills in differing outfits and may occasionally offer a dollop of roguish personality or comedic one-liners to freshen up the show. The Dark Knight, by contrast, dispenses with these conventions to offer a rather unsettling portrait of a city that is being overrun with psychotic crusaders. Though the film contains some stunning and outrageous action sequences, the true appeal is less Batman's heroics than the implications of those heroics in a terrorist age.
The film makes a subtle, but important, distinction between terrorist actions and terrorism. A seemingly heroic figure like the Batman may have the virtue of being on "our side," but his techniques are those of a ideologue, one who will let few things stand in the way of his moral crusade. His opponent, Joker, on the other hand, embraces no ideology save chaos, and forces both the Batman and the people he is presumably working to protect to make impossible ethical choices that work to reveal (in the Joker's mind, at least) the lies on which their society--and therefore their lives--is based.
Just as the audiences I saw the film with initially resist Joker's psychosis, wanting to see him as a comical character, some may resist the political implications of a film that presents itself as just another superhero movie. But there is far more to be gleaned from this film than diversion, and one need only examine the arc of Harvey Dent's story in the film to fish out its critique of the post 9/11 age. For the story of Harvey Dent--his initial promise for Gotham, his exposure to the insane whims of Joker and how Joker himself pushes Dent toward insanity, and Dent's eventual fate (both actual and invented)--reflect in no small way the decisions and failing of our own culture.
The film takes its time in developing its thesis and its story, slowly establishing the components of its world before erupting into the aforementioned action sequences and cultural critique. One of the film's many challenging and daring deviations from the superhero genre lies in Batman's presence itself. Batman is only one player in Harvey Dent's universe, and this is much more a film about Dent than it is about Batman or Joker. This is a true ensemble piece, wasting none of its outstanding cast. Every character has a moment, or series of moments, that bring that character to life and allow the actors to serve as something other than objects in front of a green screen (unlike, say, The Incredible Hulk, which wastes the talents of almost all its actors).
After seeing this film twice, I'm working toward an interpretation of a post 9/11 Batman, a man who, as an innocent youth, witnessed the fall of his parents (his Twin Towers, if you will), retreated from society while developing his resolve and his strength, then erupted back into that society as a fascist, choosing his targets, enlisting the grudging support of an exhausted government, and creating more monsters than had existed before his parents fell. Is this relevant toward an appreciation, an admiration, of this film? Perhaps not, but it is the only superhero film in my memory that dares to challenge the appeal of superheroes in the first place. If Gotham gets the heroes it deserves, if madness is like gravity, and if, in Harvey Dent's words, we either die like heroes or live long enough to see ourselves become the villains, this is the Batman film we have earned and a film that helps us to understand ourselves.
I daresay there will never be a better Batman film and it's unlikely we will see another superhero movie that takes its audience to task as seriously as this one does.
I've been watching this series of short films off and on for the last six months. Piano Blues is the final film in the series, directed by Clint Eastwood, who has often represented his love of jazz and blues in his films and, to a lesser extent, his own film scores. The conceit of this film is to have Eastwood sit on the piano bench next to some of his musical heroes and to hear what said heroes can improvise while talking with Eastwood. When the musicians seem to know and like Eastwood, this idea plays out rather well (as it does with Ray Charles, for example, who seems comfortable with everyone); when the musicians are less familiar with Eastwood, the camera seems intrusive and the moment becomes awkward (as with Dr. John); when the musician is a genius, we couldn't care less whether Eastwood is there or not (Dave Brubeck).
If you can stand Eastwood's clumsy interviewing techniques (he seems to want to be pals with each of the musicians he talks with--not a bad way to strike up a conversation, perhaps, but not extremely effective in drawing out information and/or insights from the musicians that we may not have heard before), the generous screen time given to the performers makes this film worthwhile, particularly during the Brubeck segment, where a seemingly frail and fading man suddenly transforms into an intensely focused player of great emotive power.
As I've commented before in regard to some of the other films of this series, your enjoyment of this project will likely come in direct proportion to your enjoyment of blues in general. I'm not sure an indifferent viewer will be stirred into any new appreciation of the genre, but capturing these performances on film is a worthy effort in and of itself.
The X-Files: I Want to Believe ***
Similarly, this latest and likely final entry into the X-Files canon will not have much to offer for anyone who was not a fan of the original series. Based on the many unenthusiastic reviews I read, I was prepared for the worst, but I found the film to be a surprisingly entertaining and occasionally moving return to the series. On the other hand, I own every season of the series on DVD, including the cringe-inducing final two seasons that attempted to replace Mulder and Scully with different FBI agents. Thankfully, the film keeps its focus on the two characters that made the series, despite its occasionally ridiculous episodes and convoluted mythology, such a pleasure to watch. Gillian Anderson must be given particular credit for imbuing Dana Scully with a kind of resigned weariness that Anderson herself must feel in revisiting the character. As she often was in the series, Scully is the moral center of this film, and it is her reactions and decisions that are most compelling. (The fact that I have been deeply in love with Gillian Anderson for the last fifteen years notwithstanding.)
The story itself is rather tame by X-Files standards, though it does deal with an urban legend coming to life in new and extreme ways. The setting of the film also provides opportunities for some wonderfully moody shots of Mulder and Scully and friends backlit by wintery landscapes and foregrounded with falling snow. The film also makes several nods to established lore from the series, though never in a heavy-handed or obnoxiously cute fashion. Indeed, these nods are sometimes so subtle that only experienced fans will get anything out of them.
Ultimately, I ended up regarding this film as a kind of valentine for long-term fans, a sentiment emphasized in the easter-egg shot at the end of the credits. I didn't feel that the film abused or tarnished my fondness for the series, and allowed me to walk away feeling better about the series than I did after the final episode. But if you're new or even ambivalent about The X-Files, this film won't change your mind. (It seems this lesson may have already been learned by moviegoers; I was the only person in the theater at the screening I attended.)
Memento ****
Though the innovative backward-storytelling technique of this film has long since infiltrated popular culture (to the extent that I first encountered it on an episode of Seinfeld), my intellectual engagement with this film was in no way diminished. Even for what ultimately is not a tremendously creative story, the novelty of watching a semi-mainstream film that doesn't assume you're an idiot is rewarding in itself. The acting is uniformly excellent, and even if the twist doesn't come as a huge surprise, one must applaud Christopher Nolan for having the audacity to assume that his audience may come to the movies for something other than mindless entertainment. Which brings us to . . .
The Dark Knight *****
By now, the conventional tropes of the superhero film are well established, and even the best of the more recent films in the genre (Iron Man) do not greatly deviate from the pattern. As with the comic-books that birthed them, superhero movies offer the same thrills in differing outfits and may occasionally offer a dollop of roguish personality or comedic one-liners to freshen up the show. The Dark Knight, by contrast, dispenses with these conventions to offer a rather unsettling portrait of a city that is being overrun with psychotic crusaders. Though the film contains some stunning and outrageous action sequences, the true appeal is less Batman's heroics than the implications of those heroics in a terrorist age.
The film makes a subtle, but important, distinction between terrorist actions and terrorism. A seemingly heroic figure like the Batman may have the virtue of being on "our side," but his techniques are those of a ideologue, one who will let few things stand in the way of his moral crusade. His opponent, Joker, on the other hand, embraces no ideology save chaos, and forces both the Batman and the people he is presumably working to protect to make impossible ethical choices that work to reveal (in the Joker's mind, at least) the lies on which their society--and therefore their lives--is based.
Just as the audiences I saw the film with initially resist Joker's psychosis, wanting to see him as a comical character, some may resist the political implications of a film that presents itself as just another superhero movie. But there is far more to be gleaned from this film than diversion, and one need only examine the arc of Harvey Dent's story in the film to fish out its critique of the post 9/11 age. For the story of Harvey Dent--his initial promise for Gotham, his exposure to the insane whims of Joker and how Joker himself pushes Dent toward insanity, and Dent's eventual fate (both actual and invented)--reflect in no small way the decisions and failing of our own culture.
The film takes its time in developing its thesis and its story, slowly establishing the components of its world before erupting into the aforementioned action sequences and cultural critique. One of the film's many challenging and daring deviations from the superhero genre lies in Batman's presence itself. Batman is only one player in Harvey Dent's universe, and this is much more a film about Dent than it is about Batman or Joker. This is a true ensemble piece, wasting none of its outstanding cast. Every character has a moment, or series of moments, that bring that character to life and allow the actors to serve as something other than objects in front of a green screen (unlike, say, The Incredible Hulk, which wastes the talents of almost all its actors).
After seeing this film twice, I'm working toward an interpretation of a post 9/11 Batman, a man who, as an innocent youth, witnessed the fall of his parents (his Twin Towers, if you will), retreated from society while developing his resolve and his strength, then erupted back into that society as a fascist, choosing his targets, enlisting the grudging support of an exhausted government, and creating more monsters than had existed before his parents fell. Is this relevant toward an appreciation, an admiration, of this film? Perhaps not, but it is the only superhero film in my memory that dares to challenge the appeal of superheroes in the first place. If Gotham gets the heroes it deserves, if madness is like gravity, and if, in Harvey Dent's words, we either die like heroes or live long enough to see ourselves become the villains, this is the Batman film we have earned and a film that helps us to understand ourselves.
I daresay there will never be a better Batman film and it's unlikely we will see another superhero movie that takes its audience to task as seriously as this one does.
posted by Chazzbot at 6:05 PM
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