Thumbs DownDull. Predictable.
Horatio Hornblower looks like The Fantastic Four sapped his life force.
A grimacing Buffy is uninspired without witty banter and apparently refuses to do boat shoots…
Leading to the most hilarious and shockingly bad effects I’ve seen on TV since Gatoroid. Watch here.
But Richard’s there, so there’s that.
directed by Catherine Breillat (2009)I have been curious about the work of controversial Frenchwoman Catherine Breillat for some time and was excited to find her Bluebeard available on Netflix. (This may be one of her less controversial films with none of the uncomfortable sex scenes I anticipated – but warning for the squeamish – there is a chicken with it’s head cut off scene).
As you can see by the stills, this film is gorgeous. Any fan of cinematography or photography will be smitten. And the costumes! If you’ve ever been to the Renaissance Faire and wondered what it would look like if everyone there was as fashionable as you, then you must see this movie. The many ways floor length can look incredible in the out of doors is alone worth a viewing.
But beyond the aesthetics, this is an interesting take on the traditional Bluebeard tale. With a stylized telling of the gory fairytale juxtaposed with two gingham pinafore dressed sisters in an attic reading the tale, Breillat is clearly but subtly capturing the uniquely female experience of being a young girl: When you are dimly aware of sexuality and adulthood, with impressions of love and death, but still a child at heart. A phenomenon described in the film as having the innocence of a dove but the pride of an eagle.
On the fairytale side, two striking young girls become fatherless and the younger one is married off the the ogre of a man, Bluebeard. Not since Lord of the Rings has desperate size been as effectively used on screen. The bride is as tiny as a bird, whereas Bluebeard, in a feat of perfect casting is hulking and gently monstrous.
The other narrative features bickering sisters who, as only sisters can, fight as they cuddle and scare themselves with the bloody story. Something surreal happens in this narrative, but without spoilers, I’d argue that is may not have really happened (if you watch it, maybe we can discuss.)
Between this and recent Brixpick, The White Ribbon, I sense there is something quite remarkable and fascinating going on with the period piece movie in global cinema. If only Hollywood could get so inventive and artistic with theirs – I can’t tell you how boring it all is to see the same corset blandness season after season.
Click here for the rest of Bluebeard
Directed by Darren Aronofsky (2010)I know I am late to the Black Swan parade, but since Darren Aronofsky is pretty much a bad word in our house, this recommendation is for those, who like me, were hesitant to believe the hype because they just hate Requiem for a Dream so much.
After watching the stylized sexual thriller, I was both elated and initially a little disappointed. The first half of the film surprised and floored me with it’s incredibly haunting mood, subtle creepiness, and paranoid tone. It reminds me of the best work of Roman Polanski or Ken Russell.
About half way through, though, when everything breaks apart and the more traditional horror movie events come into play, I felt betrayed that the subdued artfulness had gone out the window. However, once I had finished watching it all and looked back at it for what it was, not the movie I expected or wanted it to be, I realized the somewhat repetitive “gotcha” part felt like it had passed in a few seconds and effectively felt like some fever nightmare.
This manic explosion of insanity did have some truly stunning parts – like a particularly cringe inducing scene involving Portman’s legs and the absolutley exquisite final dance where we see her internal transformation into the black swan flawlessly displayed externally in a feat of special effects and amazing costuming.
Still, it’s the slower paced eerieness that sets the tone perfectly and promises a conclusion more complex and strange than we get.
Portman is very believable as a frigid, scared young woman who seems constantly falling victim to the few people she’s let into her life.
One of those people is her mother, played with tight lipped, quiet obsession by an unsung Barbara Hershey. Another is Vincent Cassel‘s predatory director – a role that could have easily fallen into parody in the hands of anyone less French, oddly handsome, and confident in his lechery.
Mila Kundis doesn’t get much praise, maybe because her role is simpler than Portman’s, maybe because she is, after all, some girl from That 70’s Show, but she is effective and necessary as a foil to Portman’s pent up anxieties. It’s also fun to see Winona Ryder as an aging ballerina, even if I didn’t totally buy her wobbly, cocktail spilling performance.
The Tchaikovsky score is, of course, beautiful and Rodarte lends their ethereal touch to the great costumes.
A surprising and very strange delight.
Click here for the rest of Black Swan
directed by Michael Haneke (2009)The White Ribbon very much reminds me of a classic “man’s inhumanity towards man” novel taught in high schools and is far more interesting than all the bratty kids reading it will give it credit for. It questions whether man is inherently evil and if you’ve ever seen a Michael Haneke movie, you’ll not be surprised that his answer is yes.
I can even envision the reading comprehension questions at the back of the non existent text book:
1. Who do you think committed all the crimes? And what was their motive?
2. Is the narrator correct in his accusations?
3. What do you think happened to the midwife and her son? What about the Doctor and his family?
All questions I’ve been pondering and frankly wish I had a classroom of people who’ve seen it to discuss.
Several disturbing acts of violence erupt in a small German village before the break out of World War I. From torture to arson, the crimes are as heinous as they are confounding and Haneke, once again proving he’s one the most compelling and daring film makers working today, isn’t as forthcoming as he seems. These troubling times are told through the eyes of a kind school teacher as he falls in love with a local governess, lending a small glimmer of benevolence among the cruelty.
The film is absolutely beautiful, not only is the cinematography stunning and sweeping, but the details of costume and set are superb. This is a cold, severe, yet elegant take on the themes we love so well in Nick Cave’s “The Curse of Millhaven”, Village of the Damned and Lord of the Flies. The children are impeccably cast.
It is available on netflix instant and I hope that will allow it to find a wider audience despite it’s deliberate pace.
Click here for the rest of The White Ribbon
on ShowtimeWhile in Colorado I caught up with my premium channels and discovered that I liked some things I expected to like (Game of Thrones – more on that soon), hated other things I expected to like (Mildred Pierce – why are you so painfully, obnoxiously boring and ham-fisted?) but I was most surprised by how much I enjoyed the bloody soap opera that is The Borgias. Although, ever since a short stay in Rome in my college years, I have had an interest for Italian history so I shouldn’t have been so surprised. It’s so juicy and tawdry and fascinating and The Borgias gets all that drama just right.
The cast is perfection. Even though Jeremy Irons bears no physical resemblance to Pope Alexander the Third, his portrayal of the corrupt Patriarch who manages to think himself virtuos and wise by making others do his dirty work is a joy to watch. Without him lending his gravitas and subtle humor, the tone of the show wouldn’t settle right. But he is not even the best character!
I have to admit I have a huge crush on the Cardinal son, Cesare (who my mom pointed out has a passing resemblance to Jim if he were dark) and his right hand assassin, my favorite character is portrayed by Sean Harris – who some of you might recognize as a very, very bad police man in the Red Riding Trilogy. Looking every bit like a nightmare and quite a lot like Vincent Van Gogh, Harris has found the role of a lifetime, custom suited to his creepy gaze.
Lucrezia is played with charm and a mischievous streak by the adorably named Holliday Grainger. It’s nice to see former Mrs Val Kilmer Joanne Whalley who I think I last saw in The Singing Detective as the mother and new comer Lotte Verbeek is appropriately lovely to look at as Giulia “the Beautiful” Farnese. Even less central characters are a thrill to see like Derek Jacobi (I, Claudius), Nicholas Rowe (The Young Sherlock Holmes – which I loooved as a kid), Gina McKee (from Mike Leigh movies and Soames’ suffering wife in Forsyte Saga) and Stephen Berkoff (the bad guy from Beverly Hills Cop and a former Brix Pick hunk). The other son? Eh – I just can’t get over his bad hair I guess.
While the show may not be completely historically accurate, much of the intrigue, scandal, plots, murders, affairs, assassinations, and conspiracies did happen; making the poster’s claim “The Original Crime Family” not only a desperate attempt to grab former viewers of The Sopranos but true as well. And really, there is no need for The Borgias to be desperate, even if it gets a slightly slow start, anyone with a penchant for this kind of thing will become an instant fan. I can’t wait to see what wickedness comes next – and even went ahead and ordered Showtime to find out.
by John Le Carre (1965)At this point I really shouldn’t be shocked that I share a common interest: a love of John Le Carre, with those greying men in neckties and with golf habits I always hear about but it still surprises me (Does this mean they’re right about Clive Cussler too?). Le Carre is a magnificent story teller, his world of spies and espionage is uniquely intriguing in that is doesn’t include gadgets, studly men and super villains but rather muddled intelligence, old men with often tired or unforgiving wives, and enemies that are vague at best. In The Looking Glass War, the vagueness couldn’t be more pronounced. Set during the Cold War in a department known only as “The Department”, some sketchy intelligence leads to even an even sketchier mission.
The “heroes” are men who thrived during the War and knew exactly their roles within it but who are now feeling ignored, confused and washed up against the less obvious tactics and rules of a War waged without guns and maneuvering. Out of date on the newest technology, flailing when it comes to covert operations and desperate for the honor and respect their previous positions use to garner, the Department headed by Leclerc is overly zealous to send a man into Germany to investigate some blurry photos with possibly significant implications. The recruited agent, a Polish, well dressed ladies man named Leiser also had his heyday years earlier but is completely unaware that he’s putting his life in the hands of those equally rusty and clumsy. After spending time with the men as they prepare for the mission one can see that tragedy is inevitable.
Le Carre always provides a realistic portrayal of spying, but apparently the frank banality of this one made it less popular than his other novels. I found it compelling and a great study of characters. Even our favorite, George Smiley makes several appearances.
It was adapted into a movie in 1969 starring Anthony Hopkins. In my usual habit, I cast it in my mind with James McAvoy as the young Avery, any actor that looks similar to Marco Pierre White as Leiser, Stephen Frye as Woolcroft, Michael Gambon as Haldane, since Alec Guinness has passed, Sir Ian McKellan as Smiley and for some reason I could only see Magnum PI’s John Hillerman as Leclerc.
directed by Masahiro Shinoda (1964)From the Japanese New Wave movement emerges this hard boiled noir. Pale Flower, of the gambling noir sub genre, is tough, cool, and stylish. Shot in such stark black and white that only slivers of the action are often visible, it takes us on a cold journey to the Tokyo underworld where addiction, desperation, skewed loyalty, and failed redemption run rampant.
It follows yakuza gangster Muraki who has just been released from prison for murder to find his old life changed. His gang’s in a truce with his rivals, he no longer yearns fpr the woman that waited for him, a young man enters his life unexpectedly, as does an strange, beautiful and mesmerizing gambling addict named Saeko.
Muraki is played with calm gravitas who barely registers emotion whether he’s falling in love or some one attempting his assassination. His contorted pain finally reveals itself in a surreal nightmare sequence that will have you wondering if Polanski saw this before making Rosemary’s Baby.
Saeko is equally enigmatic. Wildness and lunacy stir quietly behind her doe eyes. It almost makes you wonder if she were simply perfect casting for her inherent madness or if Mariko Kaga is one fine actress who does more with her vacant eyes than all the smizing in 100 cycles of ANTM (yes, I’ve taken up watching again.)
It’s funny, I usually scoff at remakes, but I often cast them in my head as I watch classics. In this case, I’d move the story to Las Vegas, focusing on rival meth gangs. Titus Welliver would be my lead with Juliette Lewis as his former lover, Joseph Gordon Levitt as his new young friend and, if she can lose the vampiness, Evan Rachel Wood perhaps as the degenerate gambler though I’d consider Amanda Seyfried or Angela Bettis.
on PBSGreat grandmothers and I rejoice! A new Upstairs Downstairs! I’ve only seen a portion of the epic first series (I mean, there are only several thousand DVDs to go through) but enough to be excited that it’s come back.
Taking place a few years after the last season ends, it reunites house keeper Rose (played by Jean Marsh, who along with co-star Dame Eileen Atkins, created the series) and 165 Eaton Place. Joining her downstairs are a mischievous maid, a brawl happy footman, a cocky handsome chauffeur, and a tee totalling butler.
Upstairs are Sir and Lady Holland who look good but so far seem drab and the eccentric, well dressed world traveling Lady Maud who brings along a monkey and an Indian secretary.
All the costumes (though Maud’s in particular) are amazing and the decor is grand and lush. There was more than one color scheme already that have me re thinking my apartment.
I am so glad you can still find stuff like this on TV. Somewhere along the way Arts and Entertainment changed from Horatio Hornblower to Pregnant Moms on Drugs. Let’s hope PBS, if it manages to survive the Republicans, never goes down the same road.
directed by Federico Fellini (1957)I expected Nights of Cabiria to be great, considering Fellini is directing, but it’s so much smaller in scale and less dramatic and surreal compared to my favorites (8 1/2 and Amarcord) that I was surprised to fall so hopelessly in love with it like I have.
Much of the magic of the film belongs to Fellini’s wife and star Giulietta Masina, whose adorable face is one of cinema’s most expressive. She manages to make the character of Cabiria, an aging prostitute in Rome touching, prickly, slightly disturbed and incredibly charming all at once.
I really can’t imagine any other actress creating such a memorable and complex woman with little more than a smile and a smirk. Of course, the cast orbiting her is also spectacular and in usual Fellini fashion, awesome to look at. Her curvy best friend Wanda is notably amazing.
Divided into small intimate vignettes of her life, you grow incredibly tender for this scrappy but deeply damaged woman. Nothing is more painful than watching someone you care about get hurt and it’s even harder you see it coming a mile away and they are oblivious.
As she walks down the street, literally brushing her self off from rock bottom and manages a tearful smile to the camera, it’s impossible not to get teary eyed yourself. It’s a rare treasure to find a film that can evoke so much compassion.
Cabiria just reminds me and affirms again that Fellini truly was a genius, whether depicting the lavish loves of the jet set or the hard knock day to day of the poor. A must see!
directed by Richard Brooks (1958)There’s no modern equivalent to the great Tennessee Williams whose witty melodrama and familial unraveling is always fascinating. So when I am in the mood for some passionate Southern squabbling, nothing fits the bill like A Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. (By the way, that’s a mood I do get in fairly often.)
From Burl Ives’ hard hearted Big Daddy to the shrill “Sister Woman” the cast is excellent. But it’s the Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman that really bring the life to the film. And they seriously both look insanely gorgeous. It’s unearthly.
Thank goodness Grace Kelly and Elvis didn’t take the offered roles, neither could capture the fire like these two.
This is one of the best Williams adaptations, second only to Night of the Iguana but it’s definitely not one of the most faithful. The toned down homosexuality enraged Williams who told people not to see the film.
The first time I saw it, I was too naive to understand the subtext (Skipper was just his BFF, right?) I’ve seen it a few times since then but I found it the most heartbreaking this go round. Maybe it just comes with getting older, the pain of life seems more acute, even if it’s just in a broken marriage and a loveless family on screen.
Of course, with Taylor’s recent passing makes this the perfect time to watch or rewatch this classic which is available on Netflix instant.
