Showing posts with label Stanley Kubrick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stanley Kubrick. Show all posts
Thursday, February 15, 2024
"Dr. Bronner's or Dr. Strangelove?" in Slackjaw Magazine
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
"Ayn Rand Reviews 12 Classic Movies" at theNewerYork
Some of you may know that in addition to my loves of filmmaking, playwriting, and singing the praises of Jean-Claude Van Damme, I have an interest in literature. I don't often plug my other publications on this site, but this is certainly a case where the two interests overlap.
Ayn Rand: not a fan of THEY LIVE.
It's a new, satirical piece that's been published by the fine folks over at theNewerYork, it's entitled "Ayn Rand Reviews 12 Classic Movies," and you can read it here. (Don't worry, John Carpenter earns a mention.) Enjoy!
(archived below after theNewerYork became defunct)
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
D: Stanley Kubrick. Starring: Douglas Rain. 160 m.
Synopsis: A sensible computer refuses to indulge five astronauts in their addiction to socialized life support.
Grade: B-
All About Eve (1950)
D: Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Starring: Anne Baxter, George Sanders. 138 m.
Synopsis: An intrepid young woman is vilified for offering a superior version of an existing product.
Grade: A
The Empire Strikes Back (1980)
D: Irvin Kershner. Starring: Billy Dee Williams, Jeremy Bulloch. 124 m.
Synopsis: After our hero is forced to sell his friends for less than their fair market value, a libertarian paradise among the clouds falls victim to government regulation.
Grade: B
Ghostbusters (1984)
D: Ivan Reitman. Starring: Bill Murray, Harold Ramis, Dan Aykroyd. 105 m.
Synopsis: Private contractors fulfill a service the municipal government is unable to provide and a shiftless green phantom's ectoplasm-subsidized lifestyle is thwarted.
Grade: A+
It's a Wonderful Life (1946)
D: Frank Capra. Starring: Lionel Barrymore. 130 m.
Synopsis: A suicidal lunatic antagonizes a pillar of the community; his negligence is rewarded with unjustified charity.
Grade: F
Miracle on 34th Street (1947)
D: George Seaton. Starring: Jerome Cowan, Porter Hall. 96 m.
Synopsis: A costumed maniac distributes handouts to unproductive, unemployable deadbeats.
Grade: D
Rebel Without a Cause (1955)
D: Nicholas Ray. Starring: James Dean, Natalie Wood. 111 m.
Synopsis: A young man's passion for unregulated car racing draws government interference.
Grade: B-
Rosemary's Baby (1968)
D: Roman Polanski. Starring: John Cassavetes, Ruth Gordon, Sidney Blackmer. 136 m.
Synopsis: A highly motivated up-and-coming actor achieves success through innovative means and builds a family in the process.
Grade: A+
Speed (1994)
D: Jan de Bont. Starring: Dennis Hopper. 116 m.
Synopsis: A freethinking idealist strikes a blow against the pork barrel of public transit while satirizing the concept of speed limits.
Grade: A-
Sunset Boulevard (1950)
D: Billy Wilder. Starring: Gloria Swanson, Cecil B. DeMille. 110 m.
Synopsis: A self-reliant woman with extraordinary talent withdraws from a society that doesn't deserve her; later, the law interferes with how she puts her private swimming pool to use.
Grade: B
Taxi Driver (1976)
D: Martin Scorsese. Starring: Harvey Keitel. 113 m.
Synopsis: A successful small business owner is harassed and ultimately murdered by an ex-government employee with ties to a progressive senator.
Grade: C
They Live (1988)
D: John Carpenter. Starring: Meg Foster. 93 m.
Synopsis: A homeless man tampers with a successful business model and a respected television network suffers property damage.
Grade: D-
Monday, January 30, 2012
Only now does it occur to me... THE PHANTOM CARRIAGE!
Only now does it occur to me... that the "father breaking down door with an axe to get at his cowering family" is an established genre.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Junta Juleil's Top 100: #80-76
80. THE LAST DAYS OF DISCO (1997, Whit Stillman)
"You know that Shakespearean admonition, 'To thine own self be true?' It's premised on the idea that 'thine own self' is something pretty good, being true to which is commendable. But what if 'thine own self' is not so good? What if it's pretty bad? Would it be better, in that case, NOT to be true to thine own self?" Welcome to Jane Austen's SATURDAY NIGHT PYREXIA, a world where the silver-tongued parry, slash, and down vodka tonics (and whisky sours) deep into an endless night of excess, crippling malaise, and the sweet, sweet disco beat. The most clever, nuanced work of art ever written with "Disco" in the title, I've said before that it "follows a circle of UHBs (Urban Haute Bourgeoisie) as they simultaneously wrestle with preconceived notions of failure AND try to get the most out of their nightlife. If you prefer your comedy subtle, intricate, and full of stinging wordplay, then LAST DAYS OF DISCO will likely rank among your all-time favorites. Stillman's characters are at once extremely lovable and hateable; they either possess no sense of propriety or far too much, they won't take 'no' for an answer, or will, cheerfully." Also, we've got Chris Eigeman as, uh, well, Chris Eigeman. And make no mistake, that's one of the best things a movie can have. One of the great comedies.
"You know that Shakespearean admonition, 'To thine own self be true?' It's premised on the idea that 'thine own self' is something pretty good, being true to which is commendable. But what if 'thine own self' is not so good? What if it's pretty bad? Would it be better, in that case, NOT to be true to thine own self?" Welcome to Jane Austen's SATURDAY NIGHT PYREXIA, a world where the silver-tongued parry, slash, and down vodka tonics (and whisky sours) deep into an endless night of excess, crippling malaise, and the sweet, sweet disco beat. The most clever, nuanced work of art ever written with "Disco" in the title, I've said before that it "follows a circle of UHBs (Urban Haute Bourgeoisie) as they simultaneously wrestle with preconceived notions of failure AND try to get the most out of their nightlife. If you prefer your comedy subtle, intricate, and full of stinging wordplay, then LAST DAYS OF DISCO will likely rank among your all-time favorites. Stillman's characters are at once extremely lovable and hateable; they either possess no sense of propriety or far too much, they won't take 'no' for an answer, or will, cheerfully." Also, we've got Chris Eigeman as, uh, well, Chris Eigeman. And make no mistake, that's one of the best things a movie can have. One of the great comedies.
79. NAKED (1993, Mike Leigh)
Ah, NAKED. A misanthropic cry unto the night. It's like FIVE EASY PIECES meets STREET TRASH. If ever there was an actor's director, it's Mike Leigh, whose rigorous rehearsal process and proclivity toward improvisation have allowed some of the finest performances of the last thirty years to flourish. David Thewlis is "Johnny," an on-the-dole-off-the-dole miscreant with scraggly beard, a bad attitude, horrifically misogynistic tendencies, and constant commentary about your "diminishing pachyderm collection" or "the 'ole Highland fling" or this or that or the other. He gravitates toward people to whom he can feel superior; it's important for him to continue believing that he's 'above it all,' and that no one is capable of understanding his suffering. His nocturnal journey takes him past a security guard who protects empty space; a sad sack waitress who sits at home and does nothing; a man who pastes retraction posters over posters for concerts that have been cancelled; and all manner of fascinating, disturbing, and well-written characters and vignettes. And who can forget Greg Cruttwell's insane, ever-snickering evil yuppie, who seemingly exists only to show that there are indeed even worse people than Johnny? Lesley Sharp is genius as the perpetual doormat, who possesses a certain command over her life despite a gullible streak, and Katrin Cartlidge plays the "wicky wacky friend Sophie" with strung-out, wounded aplomb– a truly connected performance. And yet for the hideous way the film makes you feel, it's endlessly quotable ("Ya big girl's blouse!," or "Jane...Austen...by...Emma"), and offers even greater rewards on subsequent viewings. Also: a fantastic, billowing harp and string score by Andrew Dickson and sordidly beautiful visuals courtesy of Dick Pope.
78. THE SHINING (1980, Stanley Kubrick)
Looking at this list in its entirety, it's sort of hard to believe that this is my highest-ranked Kubrick, but here it is, so I guess it must be true. It could have easily been eclipsed by A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (#88), or by 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, PATHS OF GLORY, or even THE KILLING. So there must be a logic behind it. Maybe it's because, in a way, it's his most focused film. He zeroes in, amidst the vast, solemn expanse of the Rockies (set to the sounds of another "fantastique" Wendy Carlos reimagining), into the phantasmagorically deteriorating psyche of one man, and the effect that it has on the family around him. Rarely has such an exquisite sense of foreboding, of pure, tangible dread, been built by a film, between the architecture, the empty spaces, the sounds, the explosive imagery, the sense of being watched. And, of course, there's Nicholson's terrifying, deadened stare, which is perhaps even more frightening than his notorious deranged leering! Also: the insanity of Kubrick forcing Scatman Crothers to explain "the shining" for 148 takes, or him calling up King at 3:00 AM and asking if he believes in God– yep, Kubrick's nuttiness goes a long way, too. See ya in Room 237!
77. THE PIANO (1993, Jane Campion)
I mean it's not often that a face-tattoed quasi-Maori Harvey Keitel squaring off against an axe-wielding, stuffed shirt Sam Neill over the love of a mute, piano-playin' Holly Hunter, but here we are, so I guess it happened. Years before THE LORD OF THE RINGS introduced your average joe to the natural beauty of New Zealand, Keitel lorded over the majesty of its landscapes, and he was naked at the time, too. In all seriousness, though, this film is fantastic: the swirling through-line of Michael Nyman's masterful score and the intense, committed performances preside over disparate ideas on colonialism, ownership, emancipation, nature, gender, art... People occasionally try to pin down THE PIANO, either insisting that it beautifully depicts a woman's struggle for independence, or, on the other side of the coin, saying that it shows a woman traded from one brute to another ("I want to lie together without clothes on"), but it's not a film that trades in moral absolutes; it's just a tale of love and abuse and defiance and music and fleeting moments of joy and tenderness in one of the furthest corners of the world..
76. BAD LIEUTENANT (1992, Abel Ferrara)
Keitel, passed out on a couch, suffering the ill effects of crack, meth, coke, heroin, and God knows what else; a child, a niece or nephew of some kind, clambers over his prostrate body as a vintage cartoon depicting hardworking mice blares in the background: "WE'VE DONE IT BEFORE, AND WE CAN DO IT AGAIN, ANNNND WE CAN DO IT AGAIN!!..." Just another day in the life of Harvey Keit– I mean, the "Bad Lieutenant."
This nameless "bad" lieutenant (Harvey Keitel in perhaps his most crazed and convincing portrayal yet) wanders through his waking life with the sole intent of pleasuring himself (something shown quite literally in one notorious scene involving the Lieutenant and some teenage girls which probably gave it its NC-17). As the Lieutenant investigates the rape of a nun and his gambling debts continue to escalate, he begins a simultaneous downward spiral of depravity and an upward surge toward the divine. As with almost every Abel Ferrara film, plot and coherence take a back seat to character study and a twisted look at spirituality. The Lieutenant's overindulgence in drugs, sex, gambling, petty theft, and poor parenting (amongst many other vices) leads many viewers to take an unsympathetic stance; as the film progresses, however, we see that the Lieutenant is something between wounded animal and man-child, wavering between cruel intensity and pathetic innocence as he forever nears the bottom of a barrel that never quite comes into focus. He steals food from the store in which he is investigating a robbery. Is this the bottom? He does coke off of his children's photos. Is this the bottom? Perhaps a scene between the Lieutenant and a junkie (played by Ms.45 herself, Zoe Lund, also a co-writer for the script) puts it best as she says, "Vampires are lucky, they can feed on others. We gotta eat away at ourselves." We've seen stories like this before, but Ferrara and Keitel create such a raw, low budget (under $2 million) atmosphere of existential doom that it makes MEAN STREETS look like a walk in the park.
Coming up next... Maggots and Jimmy Stewart!!!
Previously on the countdown:
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2
Ah, NAKED. A misanthropic cry unto the night. It's like FIVE EASY PIECES meets STREET TRASH. If ever there was an actor's director, it's Mike Leigh, whose rigorous rehearsal process and proclivity toward improvisation have allowed some of the finest performances of the last thirty years to flourish. David Thewlis is "Johnny," an on-the-dole-off-the-dole miscreant with scraggly beard, a bad attitude, horrifically misogynistic tendencies, and constant commentary about your "diminishing pachyderm collection" or "the 'ole Highland fling" or this or that or the other. He gravitates toward people to whom he can feel superior; it's important for him to continue believing that he's 'above it all,' and that no one is capable of understanding his suffering. His nocturnal journey takes him past a security guard who protects empty space; a sad sack waitress who sits at home and does nothing; a man who pastes retraction posters over posters for concerts that have been cancelled; and all manner of fascinating, disturbing, and well-written characters and vignettes. And who can forget Greg Cruttwell's insane, ever-snickering evil yuppie, who seemingly exists only to show that there are indeed even worse people than Johnny? Lesley Sharp is genius as the perpetual doormat, who possesses a certain command over her life despite a gullible streak, and Katrin Cartlidge plays the "wicky wacky friend Sophie" with strung-out, wounded aplomb– a truly connected performance. And yet for the hideous way the film makes you feel, it's endlessly quotable ("Ya big girl's blouse!," or "Jane...Austen...by...Emma"), and offers even greater rewards on subsequent viewings. Also: a fantastic, billowing harp and string score by Andrew Dickson and sordidly beautiful visuals courtesy of Dick Pope.
78. THE SHINING (1980, Stanley Kubrick)
Looking at this list in its entirety, it's sort of hard to believe that this is my highest-ranked Kubrick, but here it is, so I guess it must be true. It could have easily been eclipsed by A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (#88), or by 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, PATHS OF GLORY, or even THE KILLING. So there must be a logic behind it. Maybe it's because, in a way, it's his most focused film. He zeroes in, amidst the vast, solemn expanse of the Rockies (set to the sounds of another "fantastique" Wendy Carlos reimagining), into the phantasmagorically deteriorating psyche of one man, and the effect that it has on the family around him. Rarely has such an exquisite sense of foreboding, of pure, tangible dread, been built by a film, between the architecture, the empty spaces, the sounds, the explosive imagery, the sense of being watched. And, of course, there's Nicholson's terrifying, deadened stare, which is perhaps even more frightening than his notorious deranged leering! Also: the insanity of Kubrick forcing Scatman Crothers to explain "the shining" for 148 takes, or him calling up King at 3:00 AM and asking if he believes in God– yep, Kubrick's nuttiness goes a long way, too. See ya in Room 237!
77. THE PIANO (1993, Jane Campion)
I mean it's not often that a face-tattoed quasi-Maori Harvey Keitel squaring off against an axe-wielding, stuffed shirt Sam Neill over the love of a mute, piano-playin' Holly Hunter, but here we are, so I guess it happened. Years before THE LORD OF THE RINGS introduced your average joe to the natural beauty of New Zealand, Keitel lorded over the majesty of its landscapes, and he was naked at the time, too. In all seriousness, though, this film is fantastic: the swirling through-line of Michael Nyman's masterful score and the intense, committed performances preside over disparate ideas on colonialism, ownership, emancipation, nature, gender, art... People occasionally try to pin down THE PIANO, either insisting that it beautifully depicts a woman's struggle for independence, or, on the other side of the coin, saying that it shows a woman traded from one brute to another ("I want to lie together without clothes on"), but it's not a film that trades in moral absolutes; it's just a tale of love and abuse and defiance and music and fleeting moments of joy and tenderness in one of the furthest corners of the world..
76. BAD LIEUTENANT (1992, Abel Ferrara)
Keitel, passed out on a couch, suffering the ill effects of crack, meth, coke, heroin, and God knows what else; a child, a niece or nephew of some kind, clambers over his prostrate body as a vintage cartoon depicting hardworking mice blares in the background: "WE'VE DONE IT BEFORE, AND WE CAN DO IT AGAIN, ANNNND WE CAN DO IT AGAIN!!..." Just another day in the life of Harvey Keit– I mean, the "Bad Lieutenant."
This nameless "bad" lieutenant (Harvey Keitel in perhaps his most crazed and convincing portrayal yet) wanders through his waking life with the sole intent of pleasuring himself (something shown quite literally in one notorious scene involving the Lieutenant and some teenage girls which probably gave it its NC-17). As the Lieutenant investigates the rape of a nun and his gambling debts continue to escalate, he begins a simultaneous downward spiral of depravity and an upward surge toward the divine. As with almost every Abel Ferrara film, plot and coherence take a back seat to character study and a twisted look at spirituality. The Lieutenant's overindulgence in drugs, sex, gambling, petty theft, and poor parenting (amongst many other vices) leads many viewers to take an unsympathetic stance; as the film progresses, however, we see that the Lieutenant is something between wounded animal and man-child, wavering between cruel intensity and pathetic innocence as he forever nears the bottom of a barrel that never quite comes into focus. He steals food from the store in which he is investigating a robbery. Is this the bottom? He does coke off of his children's photos. Is this the bottom? Perhaps a scene between the Lieutenant and a junkie (played by Ms.45 herself, Zoe Lund, also a co-writer for the script) puts it best as she says, "Vampires are lucky, they can feed on others. We gotta eat away at ourselves." We've seen stories like this before, but Ferrara and Keitel create such a raw, low budget (under $2 million) atmosphere of existential doom that it makes MEAN STREETS look like a walk in the park.
Coming up next... Maggots and Jimmy Stewart!!!
Previously on the countdown:
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Junta Juleil's Top 100: #90-86
90. THE USUAL SUSPECTS (1995, Bryan Singer)
89. GREY GARDENS (1975, Albert & David Maysles)
88. A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1971, Stanley Kubrick)
87. TALES OF HOFFMANN (1951, Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger)
86. RIO BRAVO (1958, Howard Hawks)
John Carpenter's favorite movie and my most-beloved Hawks. One might accuse Carpy of overindulging in imitation (ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13, GHOSTS OF MARS), but the set-up is too damned fun for even Hawks to resist– he remade it twice himself! (EL DORADO and RIO LOBO). What we got here is a stalwart sheriff (John Wayne) determined to make a solitary stand against a horde of voracious outlaws. Of course, there's a drunk (Dean Martin), a cripple (the adorably hilarious Walter Brennan), an up-and-comer-guitar-slingin'-show-off (Ricky Nelson), and a inscrutable, hard-drinkin' lady (Angie Dickinson) waiting in the wings, not yet sure what parts they'll play. The eventual shoot-outs and the gut-mashin' pay-offs are thrilling indeed, but the movie's not about them; it's about character development, it's about waiting, it's about the forging of regular dudes into men of action. It's got comic relief, silly romance, nail-biting suspense, but, most of all, a genuine depth of story, of character, of locale. It's the sort of movie that people mean when they say "Boy-o, they don't make 'em like that anymore."
Coming up next: Harry Dean Stanton, crumpled metal perversions, and eyeball-popping insanity!
Previously on the countdown:
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2
A heist film that's at once fun and fatalistic, it's cleverly written and incredibly well-constructed. However, its fanboyish following and unfortunate susceptibility to pea-brained parody certainly threaten to undermine any prospective "Greatness." But after a handful of viewings across the past decade and a half, I've come to the conclusion that it really holds up– John Ottman's flowing, occasionally beautiful, occasionally malevolent score; Christopher McQuarrie's razor-edged but never self-congratulatory dialogue; Kevin Spacey's furtive, crippled sad sack; Gabriel Byrne's classy Euro-gangster; Kevin Pollak's smartassed grease monkey; Benicio Del Toro's fashionable, generally incomprehensible sidekick; Pete Postlethwaite's ominous litigator; Chazz Palminteri's loud-mouthed, thick-necked cop; even Stephen Baldwin makes for a believably rugged gunman. And even beyond the intricacies of the now-notorious plot, there's plenty of layers to uncover here: blue collar (criminal) heroes overwhelmed by shadowy, international corporations; homosexual undertones fused with themes of criminality and counterculture that run far deeper than the surface gag of "going straight"; strange mirrorings of THE WIZARD OF OZ; and, hell, bit parts by Paul "EATING RAOUL" Bartel and Dan "COMMANDO" Hedaya. Yep, I still stand by this movie.
89. GREY GARDENS (1975, Albert & David Maysles)
Perhaps the ultimate experience in "cinéma vérité," GREY GARDENS observes the goings-on at the eponymous, ramshackle mansion which is home to a pair of reclusive, ex-high society Bouviers who go by the sobriquets "Big" and "Little" Edie. In turns funny, tragic, horrifying, heart-warming, and simply hard to watch, the Maysles brothers cross that sterile, journalistic boundary, going beyond simple exploitation and into a deeper truth; perhaps they even form a makeshift family along the way. It's a film about decay and aristocracy, sure, but its aims are chiefly humanistic– beneath each mould'ring shutter and crumbling wall we find alternations of genuine vibrancy and misplaced dreams. One of the great documentaries.
88. A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1971, Stanley Kubrick)
The sort of film that was my all-time favorite when I was seventeen, but now, apparently, it's somewhere closer to #88. Regardless, it's a work of operatic beauty and hideous ultra-violence, one of quasi-futuristic daydreams and elaborate linguistic fascinations, of oppressive institutionalization and unhinged criminality. Based on Anthony Burgess' novel of moral choice (a novel which I highly recommend, along with other Burgess classics like ONE HAND CLAPPING, ENDERBY, and THE LONG DAY WANES), Kubrick's film really feels like an event; a larger than life, more than occasionally grotesque extravaganza of free will and urban decay. Wendy Carlos' electronic reimaginings of Purcell, Beethoven, and Rossini lend the film an evocative, dystopian soundscape, punctuating the drama, in turns, with black comedy and Stygian dread. And how can I neglect to mention Malcolm McDowell, whose volatile, darkly enthusiastic portrayal has come to define the film and its place in history. Also, Patrick Magee's completely over-the-top, eyebrow-indicating appearance as a revenge-seeking writer is well worth the price of admission.
87. TALES OF HOFFMANN (1951, Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger)
Hot damn– TALES OF HOFFMANN! The (Techni)colors, the sets, the choreography– pure, radiant, cinematic spectacle that has irrevocably and personally shaped filmmakers from George A. Romero to Martin Scorsese to Francis Ford Coppola. Powell and Pressburger's definitive adaptation of Jacques Offenbach's renowned opera is a smorgasboard of eye candy, enchanting harmonies, and morbid reverie. It's absolutely absorbing; I defy anyone to watch the first twenty minutes and not find themselves enthralled by the movement, by the dancers, by the overwhelming waves of joie de vivre and frenzied emotion... Eh, I'll shut up for now and let the damn thing speak for itself:
86. RIO BRAVO (1958, Howard Hawks)
John Carpenter's favorite movie and my most-beloved Hawks. One might accuse Carpy of overindulging in imitation (ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13, GHOSTS OF MARS), but the set-up is too damned fun for even Hawks to resist– he remade it twice himself! (EL DORADO and RIO LOBO). What we got here is a stalwart sheriff (John Wayne) determined to make a solitary stand against a horde of voracious outlaws. Of course, there's a drunk (Dean Martin), a cripple (the adorably hilarious Walter Brennan), an up-and-comer-guitar-slingin'-show-off (Ricky Nelson), and a inscrutable, hard-drinkin' lady (Angie Dickinson) waiting in the wings, not yet sure what parts they'll play. The eventual shoot-outs and the gut-mashin' pay-offs are thrilling indeed, but the movie's not about them; it's about character development, it's about waiting, it's about the forging of regular dudes into men of action. It's got comic relief, silly romance, nail-biting suspense, but, most of all, a genuine depth of story, of character, of locale. It's the sort of movie that people mean when they say "Boy-o, they don't make 'em like that anymore."
Coming up next: Harry Dean Stanton, crumpled metal perversions, and eyeball-popping insanity!
Previously on the countdown:
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2
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