2009 Capsule Reviews, Part 3: The Limits of Control, The Hurt Locker, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, and A Serious Man

Well, I've tried to watch as many 2009 films as possible in the past two weeks, but a co-worker got sick and I had to sub all week -- so I was teaching from 8am - 7:30pm -- thus squelching all of my movie-watching possibilities during the day (I normally teach from 3 - 7:30).  There are more than a few movies I had planned to watch that I just didn't get the opportunity to, but I'll list those in a later post.  I'm hoping to get my year-end review/2nd Anniversary post up sometime tomorrow or Tuesday, so for now enjoy these hastily written capsules...my last reviews for the films of 2009.

The Limits of Control
 

The Limits of Control is part Ghost Dog and part Coffee and Cigarettes, meshing those two previous Jarmusch experiments and creating the movie, it seems, he was building towards this whole time. The film is like a great ambient rock album (or as the kids call it these days "Dream Pop")…you just kind of drop the needle and go with the flow of the music. The film meanders from scene to scene, but what an intoxicating meandering it is! Jarmusch always makes films that leave one in a weird state of reverie – whether one likes that or not is what makes the auteur so polarizing – and The Limits of Control is no different as it makes no qualms about taking its sweet time with what it's doing. Either you're into this movie or you're not…again, keeping with album metaphor, either you like it or you don't; and sometimes these things grow on you (I recommend seeing this movie more than once) the more you let the music (or in this case the imagery and peculiar dialogue) marinate. I've read other places that film is in the vein of the great French New Wave filmmaker Jacque Rivette. Here's the deal: I know enough about Rivette's work to notice what Jarmusch is doing here, and yet I'm not familiar enough with Rivette's work to really know what Jarmusch is doing here…nevertheless, that shouldn't stop you (it didn't stop me) from seeing what is a brilliant genre exercise from one of the true auteurs working today.

The Hurt Locker

There's nothing much I can add to the million other glowing accolades this film has received. I've always liked Kathryn Bigelow, and I've always thought that she's one of the more underrated action directors (if you haven't seen the brilliant Strange Days yet I highly recommend you rectify that problem). I just have to ape what everyone else is saying about this movie: tense action scenes that are brilliantly staged, a wonderful performance by Jeremy Renner, and a great storyline that shows how these guys love war because of the tension and excitement it brings to their lives; all of these elements mesh perfectly to create a refreshingly apolitical war film that snuck up on a lot of people upon its initial release. Thankfully more people are starting to see the movie thanks to the award machine, and I can only hope that Bigelow – a James Cameron apprentice – can beat her mentor come award time for the best action film of the year. The Hurt Locker is what an action film should be, and even though I enjoyed elements of Avatar, it's a tad upsetting that it's the action movie everyone is talking about right now. Bigelow knows how to do action right (if you haven't done so I highly recommend looking at Point Break with new eyes…it's one of the best action films of the 90's), and The Hurt Locker is a perfect example of her skills. It's definitely her masterpiece.

The Fantastic Mr. Fox


Mention the great montage (which is typical of Anderson) when the Badger attorney (Bill Murray) gives his inventory on the seedy tactics (no pun intended) of the farmers named Boggis, Bunce, and Bean (who own farms that Fox plans on stealing from)…it reminded me of the standout scene in The
Life Aquatic where the viewer is given the superlative tour of the Belafonte. The voice acting by the entire cast (Clooney and Streep being the only non-Anderson regulars) is top-notch, and Anderson and his editor Andrew Wesiblum construct a franticly paced story (the first part of the story feels like it flies by as we see Fox's three-pronged plan go through its preliminary stages and then we get to see it put into effect…these moments – along with a montage set to people singing along with a banjo around a campfire and a fight between Fox and Rat in a High Voltage area – are the highlight of the film) that is infectious in its whimsy and energy. Essentially what we have here is an animated, 87 minute, Wes Anderson film; however, I enjoyed this film (I think it's time for people, and I've been as guilty as anyone, to stop being apprehensive about films just because they're animated) far more than Anderson's other whimsical affair, The Life Aquatic. Well…just what the cuss am I trying to say? This is one of the best film experiences of the year, and I was really surprised (even though I love Anderson's work) that I was so into every frame of this film.

A Serious Man

The Coen's darkly comic, Job-like tale is obviously one of the most personal films the brothers have made. Taking place in suburban Minneapolis (where the brothers grew up) the film centers around Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg who fits in nicely with the Coen universe) whose life is just one bad piece of news after another. The film is essentially about the absurdity of life, and the even more absurd practice of trying to make sense of that absurdity. This polarization – absurdity vs. certainty – is dealt with in the typically bleak and darkly comic Coen manner. His job, a professor of math who fills his board up with all kinds of proofs, is the perfect metaphor for what the brothers Coen are getting at here. Job-like metaphors and Yiddish symbolism (the film opens with a six minute short film that introduced me to the term dybbuk) flood the everyday occurrences of Larry. The whole idea of things "not making sense" is humorous enough, but the Coen's always look to take things deeper, evidenced by the discussion he has with a confused student: "The stories are just illustrative; the math is how it really works." And sure enough the Coen's hilariously juxtapose the confused Larry with a backdrop of a giant blackboard filled with a proof that is meant to explain mysteries away, or the great scene where he's talking with his attorney (Adam Arkin) and they are surrounded by weighty tomes, a perfect metaphor for the film as knowledge is always bearing down on the protagonist.

"What does all of this mean?" is another question that is broached in the film, and I like the way the Coen's let things just play out in their own weird, humorous way. For instance the scene where Larry has been asked to lunch by his wife and her lover, Sy; they inform him that they think it would be best if he moved out…of his own house. Compound that absurd moment with funny little scenes where he gets emergency calls from his son at work because "F-Troop" is 'coming in fuzzy', or where a Rabbi tells him you can't know everything…which Larry replies "it sounds like you don't know anything."

The Coen's central question – is it important to know everything – is an interesting one, and like Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds there's a lot to explicate here. But I think what tends to get lost in all that juicy and more than worthwhile dissecting is that the movie is just really damn entertaining. A Serious Man is darkly comic and typical of the Coen's who specialize in wince-inducing humor. The ending is sure to confuse and befuddle those who don't understand that never has anything made sense with the Coen's upon an initial viewing and initial reflection. You have to let their films swim around in your head for days.

A special shout-out to Carter Burwell whose score is one of the best things of the film, and like he did with the 1999 film Being John Malkovich he creates a starkly effective score that is able to elicit the appropriate emotions. Plus, this has to be the most brilliant use of Jefferson Airplanes "Somebody to Love" I've ever heard.

DVD Review: Le Cercle Rouge

There’s a certain kind of aura to Jean-Pierre Melville’s films; a kind of gravitational pull that sucks you into the story and places you in the most wonderful kind of reverie. True, there isn’t much that “happens” in Melville’s films, but they are always teeming with a confidence, a certain suaveness that is seen through all of Melville’s characters, especially Corey and Vogel from Melville’s 1970 crime masterpiece Le Cercle Rouge. When one watches Melville you know you are in the hands of a master.

Like all of Melville’s films there is a deliberate pace, with minimal post production, that allows the viewer to sit back and fully take in what is happening on the screen. There may be a scene that goes on for five minutes that contains two people looking at each other, but these scenes are never plodding, rather they allow the viewer to fill in the blanks, drawing their own conclusions about the histories Melville’s characters might have shared. When you watch a Melville film you are in the presence of a master hypnotist; it’s a state of reverie you won’t find in any of the other French New Wave filmmakers – who always seemed to want to distract you with a barrage of freeze frames and other New Wave tactics. Rohmer, Resnais, Malle, Goddard, and Truffaut; all of them shrink in comparison to Melville, and Le Cercle Rouge is a perfect film to admit as evidence.



Loneliness is not what you come to expect from crime/caper films; nor are deep existential themes: themes of chance, happenstance, and a general “what if?” feeling. Where’s the fun in that? Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Cercle Rouge tackles some of these unconventional themes (for a crime film, anyway); however, it’s also an utter joy to watch in addition to being deeply contemplative.

The film begins with a quote from the Buddhist Ramayana that gives the viewer some insight into how the film will play out. The quote mentions that people who perform the same duties will eventually meet within the red circle. Luck, chance, or happenstance is what guides these people into the red circle. The two characters who encounter each other through chance are Vogel (Gian-Maria Volonte), a recently escaped convict, and Corey (Alain Delon), a recently released convict. Corey knows of a heist that “can’t miss” from a police guard in the prison who is actually friends with Corey.

Corey, upon his release, pays a visit to his old mob boss Rico. Corey steals his gun and some money and then tells him he’ll pay him back. He then leaves to play some billiards late at night (an old stomping ground perhaps), and it is here we see what Corey is capable of doing as he quickly dispatches two henchmen sent from Rico. Corey then buys a car, stops to eat at a restaurant, and there is when he and Vogel will meet.

Vogel has just escaped from a train, being guarded by policeman Mattei (André Bourvil). Mattei knows Vogel better than anyone, and like any good Melville film, the opening of the film is played out with little to no exposition; so, it’s on the viewer to try to fill in the blanks and the assumed long standing cat/mouse relationship these two have. In a wonderfully executed (and mostly silent) escape scene, Vogel finds himself at the diner that Corey is at. He hops in the trunk of his car, and when Corey is at the next check point (the police have set up barricades to look for Vogel at this point) Corey claims that the dealership never gave him the key for the trunk, when at an earlier check point, before Vogel jumped in his car, he opened the trunk, no problem. Again, this is one of those brilliant little moments that Melville stages that says so much by saying so little, and the onus, once again is on the viewer to make that connection.

Corey and Vogel finally meet as Corey drives out into the middle of nowhere and tell Vogel he can come out of the trunk and that he’s safe. Corey tosses him some cigarettes as a sign of friendship, and these two professional criminals can tell just by looking at each other that they can trust one another, and that Corey saved Vogel because of the unwritten code that criminals abide by.

That’s essentially your set up for what is a fantastic, and highly influential, crime film. Vogel and Corey recruit Jansen (Yves Montand), an ex-police sharpshooter to join their jewel heist plans. Mattei, searching for Vogel still, now realizes that he may be searching for more people. He is under a lot of pressure from his boss, the police director (who is pure existential style gives a speech about how all men are guilty) so he visits an old informant friend Santi, the owner of the nightclub, to help him act as an informant and bring down Corey and Vogel.

The plot is intricate, but executed in the most simplistic, minimalist way possible – that is not to say that the film isn’t deep; rather, its simplicity allows for those wonderful moments of contemplation I alluded to earlier: where the viewer is drawing their own conclusions and creating their own past histories for these characters. The film contains scene after scene of brilliantly understated coolness. It all leads to one of the most brilliantly executed and taut heist scenes I’ve ever seen in a film – all without the aid of post production or unnecessary expository dialogue during the scene. The heist scene is at least 30 minutes long, but the scene is filmed as if the viewer were doing the job with the criminals. It’s highly effective and never boring; it’s definitely the highlight of the film, and Melville didn’t have to ‘sex’ up the scene to make it more ‘interesting’ or ‘entertaining’ for the viewer – he trusts the scene to be interesting enough to keep the viewer on the edge of their seat. That is what makes Melville’s films so fascinating: he doesn’t have to say much for the viewer to draw some pretty deep conclusions about the film. Plus, compounding on all of that is the very basic element (and ultimate goal of film) that this film is extremely entertaining.

Melville has had somewhat of a resurgence in the last ten years. He’s now getting the recognition as one of the premiere New Waver’s, and his influence is all over the films of directors like Steven Soderbergh (more aesthetically than anything) and especially Jim Jarmusch (Ghost Dog has a lot of Melville in it, think of the deliberate pace of that film, as well as other Jarmusch films that are existential exercises that say very little and allow the view to contemplate the film has it is happening).

His Influence on Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Twelve, specifically, is apparent: everything from the locations, to the way they pull of the heist, to the way Soderbergh dresses up Casey Affleck to look like Corey. Soderbergh has always been indebted to the French New Wave with his copious amounts of zooms (both pulling in and out) and his love jazzy music accompanying his camera on a long pull in, usually focusing on a woman walking down the street (I’m specifically thinking of the introduction to Catherine-Zeta Jones’ character in Ocean’s Twelve; very New Wave). So, it’s great to see these two great filmmakers taking after a somewhat forgotten (until recently) figure of the French New Wave.

I mentioned earlier about the loneliness found in the film: this is not the style of crime film that Scorsese would popularize a few years later with Mean Streets, then in the 90’s with Goodfellas, and culminating in Casino: all films about professional criminals (specifically Italian mobsters/gangsters in Scorsese’s world) that experience varying degrees of success, only to come crashing down by the films climax. So too do Vargas and Corey experience some good times, mostly in regards to their new found friendship – the heist goes off well, too – but how fitting that Melville end his suave, confident crime film about suave, confident criminals with his two main characters shot and dirtied, their downfall is not as operatic or theatrical as Scorsese’s gangsters, but it’s just as tragic.

As mentioned earlier the film is not merely an existential contemplative exercise – it has style to spare. Melville’s aesthetics are nothing like his fellow New Waver’s, he is far more subtle, but Le Cercle Rouge’s attitude is in the same spirit as Godard’s film, for instance, and you’re always certain that you’re in the hands of a master. Melville gives most of his actors the onus of carrying the attitude and portraying the suave criminals, so that the effect is far more subtle. Consider Corey: he never shoots anyone, but when he holds a gun, he looks like he knows what he’s doing with it. Look at the way Melville’s characters smoke a cigarette – countless filmmakers have probably coached their actors on how to be cool by referencing Melville, and specifically this film. That attitude and style elevate it from being simply a morose, existential character study about the loneliness of criminals (although that is definitely lurking in Melville’s films, especially Le Samourai). Melville, more than anything else, seems interested in the camaraderie, the friendship of this rag-tag group of criminals that occurred through mere happenstance. If Corey’s trunk wouldn’t have been available, then he would have never met Vogel.

About chance: this is something that as a professional criminal you would not subscribe to. Look at the contrast between the meticulously planned heist at the end of the film, and the chance meeting between Corey and Vogel. Melville likes to play with the notion of happenstance and how it ultimately acts as the downfall for these criminals; which makes sense, because really a criminal who relies solely on luck is bound to get caught.

The film is also a masterpiece in mis-en-scene. Consider the still above: Corey is talking with Jansen about selling off the jewelery they just stole. Jansen explains to Corey that he doesn't want his cut of the loot. Corey has freed him of his demons (there is a very bizarre nightmare scene as we are introduced to Jansen, as obviously he did something as a policeman that he wasn't proud of) and that is enough of a payment. An odd thing to say for a criminal, and look at the picture on the wall as Corey and Jansen are talking. There's a gun pointed a Corey, knowing that he is about to set foot in a trap Melville slyly foreshadows Corey's suicide mission of selling the jewelry to someone he's never sold to before. It's a great piece of blocking by Melville, and it's evident throughout his films.

I have a special affinity for Melville: when I was about 13 I was a huge fan of John Woo, especially is beautiful ballet of violence The Killer. When I read an interview with Woo stating that Melville’s Le Samourai was the inspiration for his film, specifically the main character played by Chow Yun-Fat, I immediately ran out to find a copy of Melville’s film. Well the film was a little too slow for this 13 year old, but something did indeed happen while I watched the film: I realized that film didn’t exist just to keep us busy with bullets flying and explosions on screen. My eyes were opened to the possibilities of what film could offer; so, even though I kind of thought Le Samourai was boring then, I stuck with it until the end, and found it to be one of the most rewarding film experiences of my life. It ushered me into a new kind of film-going experience, an experience that now included an array of films from all over the world, and I now saw that film could be thought about during the viewing of the film: Melville’s film invited me, offered me the opportunity to contemplate what the film meant in between scenes, not just when the credits rolled. That’s when I was hooked. So even though my assessment of Le Cercle Rouge may be a bit biased, containing just the slightest taint of nostalgia, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. It’s a great entertainment, a great contemplative film, and a great example of why the French New Wave was so hugely popular and influential.



There is a remake in the works with Chow Yun-Fat, Liam Neeson, and (gulp) Orlando Bloom as Corey. You can read about some of the details on imdb.