Perhapses

Johnny: the Cheeky Nihilist

Britt — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 00:45:44 +0000

In Mike Leigh’s Naked (1993), Johnny (David Thewlis) is a character so despicably likeable that it becomes too easy to dismiss the character, and the rest of the film, with simple sweeping negations. Calling the film, or the character, misogynistic might create an easy mask for one’s own enjoyment of the film rather than aptly describe it. Without belaboring the point for long, the misogynistic label is more apt for those Hollywood rom-coms that rely on the female character to find a man to fulfill her needs or desires. Depiction and intent are not the same thing.

Naked isnt’ a misogynistic film. It does, however, deal with the situations of women who don’t hold an equal footing in society. They are not treated well by the two primary male characters, Johnny and Sebastian (who is also called Jeremy). The brutality, however difficult it is to watch, is true to their positions in this world. The film makes this clear from the opening scene, leaving enough ambiguity about the action taking place without telling the viewer if it is right or wrong.

Johnny functions as a mirror, showing people how they are victims of a world that has no compassion for their plights. This plays out through Johnny physically and verbally. Even when Johnny himself becomes a victim, he knows it’s just part of the cycle. As Johnny himself says in the film, he fled Manchester to avoid a beating and got one in London instead. As much as he can’t avoid what’s coming to him, he gets it anyway. This, viewer, is what you have coming to you.

Don't let him in.

The film unfolds through Johnny’s encounters with other people. He arrives in London at the flat of an old girlfriend but meets her unemployed roommate Sophie (Katrin Cartlidge) instead. Sophie falls for the quick-witted Johnny instantly, and they engage in (normal) sexual intercourse after Johnny lambasts his old flame Louise (Lesley Sharp) when she comes home from work. Johnny’s disdain for Louise’s new life hints at his own hurt over their former relationship. It’s a familiar tactic used by men to mask their feelings.

Sophie becomes a bit too attached to Johnny, forcing him to flee their flat for the cold world outside. Out on the street, he encounters a Scottish man looking for his girlfriend. The entire sequence between the three outsiders on the street is one of the best of the film. It not only reveals Johnny’s more compassionate and playful side but also his understanding of the meaninglessness of his act of helping the Scottish runaways find each other.

Johnny moves on again

After Johnny’s efforts to do good are ruined by the ignorance and selfishness of those he helped, he is left without any acknowledgement of his kindness. This scene exemplifies the underpinnings of Johnny’s caustic nature, which unfortunately plays itself out with those closest to him. How often are we kinder to strangers than to those closest to us? Johnny represents this notion in the extreme.

It is only when the tables get turned on Johnny that a sense of compassion toward his character is able to form. Yet just as that compassion gets warmed up, his brutality shines through again. After a long scene where he trades theories of life with a night watchman, Johnny visits the watchman’s object of interest: an older woman across the street who dances alone in front of her apartment window. Johnny pays her a visit while the night watchman looks on from his darkened office building. Johnny’s actions leave them both feeling violated.

Johnny meets his match.

The watchman, like the viewer, is not amused by Johnny’s behavior. When the watchman ends their brief relationship over breakfast, Johnny quickly finds someone else to engage in his game. The quiet and sultry waitress at the cafe is initially intrigued by Johnny, silently allowing him to follow her home. Johnny provides her with an invitation to let him come in, which she takes.

Once inside, however, Johnny tones down his attitude, almost reaching out to this quiet, dark woman. He uses his wit to get her to open up, but she only opens up a can of beans. For the first time in the film, Johnny meets someone who is able to disarm him through her own silence. Her face seems to hide something that Johnny can’t unearth. And just as he is settled and cozy, Johnny gets a taste of what it is like to be on the other side of falling for a person who can only push you away.

Are you with me, love?

Johnny’s London getaway continues its decline, but he doesn’t let that stop him from taking a piss with the recently returned third roommate back at the flat where his adventure started. There is even a brief moment that seems to break the fourth wall, almost a wink at the viewer who is watching closely enough. Johnny, perhaps, has been playing with all of us.

Mr. Thewlis read extensively in order to bring Johnny to life but, unfortunately, made him a bit too much of a religious kook rather than a philosopher. While I appreciate the excellent work that David Thewlis put in to improvising Johnny’s dialogue, I would have made some changes to his reading list. If he had read Nietzsche instead of Nostradamus, the result would have been more powerful and more in line with the character’s actions.

Johnny’s nihilism comes off as a cruel joke, on whom I’m not sure. Johnny provoked the other characters by tearing apart their ideals, yet his prophetic rantings could be too easily torn apart. Unfortunately, Johnny did not sink to the depths of a proper nihilist. Instead he chose to hang on to a few cherished notions and myths, which is perhaps why he found himself in so much trouble. As much as I like the film, Johnny remains a passive nihilist. The search for the active nihilist continues.

Reptilian (White Elephant Film Blogathon)

Britt — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 05:51:51 +0000

Everyone has a breaking point. Even a two-hundred-foot tall creature that I won’t describe as Godzilla-like. Instead, I will use the description of the film‘s Capt. Parker, played so eloquently by Mr. Briant Wells: “Compared to this guy, Godzilla is a pussy.” This creature, who is named Yonggary (pronounced “young Gary”) and was awakened from a 200-million-year nap, is intent on destroying the world. But Yonggary, despite his fire-breathing ways, decides to do something no other gigantic film monster (King Kong wasn’t a monster!) has ever done in film history. He has a change of heart.

Yonggary is not sure what to make of these people

The reason for Yonggary’s soul-searching belies his own attackers. Such a weak effort is thrown together by the United National Defense Agency (UNDA, more on them later) that Yonggary develops a sense of pity for humankind. He cannot bear to cause them any further pain and suffering because they seem to be doing such a fine job of it themselves. Or, better yet, this may be the first case of a CGI creature that senses the film’s directing, acting, set design, writing, etc., is so horrific that he doesn’t stick to the script.

Whatever his motives, Yonggary, interested in checking out the changes in the world since he last saw it two hundred million years ago, grows alarmed when the military forces begin attacking him with missle-equipped helicopters. Helicopters are a great first-strike option because they provide an easy target for extremely large creatures to knock out of the sky. They are such an easy target that the difference between the number of helicopters remaining in the sky versus those that have been knocked out of the sky seems irrelevant at any given point. Actually, continuity between any two things in this film is irrelevant at any given point.

Missed me!

After building up Yonggary’s confidence by letting him have some easy pickings, UNDA switches into high gear, sending out at least a dozen fighter jets. These jets, however, must have been stocked with a bad load of sidewinder rockets, which were easily dodged by the slow-moving reptilian, and caused extensive damage to the downtown cityscape. This is the point where even the viewer wonders who the real enemy is. The President of the U.S. himself calls the general in charge, giving him a five-hour(!) deadline to stop the monster without killing everyone in the vicinity or he’s going to use the nuclear option, which would kill everyone in the vicinity. The five-hour clock starts ticking right away. The tension builds.

Since the initial attack plans failed and since Yonggary himself is planning to unleash the nuclear option by heading over to destroy a nuclear power plant, UNDA calls in its most sophisticated weapon–the jetpack. And not just a jetpack. Some of the best soldiers available (at least a dozen) strapped into jetpacks. And not just jetpacks and the best soldiers available wearing those jetpacks. The soldiers also had guns. Large guns, one of which is called The Hellraiser.

The elite jetpack ranger force

These elite soldiers firing their guns usually missed their large, static target, but when they did hit Yonggary, as with all other ammunition, it had no effect. The CGI artists were perhaps too busy learning their trade to think through every little problem, such as what happens when high-powered missiles and gunfire strike a huge creature. They did, however, spend lots of time on the explosions of missiles, planes, and fireballs hitting buildings.

United National Defense Agency collage

One of the underlying reasons that UNDA was unable to develop a decent response to Yonggary is their branding. While their offices make it perfectly clear where you are, you get the feeling they’re not the most professional outfit in town. This accompanying collage of four screenshots from a scene where the head of the top-secret space agency meets with UNDA generals makes it clear that the problems with the agency run from top to bottom.

One of the more difficult parts of reviewing this film is deciding which aspect suffers the most. While the special effects and the acting take top honors, special merit should also go to the set design, followed closely by writing, if you can call a hodge-podge of cribbed lines from other films writing.

Capt. Parker put too much ketchup on his hot dog.

Wait! Speaking of writing, did I mention that aliens were the ones controlling Yonggary? How could I forget such an important detail? A couple aliens (yes, literally two aliens) had this big spaceship hidden behind the moon. They beamed instructions down to Yonggary to get him to wreak havoc on the earth. Every once in a while they would beam him up to bring them take out as well.

Unfortunately, for the aliens, one of the gun-toting, jetpack-wearing soldiers flew a suicide mission into Yonggary’s head that disabled the mechanism by which Yonggary received information from the aliens. As soon as the connection was broken, Yonggary realized how he had been used by the aliens and instantly went to setting things right by saving Capt. Parker from a falling building.

As soon as Yonggary shows his compassionate side, the people of the city lose all fear of this giant creature and come out of hiding. But they don’t have much time to marvel at their new friend. The secret-space-agency guy has a secret black box with a red light on it and has summoned a secret different monster to come kill Yonggary! This new monster arrives via John Carpenter’s The Thing and the final climatic battle begins. With the countdown nearing 00:00:00;00, it seems all is lost.

How to train your Yonggary.

As the two creatures battle each other in the heart of the city, the viewer can only focus on the amazing display of power because the special effects start to crumble like the buildings surrounding the creatures. I expected the film to get stuck and melt at any second but then I remembered I was watching a DVD. Just as I was about to give up, the special effects crew pulled through for the ending. I, for one, was relieved to see that Yonggary lived and was able to find a new role to further his career.

This review is part of the White Elephant Film Blogathon, organized this year by Paul Clark.

Max: The Accidental Nihilist

Britt — Wed, 26 May 2010 04:39:16 +0000

Survivors of catastrophes often have a dramatically different view of life afterward. This is the case for Max Klein (Jeff Bridges), who walks away from a horrendous plane crash in a corn field in rural California in the film Fearless (1993), directed by Peter Weir. As a survivor, Max straddles a line between life and death, never sure which side he is on. After leaving the crash site, Max checks himself into a motel and drives to see a friend the next day. He never bothers to call his family.

The crash site

While the opening of Fearless hooks the viewer instantly, the rest of the film relies on the performances of its two main characters, played by Jeff Bridges and Rosie Perez. The remainder of the supporting cast, which includes Isabella Rosselini, John Turterro, and Bennicio Del Toro, provide one-dimensional filler for the lead actors. Regardless of its shortcomings, Fearless leaves an impression that is difficult to shake off. Don’t see this film prior to flying.

Max, after being located by investigators and encouraged to return home to his wife and kid, finds that his normal life holds no interest for him. He also avoids the attention heaped upon him by the media for being a hero who saved many people during the crash. Carla (Rosie Perez), on the other hand, lost her baby boy during the crash and has not been able to move on since. A therapist, played too over-the-top by John Tuturro, brings Carla and Max together in an attempt to heal each other. Carla holds all her meaning in her dead child, while Max realizes there never was meaning to begin with.

Carla and Max

Max accompanies Carla to her church where she lights a candle and prays. Max, surveying the scenery, laughs out loud at the setting, which does not sit well with Carla. He then delivers the best line of the film: “People don’t believe in god so much as they choose not to believe in nothing.” Max’s nihilism-by-accident is further tested by a lawyer who is trying to win a huge settlement for Max and the family of Max’s dead architect partner. Max is unwilling to lie about what he saw during the crash. He finds their reasons for seeking financial gain trivial compared to the new view of life he is experiencing.

Max and Carla continue to grow closer to each other, much to the dismay of their respective spouses. But just as Max and Carla’s relationship seems to be bringing them both back to normal, Carla breaks down again, blaming herself for the loss of her baby. Max goes to an extreme to prove to Carla that the death of her child wasn’t her fault. The build-up to this climatic scene suffers from a bad choice of music, unfortunately, which weakens the scene’s impact.

After the dusts settles and the last twang of guitar fades, Carla is healed but Max remains scarred, emotionally speaking. By saving Carla, he loses her relationship, forcing him to go back to his normal life. He realizes he can no longer maintain his position outside his own life. Fortunately, the filmmakers set up a gimmick that will get Max where he wants to go. They beat it into the ground worse than the landing gear of the plane that crashed. And while anyone can see the gimmick coming from a mile away, the strength of the film’s ending comes from the flashbacks that Max experiences because of the gimmick.

The whisper of nihilism

Experiencing the actual crash provides the first-person perspective that allows the viewer a glimpse into Max’s loss of meaning. It’s a strong demonstration of how fragile our lives are. When Max realized the plane was going to crash, he whispered to himself: “This is it. This is the moment of your death.” That scene reminded me of a quote from a rabbi who discovered he had cancer: “What have I left undone? That marching song of purpose is quickly undermined by the whisper of nihilism: so what if you’ve left something undone?” Once Max realized his situation and accepted it, he was able to take action and help calm the other passengers, many of whom he saved.

Max’s nihilism may not represent a permanent fixture in his life but was something he had to experience in order to regain his perspective. When faced with death, the meaning he had assigned to life suddenly seemed trivial. The only way to move forward was to take active control of his nihilism. Once the meaning dissolved away, he decided what he wanted to do.

Nihilism and Film: The Search for the Active Nihilist

Britt — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 21:01:59 +0000

In Kevin Stoehr’s book Nihilism in Film and Television: A Critical Overview from Citizen Kane to the Sopranos, the opening chapter defines nihilism and details the difference between a passive and an active nihilist. The final paragraph of that chapter summarizes the distinction well.

Through the rise of Christianity, the European Enlightenment, and the nation-state, the modern age became more and more defined by a collectivist slave-morality. As Nietzsche points out, there are indeed only two escape routes for those individuals who will not conform blindly to some abstract “common good” that levels everything that was formerly unique and inspiring to mere averageness. These individuals can either rise above the crowd as creators of their own values (active nihilists) or else sink into the dark and life-negating abyss of passive nihilism.

Stoehr’s book helped me recognize a primary quality I enjoy in film, but one that most reviews of “nihilist” films were missing. The majority of film reviews mentioning nihilism focus on the passive, or life-negating, aspect of nihilism. I want to tip the scales of film criticism a bit more toward the influence of the active nihilist, who often is portrayed as the reluctant hero.

Further elaboration of the two aspects of nihilism are provided by the collaborative site Everything 2. This definition hones in on the idea of the active nihilist as a reluctant hero.

The active nihilist sees freedom where the passive nihilist sees absurdity or meaninglessness. He chooses action and creation instead of passivity and withdrawal. For him, the lack of objective standards of truth motivates self created standards and criteria. The active nihilist is not active despite the unknown but because of it. He possesses a store of creative energy and power which allows him to impose personal meaning on the world while never forgetting that he is the source and progenitor of that meaning. He is heroic in this sense, facing the world with courage and purpose.

It is difficult to find a character in a film who operates from the creation of his or her own meaning without being a passive nihilist. Not all of the films I review will fit that criteria, but I will offer a counterpoint to the notion of an active nihilist as a balance and perhaps as a way to offer constructive criticism of a character’s shortcomings.

In most film reviews, the term nihilist is reserved for a character who is either merely destructive or who shows no emotion or sympathy for his or her fellow human beings. Too often these characters are guided by a twisted version (intentional or not) of an established system of meaning, such as a religion, corporation, organization, etc. I will not be reviewing any films that contain such characters but am interested in watching them.

When I began to look for films that featured an active nihilist as primary character, I already had the perfect ideal of the film version of an active nihilist, which will be revealed as my reviews progress. My short list of films whose main character(s) are more in line with Stoehr’s definition of an active nihilist include the following so far:

Seconds (1966)
Daisies (1966)
If…. (1968)
Strozsek (1977)
Rumble Fish (1983)
Fearless (1993)
Naked (1993)
Cube (1997)

The list is not complete but will offer a starting point for review and the search for the ideal active nihilist in film. For some reviews, I might focus on a single film and for others I might combine two or three in order to compare and contrast. May the best nihilist win.

I (Heart) Huckabees (2004)

Britt — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 04:44:03 +0000

It’s difficult to watch I (Heart) Huckabees without thinking about director David O. Russell’s tirade against actor Lily Tomlin that was posted to Youtube. Unless you haven’t seen that clip, in which case you might wonder why all these different actors brought something a little different to a film that tries so hard to be a little different. But everything seems to cancel everything else out so all you’re left with is nothing, which is exactly the point the film is trying to make.

While Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin have fun with their roles as existential detectives, Jason Schwartzman falls into his role as a poet/environmental activist who enlists the help of the detectives to solve a strange coincidence in his life. Jude Law doesn’t quite shed enough of his Englishman to make a convincing faux-Walmart executive, and Mark Walberg absolutely nails a post-9/11 fireman who rails against the evils of petroleum above all else. The people who are screaming at health care town halls must have taken lessons from his character, only they are replacing the evils of petroleum with death panels and socialism.

Just imagine this scene without the floaty bits.

While I love a good philosophical film, I’m a bit put off by films that try too hard to be philosophical, although I was glad to see the role of a nihilist not fall into the stereotype set by the Coen brothers. If existential detectives weren’t enough of a tip off, “special effects” were added whenever the conversation took a deep turn. Those scenes could have been interesting without the bits and pieces floating around but I guess some people need a cue when to pay attention.

One way to increase the complexity of the film is to view it with Fight Club lenses on. The characters of Tommy (Wahlberg) and Brad (Law) can be seen as two aspects of Albert’s (Schwartzman) personality. Tommy represents the tough persona that Albert lacks, while Brad represents the successful man with a beautiful girlfriend (played by Naomi Watts) that Albert cannot or does not want to be. The detectives (Hoffman and Tomlin) are trying to get Albert to betray his other two personalities in order for him to be happy with himself. While Tommy helps Albert stand up for himself, it takes Brad to show Albert his shortcomings, even as a representative of everything that Albert fights against.

Not going to be a threesome

To carry further the theme of seeing the worst of ourselves in those we despise, the nihilist Caterine (Isabelle Huppert) enters the lives of Albert and Tommy, who have been paired together by the existential detectives. Caterine is a rogue former student of the detectives and now teaches the opposite of their “everything is connected” philosophy. Tommy introduces Albert to Caterine, but Tommy soon finds himself the third wheel as Albert and Caterine explore earthly pleasures.

While Huckabees is an enjoyable ride at times, I would have gotten more pleasure out of it if I had been tagging along with Mark Wahlberg for most of the journey. It’s too simple these days to bring on the quirk. Mark grounds this otherwise offbeat film with a feeling that it all does matter, even as he grasps with the philosophical musings that humanity is just a small blip in the universe.

Everything turns out hunky-dory in the end, which was unfortunate. If, as a filmmaker, you’re going to bring in existential and nihilist themes early in the film, I want to suffer in the end. And by suffer, I mean in the good old fashioned sense of the term, like those European directors know so well. Huckabees made me suffer because the ending was so flat and so Hollywood. But don’t despair, there’s always the Youtube clip of Lily Tomlin going off on the director.

Well, that was fun.

This review is part of Film for the Soul‘s Counting Down the Zeroes, an ongoing exploration of the best films of the noughties.

S. Ray v. Wajda, Match #2, Set #5

Britt — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 16:21:04 +0000

The final set of the match between Satyajit Ray (India) and Andrzej Wajda (Poland) takes us to the year 1977, and once again the two directors find themselves on similar ground. Ray’s The Chess Players and Wajda’s Man of Marble both open with a newsreel-type sequence, Wajda’s a historical bent and Ray’s an educational one. Both films take a critical look at the practices and ways of their country and countrymen, in addition to the negative influences of outside parties.

Both films also include their own touches of the seventies funky vibe. Wajda does so more through music and character while Ray’s cinematography and set design lends its own brand of funk at times. The Chess Players portrays a much earlier period in history, the mid-nineteenth century, and stays there. Man of Marble, meanwhile, looks at Stalin-era Poland through the lens of a present-day filmmaker, flashing back smoothly between the present and the past.

England takes more of the Indian cake

Ray serves first and sets up his style of play with a broad mixture of shots. As previously mentioned, the opening educational-style newsreel gives way to the sheltered lives of two upper-class Indian men who while away their days playing chess and huffing on hookas. He even includes touches of a popular English comedy troupe as yet another reference to the influence of British culture. The Python-like cartoons encapsulate the appetite of English generals for Indian states. The newsreel eventually gives way to the lives of Mir and Mirza, which consists of their ongoing quest to find a spot to play chess where they won’t be bothered. The secondary story focuses on the King of Avadh and the English general who prepares to depose him. The drastic cuts between stories is startling at times but the stories parallel each other.

The search for Birkut begins

Wajda returns with a more hectic pace. His historical newsreel opening jumps quickly into a mad dash to a museum where a small film crew, led by a woman who is completing her film degree, digs up information on the man shown in the initial newsreel. The man, a bricklayer named Birkut, was once a folk hero in Poland but has completely disappeared from Polish society. The film student, Agnieszka, is determined to find out the complete story, much to the chagrin of her advisor, who would rather have her focus on more mundane subjects. I must admit, when I first saw Man of Marble, I was so taken by the opening tune that I made finding it a top priority. The score by Andrzej Korzynski is excellent. Point goes to Wajda for an intense start.

Birkut can't lay another brick

Wajda’s next shots examine more of Birkut’s life as he rises to an unimagined fame. How does a bricklayer rise to fame? By laying lots of bricks. Worker productivity was its own game and Birkut became its poster boy. Bit by bit, Agnieszka discovers more about Birkut but not without difficulty. The moments where she is able to slow down and watch old newsreels of Birkut and his bricklaying expertise are the most intimate moments between filmmaker and subject, both of whose own lives seem to lack intimacy. Wajda does a great job of bringing the two people together, although the focus and the details remain on Birkut.

They'll do anything for a game of chess

Ray lobs a few obstacles in the way of his chess players, as the British prepare to take control from King Nawab Wajid Ali Shah, who is more of a poet than a ruler. The jealous wife of Mirza makes playing chess in their home a bit difficult, so the wo men go in search of a new place to play. Without chess, the men are desperate and cannot function. Mirza gets upset at Mir when he shows interest and bets on a goat fight. They eventually move to Mir’s house, where he remains oblivious to his own wife’s unhappiness that he is now home. The point goes to Ray for creating an light-hearted portrayal of two men amid a broader, and more serious, struggle.

The eventual meeting

Wajda’s final serve wraps up the mystery of Birkut while also leaving the future wide open. The pacing toward the end of the film works perfectly and is upbeat even though the news is not good. The downfall of Birkut ends in his own rebirth. The filmmaker knows that she has succeeded and will be able to open up some old Polish wounds, something Wajda has made a career out of himself. Birkut’s son said it best when he ran into Agnieszka the second time. He basically said he figured she wouldn’t go away. She was able to persist and control her destiny, while Birkut had no control and suffered when he tried to exert it.

No where to play

Ray ends with a bang. Mir and Mirza venture outside of the city to find a quiet place to play chess. Mir, certain there was an old abandoned mosque across the river, finds nothing. Fortunately, the two men run into a boy, who takes them to his house, which is now abandoned because his family heard news that the British were coming. The boy stayed behind because he likes to look at their red coats. As they settle in to their games, sending the boy to fetch lunch, their perfect world is shattered by their own disagreement. As the boy returns with lunch and the British ride past, the two men realize their world will have to change and begin by playing chess the English way. Ray’s ending is a bit too spot on, but as upbeat as Wajda’s. I give the point, set, and match to Wajda, however, for a tighter and overall better shot film.

American Splendor (2003)

Britt — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 05:34:52 +0000

Docu-biopic? Biopicumentary? American Splendor, co-directed by Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini, takes a unique approach to the life of Harvey Pekar, skirting the line between documentary and narrative film. Since Harvey is known primarily as a character in a comic book, the film includes comic book touches throughout. Additionally, the film peels back the narrative at times to reveal the actual characters, and the actors who portray them, underneath, all set against a stark white background. The many layers of the film are intriguing at first but become annoying toward the end.

Paul Giamatti as Harvey Pekar

For most of the film, Harvey is portrayed by a scowling Paul Giamatti. Harvey actually provides the voiceover (to state the obvious at most times) and is included in the film in bits and pieces. Based on those brief appearances, it makes Paul’s portrayal seem one dimensional, kind of like a comic-book character. Like the many artists who have drawn their own versions of Harvey Pekar for American Splendor (the comic), the directors have drawn their version using Paul Giamatti. That he is no more a true version of Harvey than the black ink on white paper versions is either a testament to the statement they wanted to make or to the failing of the film’s structure. I can’t honestly say which.

The central theme of the film becomes clear early on: Who is Harvey Pekar? One of the better scenes early in the film is when Harvey invites a female fan of his comic, Joyce, to come see him. When she arrives at the train station, she envisions all the different comic permutations of Harvey, until the real one arrives and deflates her expectations. Unfortunately, the theme is later beaten to death during a scene in which Paul enters a comic-book setting and wanders around aimlessly while asking the question, “Who is Harvey Pekar.” By that time, if you haven’t gotten it, you haven’t been paying attention. It seemed like mere filler to push the film’s running time to an acceptable feature length. The film felt as if it were being prolonged for the big ba-boom.

Harvey and Toby being watched by their actors

More interesting to many viewers might be the question of who is Toby? Toby is a co-worker of Harvey’s who has autism and who never minces words. The actor who plays Toby, Judah Friedlander, captures his essence and draws the attention away from Harvey whenever they have a scene together. While Harvey became a caricature of a comic character, Toby remains the reality that Harvey wanted to portray.

The divide between the reality of Harvey’s daily life and the possibility, even the brief touches, of his rise to fame provide the most compelling issues, but it is difficult to know the level of Harvey’s notoriety without having been a fan or reader of the comic. While Letterman brushes him off in the end, and the moments with R. Crumb are less than interesting, Harvey himself seems conflicted about his role and what he wants out of his relationships and his life.

Harvey prepares to take on Dave

Since the film’s release six years ago, it now suffers from the easy availability of clips of Harvey’s appearances on the Late Night with David Letterman episodes. Although the film includes one actual broadcast of Harvey’s appearance with Dave, the big scene of Harvey’s rant (and subsequent exit) on Late Night was remade from a different perspective. Compared to the actual clips, it seems to lack the original tension that Harvey seemed to bring to everything he touched.

I’m inclined to think that the flatness of the film is intentional. From the initial meetings between Harvey and Crumb to the way in which Harvey overcomes a major obstacle and gains a daughter, it all seems wrapped in the confines of a comic book. Paul Giamatti’s performance can only be understood as one more drawing of Harvey, a single aspect. I felt as if I didn’t get the whole thing. By the end, it becomes less important to know who Harvey Pekar is and why there is so much media dedicated to him. I say that not to degrade what he has done, but out of a desire to better understand it. Watching the film did not make me want to go out and find copies of American Splendor comics. I wish it would have.

This is the explanation I didn't need

This review is part of Film for the Soul’s Counting Down the Zeroes series.

S. Ray v. Wajda, Match #2, Set #4

Britt — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 20:57:39 +0000

After the initial sets of trilogies, set #4 of the match between Satyajit Ray and Andrzej Wajda maintains the consistency through a common theme for each of their next films: they must be about an actor and include trains as a significant aspect of the story. Ray, always the train enthusiast, jumps at the chance and arrives on the court first, unveiling Nayak (1966), which is indeed about a famous Indian actor and is set almost entirely on board a train.

Wajda, unfortunately, does not arrive on time. He sends a message that he had trouble boarding a train. He puts up Everything for Sale (1969), which might be about an actor who was killed when jumping on a moving train, quite possible an actor he worked with in the previously reviewed film. Wajda, it seems, might be trying to put to rest the trains and death theme.

Arindam Mukherjee, a popular Indian actor

Ray doesn’t bother waiting for Wajda and serves his opening shot of a famous Indian actor, Arindam Mukherjee (Uttam Kumar), who is in a hurry to get to Delhi to receive an award. His assistant didn’t have time to book a flight or reserve a coach, so Arindam must ride on the train with other passengers. Once on the train, he is met with both admiration and derision, the latter mostly a result of a recent tabloid article about his involvement in a brawl. He admirably deals with everyone until approached by a young, female journalist named Aditi (Sharmila Tagore).

The wife of the missing actor attempts suicide

Wajda sends a representative to deliver his equipment as he tries to find a way to get to the match. Everyone waits patiently while making sure the show goes on. They realize there might be a problem, however, and do their best to hide their feelings. In Wajda’s film about an actor, the director has to fill in for the actor for a critical scene, one of the actor falling under a moving train. Much confusion ensues as the director tries to keep the cast and crew focused on completing the film without the lead actor. The point goes to Wajda for a more compelling opening, without even being there.

His journey is just beginning

Ray allows Arindam time to reflect on his position in society through ongoing meetings with Aditi. Arindam seems both attracted to and repelled by her, but finally opens up to her, providing information that he keeps from the other journalists who hound him. She secretly takes notes, hoping to write an article that digs deeper into the life of the famed actor. Their volleys cause fitful sleep for Arindam as his dreams reveal his misgivings about his own life, even while being admired by his fellow travelers (a woman and her ill daughter). He seeks the advice of Aditi on what his dreams mean, providing more material for her article.

A reference to Ashes and Diamonds

Wajda finally shows up to reveal that his actor did indeed die while attempting to jump on a moving train. A moment of silence is observed to honor Zbigniew Cybulski, the subject of the film. The shot to the left is a reference to a scene from Ashes and Diamonds when the character played by Zbigniew lit eight glasses of vodka to honor the fallen comrades of his and the character played by Adam Pawlikowski, who is shown here in his brief cameo in Everything for Sale. The point, however, goes to Ray for letting the complexity of Arindam’s character unfold along with the train journey, whereas the foreshadowing of Wajda’s opening makes the actual announcement of the death seem trite.

The director contemplates himself

Wajda hurries to complete the set which is now overcast by news of the actor’s death. The director is confused about where to go. His intentions are for the best but the subject is perhaps too personal. Wajda wrote the script as well as being a character in the film. At times, it feels as if Everything for Sale is Wajda’s own 8½, except that it only adds up to five and three-quarters. The film seems like a rushed response to a tragedy. The initial concept was interesting, having the actor not be there, but once his actual death was announced, the film fell apart, which could be the director’s intention.

Peace at last

Ray, however, wraps things up for his actor, who has a final, drunken confrontation with Aditi, which is one of the stronger scenes in the film. It proves to be cathartic for both of them. She rips up the article she was writing, realizing it was for the wrong reasons. He ends up with a more humble view of himself, which finally allows him to sleep soundly. Turns out he just needed a good therapist. Uttam Kumar, who was a popular actor at the time, gives an outstanding performance. Ray paces the film perfectly, providing just enough material in the beginning before the journey on the train, and through Arindam’s life, begins. The point and set go to Ray.

Next up: Set #5, The Chess Player and Man of Marble

S. Ray v. Wajda, Match #2, Set #3

Britt — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 18:17:34 +0000

Set #3 of the match between Satyajit Ray and Andrzej Wajda brings us to the end of their trilogies and to the end of the 1950s. Wajda steps onto the court first, bringing along Ashes and Diamonds (1958), which chronicles a day in the life of a handful of resistance fighters on the last day of WWII. Ray jumps into 1959 with The World of Apu, which takes Apu into adulthood, still alone but well-educated and living a simple life.

The last two films of each trilogy bring them closer together in story time. The Apu trilogy covers a greater span of time following the life of Apu and began in the early part of the century. The adult Apu, therefore, experiences life closer to the time of WWII, which is the short time period of Wajda’s trilogy, and closer to Indian independence. Although Ray never gets into politics in the Apu trilogy, it serves as a metaphor for the changes that India experienced when it finally gained independence in 1947. Poland, on the other hand, lost its independence, which is the theme of Wajda’s trilogy.

In walks the man they were supposed to kill

Wajda serves first, delivering a fast pop that lands in the wrong area. The successful assassination of a communist official carried out by a small band of resistance rebels turns out to be the wrong person, although the rebels don’t know it yet. While they are celebrating in town at a hotel bar, in walks the man they were supposed to kill. As they regroup, Maciek, the younger of the rebels, can’t keep his eyes off the bartender while his older commander reports to the major in charge of the operation to decide what should happen next. Excellent pacing and acting for the opening.

Apu off to scrounge some rent money

Ray returns a lazy lob, letting Apu lounge for a bit before his life gets complicated. Apu’s friend talks him into going to a wedding and he agrees. (I think this scene may have been the inspiration for Wedding Crashers.) The opening of The World of Apu does have a more upbeat, modern feel to it but this can’t last. There are two certainties in the life of Apu: trains and death. But, wait a minute, Apu and his friend take a boat to get to the wedding. This could be a new beginning for Apu. The point, however, goes to Wajda, who, despite his inability to stage a good shootout, mixes death and humor in an intriguing beginning, with large credit to the acting of Zbigniew Cybulski as Maciek.

Apu's wife, Aparna, we hardly get to know ya

Ray comes back with a spin. Apu, while lounging when he was supposed to be getting ready for the wedding ceremony, is drafted into a minor role in the wedding. The groom! Seems the original one had a mental breakdown and the mother of the bride refused him access to her daughter. Apu, not really having any other options, agrees to the arrangement on the condition that his friend get him a job. Everything works out well, except Apu’s new wife, Aparna, doesn’t seem so happy having to follow him to Calcutta. We get a few moments to replay the relationship between Apu and his mother but now in the guise of Apu and his wife. She cleans and cooks while Apu lounges, but she prefers the silent treatment instead of the vocal despair that Apu’s mother used.

Maciek, conflicted between love and duty

Wajda returns with a spinning shot of his own. Maciek, who wore his independent spirit on his sleeve, tells the bartender to stop by his room that night, knowing that she is scheduled to work all night. Just as he drops a piece of his gun while cleaning it, she knocks on his door, leading to some great sequences where Maciek, his mind on his duty to assassinate a man, transitions from a rebel to a man in love. As he escorts the bartender down stairs after their interlude, the first person he runs into is the man he is supposed to kill, sending Maciek back into conflict. The point goes to Wajda again for his portrayal of a human in conflict with himself (not to mention a humorous sub-plot involving one of the other members of the group).

A death and a celebration

Wajda’s next serve intensifies the focus on Maciek’s conflicting emotions. As he tries to balance his duty with his new-found love, he tries to talk his commander into letting him out of the assignment. As the night nears morning and the end-of-the-war party comes to a close, Maciek paces and waits. He finally decides to finish his duty. He goes back to the hotel but the bartender will not speak to him once she learns that he cannot stay. As everything falls apart for the group of rebels, the remnants of the party are all that remains of the hopes of a free Poland.

Apu reveals his feelings toward the son he's never met

Ray finishes with a tough decision for Apu. Not having seen his own son in the five years since his birth, Apu’s friend pleads with Apu to go see him. Apu, conflicted by his feeling of blame toward his son for his wife’s death, relents. Apu’s offer of a toy train is tossed aside by the youngster, who has a bit of a wild streak in him. Apu decides to leave his son behind, his duty having been carried out. But he runs into his son on the path out of the village, and his son asks if he will take him to see his father in Calcutta. Apu agrees. The uplifting but open-ending finish brings a happy closure to the hard life of Apu. The point goes to Ray for a quick and uplifting ending, but the set goes to Wajda for a more intense and well-paced film.

Next up: Set #4, Nayak and Everything for Sale (both films about actors, coincidentally)

S. Ray v. Wajda, Match #2, Set #2

Britt — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 17:42:30 +0000

Set #2 of the match between Satyajit Ray from India and Andrzej Wajda of Poland brings us into the years 1956 and ’57. Ray arrives on the court first and unveils Aparajito, the continuing saga of Apu, again based on the novel by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay.

Wajda takes his time getting out onto the court, wrapping himself in red and white, the national colors of Poland. He uses an original script this time, one that continues his theme of Poland’s struggles during WWII. Kanal shows how the Warsaw Uprising went down the sewers.

One last drink of the Ganges for pops

Ray quickly serves, getting right back into the life of Apu, who now lives with his mother and father in the city, where he runs free like a monkey, according to his mother. His father makes a decent living as a freelance priest and by selling herbal medicine on the side, but his mother still seems unhappy with their lot in life. It doesn’t help that she has to deal with a creepy neighbor man. Soon enough, the father falls ill, and although he initially recovers from his ailment, it becomes apparent that it is only temporary. Now on their own, Apu’s mother decides to leave the city, accepting an offer from a family member to live in the country. Similar to Pather Panchali, Ray chooses to primarily focus on the day-to-day activities of the family during the opening 20 minutes. As with that film, Karuna Bannerjee, as the mother, carries the first part of the film with her solid acting.

A group shot before they are split apart in the sewers

Wajda jumps right into the thick of a battle between what’s left of a group of the Polish Home Army and the Germans. He does a great job introducing the characters as they find shelter in a crumbling apartment building. The primary focus is on Korab (Tadeusz Janczar, who also appeared in Pokolenie and was killed) and Daisy (Teresa Izewska), one of the many women who traversed the sewers to deliver messages. Korab is shot while heroically disabling a remote miniature tank-like device, and is cared for by Daisy, as the group’s leader, Lt. Zadra (Wienczyslaw Glinski), receives orders to retreat to the sewers, an order that is not welcomed by his troops. Since the audience is forewarned of the group’s demise, the relationships between the characters carries a sense of urgency. The point goes to Wajda for more style while maintaining an equally realistic atmosphere in his opening.

Is there light at the end of the Kanal?

Wajda’s next serve is low and fast. As his characters retreat into the sewer, the story breaks into three lines, each following a distinct groups of characters, the primary still being Korab and Daisy. Daisy was the only one who knew the way out, and since her and Korab fall behind due to Korab’s injuring, the other two groups are on their own. The tension between characters, as well as the overall sense of doom, is heightened with every shot. The sense of realism is largely due to the script by Jerzy Stefan Stawinski, who was a soldier who participated in the Warsaw Uprising and retreated to the sewers when it became necessary for survival.

Apu is all growed up

Ray returns his focus on the relationship between Apu and his mother, which goes back and forth as Apu ages and moves away for school. Apu’s mother wants what is best for her son, but at the same time, he is all she has left in the world and doesn’t want to let him go. Apu, meanwhile, struggles primarily with the balance between work and school. Like many college kids, he neglects to write to his mother, never realizing the impact it has on her. The train, an important link between Durga and Apu in the first film, becomes the critical link between Apu and his mother in this film. Point goes to Ray for the singular focus of his story and an excellent sense of longing in the scenes with the mother.

Apu, alone in the world

Ray’s final serve falls short of the line. Apu must find his own way in life but he is going to have to do it alone. The ending is fairly anti-climatic, and it is difficult to feel for Apu as one did in the first film. It has come to the point where it seems that death is the only constant in Apu’s life and is expected. It will be interesting to see how this theme continues in the third film. Other than a brief scene of Apu and other children running through the alleys of the city early in the film (and reminiscent of a similar scene in Slumdog Millionaire), this film lacked the magic of Pather Panchali. I can’t quite explain why I stopped feeling for Apu and his mother as the story wore on. Her death seemed immaterial, which is perhaps the point. As a critique of Indian culture, she was no longer useful for any male and vanished.

Daisy comforts the dying Korab

Wajda finishes with a bigger bang. Members of each group reach their end in different ways: suicide, murder, accidents. The futures of those remaining is left open but is captured metaphorically in the final scene with Daisy and Korab. They arrive at an opening of the sewer at a river but cannot escape due to metal bars. Daisy can see the other side of the river (where in real life the Soviets were waiting to take over after the Germans finished their killing spree) and she softly explains what she sees to Korab, who hasn’t the energy to open his eyes. While neither film offers much hope at the end, they do invite the need to know how the lives of the remaining characters will continue, a difficult task for the second film of a trilogy. Unfortunately, the characters in Wajda’s trilogy do not carry through the films, as they do in Ray’s trilogy.

Point and set go to Wajda for a more in-depth look at people facing certain defeat but who struggle to move ahead in the worst of conditions. The sewer scenes, although suffering from some lighting issues, stick with you long after the film has ended. As I was taking screenshots, I knew that Kanal would prevail because I ended up with twice as many shots for it.

Next up: Set #3, The World of Apu and Ashes and Diamonds