(VOD) Gore Vidal adapts Paddy Chayefsky’s (best known for NETWORK and MARTY) play about a young couple (Debbie Reynolds and Rod Taylor) that wants a no-muss, no-fuss wedding get pressured into a huge wedding by Reynold’s mother (a delightfully antagonistic Bettie Davis) that Reynold’s father (Ernest Borgnine) can’t afford. (It also features Barry Fitzgerald as the idiosyncratic uncle, one of my favorite character actors.)
Like all Chayefsky works, it’s the words, culture, and class issues that matter, but when I think about this film, I think about the set design and decoration: it’s grimy, it’s old, it’s cramped, it’s -lived in-, but it’s home. It’s a fantastic little film that gets lost in Chayefsky’s catalog, simply because it a rather small melodrama, but that doesn’t make it any less effective.
(hoopla/kanopy/Shudder/tubi/VOD) One of the other ‘uncool’ Chicago film fests is the European Union Film Fest, which takes place at the Siskel Film Center. Even I often forget about this one, but back in 2010 I caught wind of this weird Greek film from unknown-to-us director Yorgos Lanthimos (who would go on to direct THE LOBSTER and THE FAVOURITE) that sounded like a batshitcrazy modern New Wave-ish film, and my wife — being Greek — was also intrigued, so we immediately pre-ordered two tickets..
We arrived at the Siskel and were happy to already have tickets, because it was completely sold out — the line wound completely around the upper second floor — and the audience consisted of 80% older Greek couples, clearly there to support Greek film. I whispered to my wife: “Do they know what they’re getting into?”
I say that because most Greek films I’ve attended with my wife have been in-offensive crowd-pleasers, whereas DOGTOOTH actively, -aggressively- is not. It’s a film about shelter, about not letting go, about manufactured culture, about language, about emotional, psychological, physical, and sexual abuse, and even heavier subjects. I was surprised to see that Shudder (a streaming service solely geared towards horror) picked it up and I realized, why yes: it is a Haneke-esque horror film, and not just an incredibly dense, fucked up family drama.
I exited the theater feeling dazzled and bruised, and fully expected the crowd we entered with to have turned against it, especially since they were very quiet during the screening — even the funny parts (of which there are many) — but no! They were ebullient about it! To this day I don’t know whether they liked it (much less enjoyed it — this isn’t a film you ‘enjoy’) but it was a singularly memorable screening for a brilliant film.
(Prime/hoopla/tubi/VOD) A quintessential mid-80s high school film where the teachers fear the students, but a new pupil has come to town to set them straight. TUFF TURF features a pre-PRETTY IN PINK James Spader as the new stranger at school, Kim Richards as the gang leader’s girlfriend who Spader has designs on, and a pre-LESS THAN ZERO Robert Downey Jr. as Spader’s over-eager new friend.
TUFF TURF is directed by Fritz Kiersch, best known for helming the first CHILDREN OF THE CORN, which may explain why the film is surprisingly violent, especially the elaborate final confrontation. While the combination of wooing, dance scenes, and vicious beatdowns does feel a bit jarring, it results in a rather winsome little film. It helps that the soundtrack features a healthy dose of The Jim Carroll Band.
(VOD) DOGVILLE is the first in Lars von Trier’s unfinished ‘USA – Land of Opportunities’ trilogy, comprised of this and MANDERLAY. (The third film, WASHINGTON, never materialized, and probably never will.) DOGVILLE and MANDERLAY are staged like black box theater productions: shot on a sparse, flat set that barely sketches out the town via a handful of open-standing walls and props, painted lines delineating the properties and prominent objects.
Despite having the trappings of black box theater, the camerawork is smartly considered and tightly covers the action while still allowing you to see the ‘private’ activities occurring in the background. Additionally, the wall-to-wall synced sound and editing heightens the tension, especially in the last few chapters.
Both films deal with class issues and human exploitation in a way that I think feels organic to the story, but as commentary about the US it falls a bit flat, although I don’t feel it detracts from the film itself. (It’s worth noting that Lars von Trier wrote DOGVILLE and MANDERLAY having never visited the United States, which is glaringly obvious even without watching the wildly insensitive MANDERLAY.)
Obviously, as this is a Lars von Trier film, it’s an extremely difficult watch and, as is par for the filmmaker, focuses on beating a woman down (literally and figuratively), but it ends in a very different place as most of his films (albeit, while still retaining his standard nihilism).
The cast is loaded with talent: Nicole Kidman is the lead, a woman running from gangsters who takes sanctuary in a small town for safety, and the town sucks her dry. The townsfolk consist of Stellan Skarsgård, Lauren Bacall (who also appears in MANDERLAY), Philip Baker Hall, Jeremey Davies, Chloë Sevigny, Patricia Clarkson, and more. Udo Kier, Ben Gazarra, and James Caan also appear, and everyone turns in amazing performances, especially Kidman.
Even for Lars von Trier, it’s a severely avant-garde film, and one that seems to get lost in the rest of his oeuvre. It’s worth seeking out if you can stomach it.
DOGVILLE’s prologue:
A hilariously terrible official trailer that tries to disguise what the film really is:
(Prime/VOD) Somehow, I knew next-to-nothing about ORLANDO when I cracked open Virginia Woolf’s book roughly two years ago. Since then, it’s become a book I’ve extolled as brilliance I wish I’d encountered far earlier in my life.
Similarly, I came to Sally Potter’s adaptation only recently and, it too, is fantastic. However, it’s very difficult to discuss the particulars of its plot without divulging certain facets that make the book truly special, but here’s my attempt:
First and foremost: Swinton is absolutely perfect in this, and I love the audacity of how sparsely she’s adorned (except, of course, when she’s not). Obviously, it’s a role that rightly put Swinton in the limelight.
Second: Potter’s adaptation is more succinct, almost obscenely so as she could have given the scenes a bit more room to breathe, but instead she often races through the plot to the point where it feels more like a fever dream, as opposed to the lackadaisical pacing of the novel. The impact of which is felt nowhere harder than in Potter’s final act, which also bestows its own ending which, fair, it’s her film and all, but it’s -a lot-, and left a unique taste in my mouth.
Third: The gazes! They’re all amazing and all so wound with meaning, especially those that break the fourth wall.
Lastly: The cinematography and score. It has the formalistic trappings, portraiture stylings and sturdy tracking shots of a Greenaway film, but still engages with the action, as opposed to mannerly setting a tableau. Potter herself composed the music, which has a Nyman-esque minimalist flair that, yet again, engages more with the material than you’d expect.
In case you needed more coaxing: it’s Toby Jones’ first role and, despite that, if you’ve seen Toby Jones in anything, you know immediately that yes: that’s Toby Jones.
(Criterion) Filmed directly after Robert Montgomery’s extraordinarily gimmicky first-person POV adaptation of Chandler’s THE LADY OF THE LAKE, Montgomery jumped back in the noir saddle again with an adept take on the lesser-known Dorothy B. Hughes (IN A LONELY PLACE, THE EXPENDABLE MAN) novel RIDE THE PINK HORSE. This adaptation doesn’t try anything fancy — no first-person perspectives here, just quality lighting and framing. While it alters Hughes’ gritty noir in a handful of places, it mostly follows a similar path for the same purpose until, well, it doesn’t.
The story is simple: a stranger known as Gagin (Robert Montgomery, directing himself) arrives in San Pablo, New Mexico, looking for a mobster named Frank Hugo.
Unfortunately, Gagin arrives in San Pablo during its annual weekend-long fiesta. The streets are packed with people partying and every single hotel is booked, turning what Gagin thought would be a simple overnight act of catharsis into a sleepless game of endless pursuit, which only grows more surreal when he encounters an FBI agent from his past.
One can’t discuss RIDE THE PINK HORSE without noting that, given it’s a late-1940s production depicting indigenous festivities, they didn’t really take the time to get it right which, sadly, contrasts with Hughes’ novel, explicitly drawn from her time spent in Santa Fe. The brownfacing of Wanda Hendrix of is especially egregious, not to mention she’s also far too old for the role. (She’s a pre-teen in the novel and the film’s script tries to abide by that, but Montgomery’s gaze says otherwise.) Regardless, she still manages to steal just about every scene she appears in, as does Thomas Gomez who plays Gagin’s guide.
While the performances are top-notch, it’s the overstuffed frames from cinematographer Russell Metty (who at this point had shot many classics, but would also go on to shoot TOUCH OF EVIL and SPARTACUS) that really bring RIDE THE PINK HORSE to another level. Cramped and sweaty, Metty is able to deftly handle shooting a noir that often takes place in broad daylight.
One last qualm about the adaptation: my favorite part of the novel is that the protagonist is essentially homeless and constantly fretting about his appearance, wondering how he’ll clean himself up, trying to hustle his way into bathrooms or temporarily empty hotel rooms. Sadly, this facet is mostly lost in the film.
“That’s the kind of man I like — the man with no place!”
If you’d like a bit more background, Eddie Muller’s TCM Noir Alley introduction is well worth five minutes of your time:
(VOD) For far too many years, I’ve habitually trawled through the entirety of the Chicago International Film Festival (CIFF) yearly schedule and shot off a list to a few friends to map out what we wanted to see together. The list would include not just a list of film titles and descriptions, but also trailers not linked in the CIFF schedule, additional context, interest level, and a list of potential screening times/conflicts.
It’s never been a fun job, but it’s a necessary one because CIFF is surprisingly daunting for reasons best left for another time, and most folks I know don’t bother with CIFF unless someone else puts in a bit of effort. Every year, I’m rewarded by finding a gem I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise, and had I not put in the effort, I probably would have missed out on THE TWENTIETH CENTURY last year. Thankfully, unlike many films that screen once at CIFF and are never heard from again, THE TWENTIETH CENTURY was picked up by Oscilloscope and can be purchased today!
The description I sent off in the yearly missive was: “It may be puerile, but I keep hearing that it’s like Maddin meets John Waters, and I’m down for that.”
Upon watching it, yes, Guy Maddin is an obvious inspiration, with its extreme Soviet-inspired camerawork, choppy editing/frame-gaps, kink, and scrutiny of Canada. However, director Matthew Rankin’s use of color, tempo, and symmetry makes it very much the work of a new auteur instead of something simply derivative. Yes, it’s weird but, despite its eccentricities, it’s rarely off-putting, and it’s supremely entertaining. The trailer will immediately inform you as to whether it’s something in or out of your wheelhouse. If it tickles you, please, pick up a copy.
(Hulu/VOD) I had very low expectations for a TV adaptation of 12 MONKEYS. I simply didn’t think the film’s inevitability and nihilism lent itself to serialized storytelling. I’m happy to admit that I was wrong.
12 MONKEYS is — by far — one of the most audacious and human time travel TV shows to make it to air and, despite the fact that I re-watched it during the pandemic, the hurt and twinges I felt while re-watching weren’t because of a portrayal of plague death, but because the ensemble were literally breaking the laws of time and space to rectify these deaths, whereas far too many people in real life right now aren’t fucking willing to wear a mask to save themselves and others.
That said, the plague is only a small part of this show; it’s used as a springboard towards some of the most high-concept plotting I’ve ever seen in a TV series. (Yes, I watched and loved FRINGE.) Where the characters are and what they’re trying to do in the first season is so far removed by the end of season four that it’s astounding, but it still works!
While the show is so high-concept, and so inventive, what really makes it work are the women. The men are mostly soldiers, grunts — disposable — although they all have their own quirks, emotions, and interesting character arcs, the women are the ones that propel the series:
The show gender-swaps Brad Pitt’s Jeffrey Goines to Emily Hampshire’s Jennifer Goines, which was a stroke of brilliance. It ramps up the pop culture riffs while giving her an autonomy and agency all her own. (She also gets some of the best set-pieces, and the writers clearly love writing her, sometimes a little too much.) Time scientist Katarina Jones is my favorite character: so driven, but so aware that she’s toeing an exceedingly dangerous line, while still trying to be mindful of her own humanity and what’s at stake and -juggling causality-. With apologies to Tracy Kidder, she’s the show’s soul of a new machine. Cassandra Railly hews close to Madeline Stowe’s character from Gilliam’s film in the first season, but becomes something radically different after, and someone far more interesting.
Better yet, just about every episode in the four seasons is satisfying — there’s not a single episode in the bunch where you feel the characters acted in a way that betrayed themselves, or that there was some sloppy plotting just to find some feel-good closure — and the show sticks the landing in ways you wouldn’t believe. And the lighting! In these days of under-lit, over-dramatic works like OZARK, it’s refreshing to see a show that leans into bright bursts of light, a show that pays attention to hues, that tints appropriately instead of painting everything in shapeless grays.
Most importantly, the show has a command over tone that comes along so rarely: it’s propulsive and smart, but it’s also poignant and — perhaps most importantly — surprisingly funny. The characters quip and throw barbs at each other like family, but you’re familiar enough with ‘em to get the inside jokes and swatches of character building they provide. For a show about the end times, you’ll find yourself laughing far more than you’d expect.
Ultimately, 12 MONKEYS is so satisfying is because it reckons with the fact that it -is- a serialized show, and that their time machine — simply because of the nature of TV -and- because they created a fucking time machine — can never bestow a proper ending for these characters. There can never be catharsis, and they use that self-awareness as a prop to the utmost effect. Everyone believes their mistakes and missteps are reversible, but causality/narrative gets in the way. The stakes escalate, rippling into more mistakes, more grief, which results in more attempts to rectify human missteps. (The show quickly shakes up its endgame to address this, but to reveal how would be cruel.) It’s brilliantly and profoundly tragic in a way I’ve rarely seen in a sci-fi show, which is what makes it so special, and so worth your time.
S1 Trailer:
Fan-based S1 Trailer:
One caveat: sadly that I need to mention that the show’s pretty myopic when it comes to representation. The few times you do see anyone that isn’t white, they’re part of a ramshackle tribe, a servant, or a prop.
A fortunate thing about 12 Monkeys is: you can watch any clip and still have no idea when/where it happened, so spoilers don’t exist! (That said, watching these will detract from the surprise from encountering them in the show, but if you’re on the fence about the show, they may convince you that it’s something special. That said, they’re mostly Jennifer clips, because she’s so entertainingly erratic, even out-of-context.)
U + Ur Hand:
Related:
Admittedly, this traffics in a fair amount of fan-service, but in-context it’s not as bad as it looks.
Jennifer in the bunker:
Endless Jennifer lines:
Life Isn’t Measured By Clocks (Spoilers for the entire series, but it’s endless heartbreak):
Many Endings. It was… is… a Love Story. (Spoilers for the entire series/ibid):
(HBO Max/VOD) The tagline for the first season of ENLIGHTENED was: ‘A woman on the verge of a nervous breakthrough,’ which does a damn fine job of succinctly setting up lead character Amy Jellicoe’s (deftly portrayed by co-creator Laura Dern) trajectory as a woman who thinks she has it all together, then a corporate affair destroys her world.
Mike White* (CHUCK & BUCK, SCHOOL OF ROCK), the other co-creator and head writer, does a great job of showcasing Amy’s attempts at becoming well-adjusted, trying to re-insert herself into her old positions only to find that they don’t fit. While flailing to find some kind of constant to hold onto, she reaches out to her addict ex, Levi (Luke Wilson).
What follows is a melancholy story of growth that, to some, may feel overwrought, but you’re seeing life through Amy’s eyes, and Amy is so well-realized between Dern and White that it’s worth enduring a few wide-eyed, over-earnest monologues. In fact, my favorite moment of the show occurs four episodes into the first season. She reflects on her life during an outdoor weekend retreat that doesn’t quite go the way Amy had hoped, and it’s the first time that she opens up to the audience:
(This is a combination of three monologues, just in case the segues feel abrupt.)
(The score really heightens that monologue, so it shouldn’t surprise you that Mark Mothersbaugh (DEVO) was responsible for it.)
ENLIGHTENED is Amy trying to course-correct her life, trying to become a better person, but frequently screwing it up with her own navel-gazing and endless hope for external accolades to tell her she’s on the right path. It’s a mature character study that’s rarely told through TV nowadays.
Dern & White had hoped to tell a three season arc, but the critical acclaim wasn’t enough to make up for the paltry ratings, so they only received two seasons. Nonetheless, the second season ends satisfyingly enough.
“There’s time. There is time. There is so much time.”
Season one trailer:
Season two trailer:
Fun fact: Mike White was on two seasons of THE AMAZING RACE with his father, and they were delightful although — spoiler alert — they never came close to winning.
(Prime) I think it’s fair to say that J.J. Abrams has probably had the biggest impact on serialized dramatic TV within the past 20 years. From ALIAS to LOST to FRINGE, everything boils down to conflict via -family dysfunction-, a conceit usually trotted out in films and not in TV because it’s traditionally been considered too soapy.
While PATRIOT isn’t one of the first spy shows to riff off of the spy family template of what Abrams wrought via ALIAS (if you haven’t seen ALIAS, you can start and end with its second season), it’s by far one of the most inventive. It’s a crackerjack of a thriller that, while its machinations are intentionally convoluted, the character work is the core of the show, and is a simply soulful as can be.
PATRIOT features John Tavner (Michael Dormer) as an unofficial CIA operative who operates under Tom Tavner, John father’s (the incomparable Terry O’Quinn), supervision. Occasionally John’s brother and Texas Congressman (Michael Chernus) gets roped in to John’s missions, simply to balance him out. While Tom realizes the stress he’s putting his son under, he feels it’s for the best of the nation (and also you sense that he revels in the control he has over his children) but he doesn’t quite realize just how frayed and worn down John is. To cope with matters, John sings about his missions Dylan-style on the street and in open-mic nights.
Yes, it’s a spy show and yes there are a lot of broken bones and MacGuffins changing hands, but those details matter as much to the audience as they do to John , which is to say: they don’t except for a means to an end-scene. It’s really about John’s dissonance and his breaking from reality, how the responsibilities his father piles onto him are breaking his humanity.
There’s an early scene in S01E08 (-L’Affaire Contre John Lakeman-, ~7:45-11:40) that I find an emblematic example of the show: John sits in the middle of a construction site as everyone involved in his life walk through, peppering him with expectations and disappointed laments while he sits there, framed by a concrete pipe, numb to their words. It’s one shot, camera static, as they slowly push in, the frame tightening on John’s back, slightly coiling the tension which builds, then whimpers away.
The first season of PATRIOT toys a lot with dialogue and very dry editing, but the second season features an explosion of virtuoso camera techniques and visuals. Sadly, a third season wasn’t meant to be, but I can only imagine the new ground it would have broken.
