“Can I ever forget that face?”
2004 - US
Director
Joel Schumacher
Starring
Gerard Butler, Emmy Rossum, Patrick Wilson, Miranda Richardson, Minnie Driver, Simon Callow
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I must confess, first of all, that I’ve never seen a stage production of Phantom of the Opera. I know the songs slightly better than most who can only hum the major themes (certainly they’re part of the Western collective unconscious, by now) because I played a version of the overture in middle school band. Still, I knew very little of the plot and lyrics before I stepped into the theater today, and have very little right to compare the film to what I would expect of the musical.
But fair or not, I’m going to anyway. I can’t help but think that viewing the production live, being a part of a completely different sort of audience, it would be much more mysterious and thrilling. More than any other stage adaptation I can think of, this film makes me feel what a sharp distinction there is between an engaged viewer and a passive viewer.
And there are some minor annoyances. Particularly Emmy Rossum’s Ultimate Wonder-Bra and perpetually heaving breasts. Frightened, aroused or (as is almost always the case) doe-eyed and confused, her breasts move as if mechanized. It is very distracting, and not just a little troubling.
(And does it bother anyone else that Christine seems to be in love with whatever man is addressing her at any given time?)
And, in my opinion, Rossum is probably the weakest link in the cast. So much of the emotional impact of the story depends upon the audience deeply sympathizing with Christine, but she seems to be trying so hard to be the earnest, passionnate ingenue that her performance becomes remote and insincere. Gerard Butler isn’t particularly better, but the mask and swishing cape lend enough mystique to disguise his woodenness.
And I suppose I would have preferred a little more internal consistency… The “rock” variations on the main theme are distracting in a musical otherwise conforming to its 19th century setting well enough. And I understand the conventional use of British accents for any European accent, but why direct Miranda Richardson and Minnie Driver alone to attempt a proper accent? It’s small things like this that take me out of the movie a bit.
Richardson and Driver are both outstanding, by the way. I suppose in my eyes the former could do no wrong, and true, here she has little more to do than stand around looking concerned yet powerless. Minnie Driver is the real surprise — I don’t think I’ve liked her in anything else before, but she’s an absolute hoot here, and quite an impressive singer.
Anyway, my criticisms are few and small. All in all, it’s a gorgeous spectacle that does the musical justice as much as I imagine a film can. I left feeling far more stirred than I expected to be — it’s a very exciting production. Certainly one of the year’s ten best so far. |
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Week in summary, 12/20-12/26
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La Vie De Chateau  (1966, Jean-Paul Rappeneau)
Quite enjoyable farce starring Catherine Deneuve.
Vertigo  (1958, Alfred Hitchcock)
I am embarrassed of my rating for this film, but it’s an honest one. I’m afraid my expectations may have gotten in the way of my enjoyment. I hope the film will grow on me through the years, but for now it’s my fifth favorite Hitchcock film.
Les Demoiselles de Rochefort  (1967, Jacques Demy)
Technically outstanding only in Demy’s superlative fusion of music, color and story, but personally enjoyable in every respect.
(Extended review here)
Sideways (2004, Alexander Payne)
Doesn’t quite live up to the hype, but it is an excellent picture with a lot of depth and humor.
Casino Royale (1967; more directors than I have patience to type)
I didn’t believe in guilty pleasures till I watched this film. I thought any film I thoroughly enjoyed was absolutely justifiable, until I watched this clumsy Bond spoof. Truly, it’s a terrible movie, with no discernable plot or continuity. But I’ve developed a bit of a “thing” for Peter Sellers and David Niven, and have to admit I watched this twice, gladly.
Les Diaboliques  (1955, Henri-Georges Clouzot)
A superlative suspense film that I actually rate higher than any Hitchcock film I’ve seen so far. This one sets the standard for a lot of weak imitations.
Touch of Evil  (1958, Orson Welles)
Absolutely inspiring direction, camera work and lighting. Unfortunately, I think I would have enjoyed it more had I watched it on mute. The plot is convoluted and dull, and the performances simply average. Still, it makes me quite interested to see what Welles can do with a better script.
Jules et Jim (1962, Francois Truffaut)
A film that touched me more deeply and personally than any other has for a long time. Instantly finds a spot in my top ten.
(Extended review here)
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004, Wes Anderson)
My second-favorite film of the year; not quite as masterful as Tenenbaums and Rushmore, but probably the funniest, and quirkily lovable in its own unique way.
Best of the week:
Best Film: Jules et Jim
Best Lead Actor: Bill Murray, The Life Aquatic
Best Lead Actress: Jeanne Moreau, Jules et Jim
Best Supporting Actor: Willem Dafoe, The Life Aquatic
Best Supporting Actress: Virginia Madsen, Sideways
Best Director: Francois Truffaut, Jules et Jim
Best Screenplay: Francois Truffaut and Jean Gruault, Jules et Jim
“We played with life and lost.”
1962 - France
Director
Francois Truffaut
Starring
Jeanne Moreau
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It has been a long time since I connected with a film on such an intensely personal level. This film contains so much of myself, is so perfectly an illustration of the way I love… I know I will never be able to articulate what it means to me today and how I will cherish it through my life.
Each member of the threesome is a little bit me. Catherine, the impulsive, selfish free-spirit, who acts to gain knowledge and believes she cannot hurt anyone else. She demands adoration, but cannot truly love. She could never be faithful because she must be free. Everything destructive in me is Catherine, but everything really alive is, as well.
And Jules, who is certainly asexual, content to simply be with that which he loves, on its terms. Yes, I have a streak of martyrdom in me. I am so completely dispassionate. Couldn’t part of me be content alone in the woods with my books and meaningless security?
And Jim, perhaps most human and conventional of them all, with his patience and anger and actual concern for human suffering — his ability to actually feel it, too. Fickle yet devoted; able to turn off his feelings like a light switch, but always looking for a reason to commit.
It’s a terribly sad story of the risks and wisdom of youth, and how that stays with you even as life demands more of you, even as you run from it. And of the various and relative nature of love — how many ways can you love another person? It all defies words and convention. This is what has become so clear to me in the last year or so. And this film embodies all that. Jules et Jim is for me the rare film I not only love completely but live completely, and it will stay with me.
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Screencaps
    
    
Quotations
She believes the world is rich, and that one can cheat a little. She begs God to forgive her in advance. She is sure that He will.
I am slowly renouncing her, and all I had expected from the world.
Each saw her in his own light. She couldn’t please them all.
The friendship of Jules and Jim had no equivalent in love.
We played with life and lost.
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The Young Girls of Rochefort
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“I must steer clear of dreary bourgeoisie art…”
[Les Demoiselles de Rochefort]
1967 - France
Director
Jacques Demy
Starring
Catherine Deneuve, Francoise Dorleac, Gene Kelly, Danielle Darnieux, Michel Piccoli, Jacques Perrin, George Chakiris, Grover Dale, Jacques Riberolle
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Very much in spite of myself, I am becoming a fan of the musical. True, they are largely French musicals so far, driven by the stylish auteur Jacques Demy. But now I also find myself smitten with Gene Kelly and his choreography, and I know it’s all downhill from here. Just wait for Brigadoon to top my list. This will be the end of my cinematic self-respect.
Seriously, though. Gene Kelly is a hot, hot man.*
Anyway, Rochefort is a lighthearted bagatelle about two artistic twins searching for love and dreaming of fame in Paris. It has the same feel and look of Demy’s Les Parapluies de Cherbourg but none of its serious, life-lesson undertones: absolutely nothing in Rochefort could be described as sober. One character leaves the love of her life because she doesn’t want to be called “Madame Dame.” Another draws the perfect likeness of his idéal féminin without every laying eyes on her (she happens to look a lot like Catherine Deneuve). And nobody’s going to be fooled into thinking Dorleac and Deneuve are world-class dancers and musicians; it’s quite obvious they aren’t even singing their lines.
But no matter. With just a small suspension of disbelief, this easily becomes one of the most singularly enjoyable films I’ve ever watched. The plot may be simple, but it is perfectly constructed. And it’s quite obvious to me that I am an absolute sucker for Demy’s style. I want my life to look like a Jacques Demy musical. That much is clear.
Also, this marks the third film I’ve seen in which Deneuve hilariously (um, to me and my friends, at least) complains “J’ai froid!” Seriously inside joke.
And, (spoiler-ish!!!) the two guys who ended up alone (excuse me, dancing together, alone) need to cut the crap and just admit they’re in love with each other. Honestly.
Nothing too deep here, but my enjoyment was pure.
*Dude was 55 when he made this movie? Oh my. My my. |
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Week in summary, 12/13-12/19
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Ocean’s Twelve (2004, Steven Soderbergh)
Nearly as fun as the first one — I love a fun and stylish film without deeper meaning now and then, and this is exactly the type I go for. Some lame jokes in there (Bruce Willis’ cameo went on way too long) but it’s mostly a great ride.
Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964, Stanley Kubrick)
Until this week, Full Metal Jacket was the only Kubrick film I’d ever seen and based on that I was inclined to very much dislike him. I was blown away by how much I really loved Strangelove. Absolutely brilliant, hilarious satire, and truly frightening (can’t imagine how I’d feel if I’d watched it in 1964!). Peter Sellers and George C. Scott are incredible. This is definitely going in my top 30, possibly 20; not sure where yet.
Closer (2004, Mike Nichols)
Intense character study, very well-acted and directed. Not quite as great as I’d hoped, but definitely has a spot on my top 10 of the year.
The Lost Prince (2003, Stephen Poliakoff)
Great historical drama produced by Masterpiece Theater for the BBC — Poliakoff gets into fascinating parts of history that don’t get told often, drawing a compelling portrait of the interdependence of European royalty and how their power disintegrates in WWI. Well, it’s primarily about the “lost prince,” of course, but as it turns out, that wasn’t the most interesting part for me. Miranda Richardson in particular was brilliant as the cowardly, carefully composed Queen Mary.
Sunset Boulevard (1950, Billy Wilder)
Possibly my favorite Billy Wilder film, and Gloria Swanson gives Bette Davis a run for her money in my book. Great, great film.
Best of the week
Best Film: Dr. Strangelove
Best Lead Actor: Peter Sellers, Dr. Strangelove
Best Lead Actress: Gloria Swanson, Sunset Boulevard
Best Supporting Actor: Clive Owen, Closer
Best Supporting Actress: Miranda Richardson, The Lost Prince
Best Director: Stanley Kubrick, Dr. Strangelove
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Closer & feminism in film
Posted 19 December 2004 in
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A Dland friend asked me a couple days ago, feminist to feminist, what I thought of Closer. Now that I’ve seen the movie, the question has provoked an important theoretical distinction in my cinematic thinking, and I think it makes a fruitful starting place for this blog.
There are probably several grounds on which one could make a feminist critique against this movie. Objectification of the female body in the strip clubs. Men who treat women like interchangeable property. Women who return again and again to abusive, self-destructive relationships.
But that would seem to suggest that there are some subjects, like stripping here, or rape or prostitution, that are not compatible with pro-feminist cinema; or that such subjects should ultimately be condemned, or at the very least be ultimately empowering.
I don’t think that’s the case. I think there’s a difference between an honest portrayal of the way things really are (even if that’s personally offensive to me as a woman), and the portrayal of women in unnecesarily demeaning and anti-feminist ways, whether conscious or unconscious. There is a difference, say, between a unjudgmental look at what goes on in strip clubs, and having a professional secretary or nurse wear short skirts and cleavage-revealing blouses. There is reality, which isn’t always flattering, and then there is actual exploitation.
I think Closer explores honest, if dark and negative, sides of humanity. Alice is neither troubled nor liberated by stripping. Anna uses her body as a bargaining chip. Neither Larry nor Dan see women as equals. And for all involved, sex is ultimately a sadistic game. But doesn’t all this go on in the world? My point is, the characters and plot do not have to be actively pro-feminist, as long as everything about the film itself is real and relevant.
Anyway, I don’t have a feminist problem with Closer. On that point, I find it pretty neutral.
A full review on the film should be posted soon, unless this diary is as much of a bust as most of my projects (or at the moment, my main diary) usually are.
“I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.”
1950 - US
Director
Billy Wilder
Starring
William Holden, Gloria Swanson, Erich Von Stronheim, Nancy Olson
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I can’t help but love a masterfully crafted noir. Like his Double Indemnity, Wilder begins this tale by giving away the ending, but constantly surprises with the twists his story takes to get there. Alongside Hitchcock, I’d class Wilder as one of those few great directors who consistently made outstanding films that appeal to the great majority of people.
I think this stands out among noirs because though it is the stylistic equal of the best of them, it is first and foremost a character study. Three seriously fucked-up but completely believable characters. The silent-era has-been with three failed marriages, two unaccounted-for, and a recently deceased pet chimpanzee, beloved for reasons we don’t want to imagine. The hack screenwriter who’d prefer life as a gigolo to honest work and true love. The butler devoted to keeping his employer’s deranged fantasy of “a return” to Hollywood stardom alive, for quite fascinating and disturbing reasons, but I wouldn’t want to spoil that for you.
I don’t think Sunset can touch it’s coeval, All About Eve, though, and that’s reflected by the rare correct call by the Academy. Still, the Best Actress pick, that’s a tough one (wouldn’t be surprised if I go back on forth on this, but for now you’ll find my choice here). Gloria Swanson’s rightly over-the-top performance, in which every arch of an eyebrow, every extension of a finger, seems carefully modulated? (They all say it’s Keith Richards, but don’t you think Johnny Depp drew a little from Norma Desmond for his role in Pirates of the Caribbean?) Or the inimitable Bette Davis’ self-mocking and snarking portrayal of Margaret Channing, easily one of my ten favorite characters ever recorded on screen? Still, either would be a better choice than Judy Holliday. Blasphemy.
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About TLC
Films: All reviewed | Favorites
Actors: Profiles | Favorites
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All films by year
2008 Viewing log
The Woman Accused 1933, Paul Sloane
So Big! 1932, William A Wellman
The Awful Truth 1937, Leo McCarey
Conquest 1937, Clarence Brown
It’s Love I’m After 1937, Archie Mayo
The Mad Miss Manton 1938, Leigh Jason
Algiers 1938, John Cromwell
The Gay Divorcee 1934, Mark Sandrich
All This, & Heaven Too 1940, Anatole Litvak
Mannequin 1937, Frank Borzage
A short digression on Charles Boyer…
Yes, I am endeared. I am, in fact, ensorceled. His inhumanly arched eyebrows, his little winks and half-smiles, and that ability to at once maintain full control of his material while shining the spotlight on his costar: yes, that is talent; yes, this is love. And no, Cluny Brown, it’s not just the cocktails giving you that persian cat feeling… I think we both know too well it has a bit to do with Mr Charles Boyer. Rawr.
Pre-Code Hollywood
» The Woman Accused 1933 Paul Sloane
» So Big! 1932 William A Wellman
» Pre-Code Icons Gallery #1: Barbara Stanwyck
» A Month of Pre-Code Hollywood
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