Forget about the shit, piss, vomit, semen, vaginal mucus, blood, burst boils, incest, abortions, anal sex, oral sex, fisting, bestiality, sex with wounds, anal musical talent, and other pleasantries in The Aristocrats. I wanna talk about editing!
The Constant Gardener is about a guy who finally finds a spine. And he’s part of a film that never does.
Errol Morris’ Vernon, Florida has no apparent reason for existing, no message, no discernible structure, and only the faintest of pulses. It’s lazy, mean-spirited, hateful, and tedious. Why, then, is it so valuable?
Is it any wonder the dead are fed up and primed for revolt? Is it any surprise that writer/director George A. Romero is cheering them on in Land of the Dead? And is it so hard to see these zombies as a blunt allegory for racial minorities, the impoverished, the politically disenfranchised? On the final question, apparently so.
In the context of my essay on Batman Begins, my wife has asked me to deal with the issue of spoilers. Here then, is my Spoiler’s Creed.
In Batman Begins, Christopher Nolan uses the superhero mythology to create an epic study of ethics, evil, fear, and justice. It’s a bracing, dark, provocative, and serious work that at last transcends the juvenile roots of the comic-book genre. It’s not just the best superhero movie ever made, but likely also the best mainstream film of 2005.
The intermingling of the real and unreal as the representation of a mortal battle for the body and/or soul recalls dozens of movies, some of them great or nearly so: Psycho, Carnival of Souls, Jacob’s Ladder, Fight Club, Memento, Mulholland Drive. Clearly in that tradition, The Machinist is frequently fascinating, particularly in detail and in the margins, but at heart it lacks inspiration and has little to say.
The troubles with Revenge of the Sith are large: conception, narrative arc, tone, and pacing, all related to a failure by George Lucas to acknowledge what, exactly, the prequels represent, and to shape the material accordingly. And the raw materials of the movies suggest a startlingly detailed, mature, and nuanced vision, not just a popcorn space opera.
Ah, movies about child molesters. Why oh why aren’t there more of them? Probably for the same reason that there aren’t more films about obviously guilty people on death row: because under the cover of trying to illuminate serious social issues they’re naked attempts to humanize rightfully demonized people. The Woodsman doesn’t escape that trap entirely, but it’s surprisingly suspenseful with a strong set of characters.
Carl Franklin’s Out of Time most closely resembles a roller coaster. The first 45 minutes are a long, clunky, and agonizingly dull climb up the hill, and the last hour is all momentum, action, and thrills.
