Poverty and WorkChoices

Luis Bunuel is fast becoming one of my favourite movie directors. That Obscure Object of Desire is in my top ten, and I'm also a fan of Belle de Jour, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and The Exterminating Angel.

Today I saw one of his earlier films (1950), Los Olividados (The Young and The Damned). It's one of his lesser surrealist works, save for a creepy dream sequence involving a mother, son and wad of dripping meat; and Bunuel's usual penchant for milk, women's legs and animals. It's also the first film I have seen from Bunuel that doesn't focus on the petty bourgeoisie. The social realism of the piece reminded in part of De Sica's Ladri di Biciclette. It's a ninety minute commentary on poverty in Mexico, and a gang of young hoods led by a sociopathic young man named Jaibo (Roberto Cobo). A revenge murder sees him at odds with a younger member of the group trying to reform (Alfonso Mejia, in a wonderful young peformance), and in the end, both are victims. It's beautifully directed, with fine performances from the young actors, and Bunuel makes no judgments about the boys, about the authorities, about the reformed boy's unsympathetic mother (Estela Inda) or even about the causes of poverty in general. He simply shows us a tragic, disheartening situation, and implies that it's the responsibility of all to fix it.

I wonder...will we face a similar situation following the government's IR reforms? I know what John Howard would say to the youngsters in Los Olividados: "Get a job". Mr. Howard, it's much more complicated than that.

Uh oh! Have I just violated the new anti-terrorism laws? Nope. Have to wait for the Melbourne Cup.

Maybe the French will get it

I stand corrected. Hollywood Ending is the worst Woody Allen film I have ever seen. I can't bring myself to write another word.

Good Guys and Bad Guys

I'm glad I saw Crimes and Misdemeanours. It reminded me that when Woody Allen is good, he's very good.

The film, his last of the 80s, is a moral tale "about humanity". There are two protagonists: a Jewish Upper Middle Class opthalmologist (Martin Landau) who has his mistress (Anjelica Huston) murdered to protect his reputation, affluence and family; and an idealistic documentary filmmaker (Allen) burdened with making a biography about his shallow sitcom producer brother-in-law (Alan Alda). Both are symbolic of a universe that is made up of good guys and bad guys. When the two meet in one of the film's final scenes, it is abundantly clear that the bad guy has prospered and the good guy has had his livelihood removed. This isn't Crime and Punishment, hence the title pun. In this film, those who are punished aren't necessarily those who have acted wrongly.

Part of the success of the film is that Allen lets Martin Landau create a multi-faceted character that works as a darker counterpoint to the Allen persona. Landau is excellent at conveying his character's processing of the moral dilemma at hand. The film carries a bigger dramatic punch because its essential message results from the choice of that character, rather than by an external element that forces the character to make the crucial decision. And our processing of that decision has greater gravity because the comedic "otherworld" on which we have relied for most of the film has disappeared. We are left with perhaps the most apt image of Allen in cinema - the wounded clown.

And that is perhaps the greatest aspect of Crimes and Misdemeanours - it feels as if Allen is speaking from an honest place for once. He's not trying to be Ingmar Bergman, hence perhaps his darkest film still possessing moments of comedy. When his character sees the ambitious associate producer (Mia Farrow) choose the shallow man over the man of substance; and in that masterful pan from Landau kissing his wife to a shattered, lonely Woody, Allen is in confessional mode. He is lamenting the fact that happy endings are only for Hollywood Movies - and that fundamentally he does not make Hollywood Films. It's his - and his character's - worst fear realised.

END NOTES:

Having said this, Allen still makes his trademark blunders. Some of the characters are archetypes who exist simply to speak and embody Allen's thesis. The symbolism is at times overkill - such as the final image of a blind rabbi dancing in a den of sin. And I suppose Allen is being reductionist in his contrast between "good guys" and "bad guys". Dubya would approve.

I should probably mention that the comedic "otherworld" is often very funny. My favourite moment is when Allen shows Alda his finished biography - which cuts from a megolmaniac Alda in a meeting to newsreel footage of Mussolini chanting from a balcony. Alda's reaction - to take over the making of his own biography - is priceless. There is also some great dialogue, the winner being "the first time I was inside a woman was when I visited the Statue of Liberty."

All in all - a very relevant film to the times at hand - and an offering from the Allen canon worth seeing.

The Chase

For me, Chasing Amy is a film connected to the distant past - when I was eighteen and intimidated by its subject matter (equally intimidated by my ex-girlfriend's obsession with it). Years have passed and I'm happy to report that it's as good a film as I remember. Certainly the best Kevin Smith movie I've seen. Yet interestingly it doesn't rest on Smith's prowess as a director. In 1997, even after two features (Clerks and Mallrats) and the Miramax machine behind him, Smith still had no idea where to put a camera. His blocking is stagey, his images flat. What makes the film are the performances and Smith's dialogue. I forgot how much of a joy Chasing Amy is to listen to. For example:

Hooper (Dwight Ewell): For years in this industry, whenever an African American character, hero or villain, was introduced - usually by white artists and writers - they got slapped with racist names that singled them out as Negroes. Now, my book, "White-Hating Coon," don't have none of that bullshit. The hero's name is Maleekwa, and he's descended from the black tribe that established the first society on the planet, while all you European motherfuckers were hiding out in caves and shit, all terrified of the sun. He's a strong role model that a young black reader can look up to. Cause I'm here to tell you, the chickens is coming home to roost, y'all. The black man's no longer gonna play the minstrel in the realm of comics and sci-fi fantasy. We keepin it real, and we gonna get respect by any means necessary.

Holden (Ben Affleck): Ah, come on, that's a bunch of horse shit! Lando Calrissian was a black guy. You know, and he got to fly the Millennium Falcon, what's the matter with you?

Hooper: Who said that?

Holden: I did! Lando Calrissian is a strong role-model in the realm of science fiction/fantasy.

Hooper: Fuck Lando Calrissian! Uncle-Tom nigger!

Perhaps the key to the success of Chasing Amy is both its honesty about relationships (refreshingly non PC) and the heart Smith brings to the project. It's probably no coincidence that the film's key speech is spoken by Smith himself as Silent Bob. And it's not a new thesis - that in a relationship the focus should be on the individual, not their past (unless they've been an axe murderer, obviously). Otherwise - you'll lose them. Makes a lot of sense. So thumbs up to the film from me. Besides making me strangely nostalgic for the grungy 90s and lamenting the Joey Lauren Adams' career that never was, I was once again charmed by this small ode to love. And hell, Smith was only twenty seven when he made it!

The same praise cannot be given to Woody Allen's Anything Else. The film went straight to video in Australia, and I can see why. It's akin to a group of children putting on a Woody Allen play. Jason Biggs is way out of his depth as the pseudo-Allen, painfully exposed when he is put on screen with the actual Woody Allen (who plays a mentor figure that drives a red sports car - which I assume is supposed to be funny given Annie Hall - otherwise once again Allen has tried to create a character separate from himself through the inclusion of an "object" or "hairstyle"). I'm not sure what parallel universe Woody has descended into, but he should stay right away from dramatising the tribulations of young relationships. I'm not saying that a seventy year old filmmaker cannot write about young love, but the sight of Biggs and Christina Ricci speaking as upper middle class New Yorkers who spend their days talking philosophy and analysing every facet of their existences (in Allen-speak) is simply ridiculous. Twenty minutes in, my friends and I turned off the film. After The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, Melinda and Melinda, and I assume Hollywood Ending (never released here), if Woody doesn't deliver with Match Point I'm blocking out most of the last ten years of his career.

Speaking of all things relationshipy, I went on a date last night. However, I didn't go into the evening convinced that it was a date. In fact, I'm not particularly sure what constitutes a date. Perhaps I just hate the whole concept of a date. Ultimately, I left the evening convinced I had been on a date.

(END NOTE: It looks like Kevin Smith is making a sequel to Clerks. This goes to show how much the so called "American independent film movement" has changed over the last ten years (and in the twenty or so years since Jim Jarmusch's Stranger Than Paradise). Somehow, I don't think Smith is capable of making a sequel to rival Before Sunset...)

Rushmore and Self Congratulations

I saw Rushmore last night. Already a fan of The Royal Tenenbaums and The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, so was expecting to enjoy myself. Wasn't disappointed. It's a lot tighter than the other films, less forced as well. Maybe the best example of what goes on in the wacky head of Wes Anderson (although I haven't seen Bottle Rocket). In essence I think it's a film about desire for individuality. And maybe there's a class comment as well. I especially liked the pathos of Bill Murray's depressed millionaire who becomes Max Fischer's (Jason Schwartzman) friend and nemesis. I was going to write a review, but Jonathan Rosenbaum of the Chicago Reader set the bar too high.

The Australian Film Institute Awards Nominations were announced yesterday. This comes after the nominations for the If Awards and Film Critics Circle of Australia Awards. For an industry that makes so little films per year (with about 10% of them any good), is this orgy of self congratulations warranted? Probably. These people work hard, for very little money. For the record, I'm rooting for Look Both Ways.

Birth (and death)

This is my first posting. Sound the trumpets.

I was late to discover DVD box sets of television series. Now I think they're the greatest idea since pop tarts. I remember myself as a young television junkie, frustrated at having to wait a whole week for another episode of Quantum Leap, Picket Fences or (don't laugh - Anne Tenney's death scene as Molly was harrowing for my four year old self) A Country Practice.

I've just spent the last week re-watching episodes of Six Feet Under. This second time has deepened my appreciation of the series, which I am saddened to hear has ended in the United States. The strength of the show is that its creators have adopted an "independent filmmaking" approach to both its look and scripting. Each episode does not contain an "epic" plot (say, compared to the pace of The West Wing or even The Sopranos). It is a show that is rooted firmly in the characters. And rather than have the characters take easy, linear journeys, their behaviour is as unpredictable as ours. I remember listening to an interview with one of the writers (Craig Wright, I think), who talked about Ball's disdain for characters acting the same in sequential scenes. So, for example, if David argues with Keith in one scene, he's fine in another scene with Claire, but will then explode in a further scene and then do something rash - say masturbate in a public toilet - in the scene afterwards. I think that's why Six Feet Under is almost shocking at times - because it does not compromise in its portrayal of our complex lives. And while I understand criticism about the show's descent into soap opera from about halfway through the third season, the strength of the acting, writing, direction and the aforementioned grounding in real characters and real situations doesn't render the Lisa disappearance/Nate breakdown/Hoyt secret/George goes mental arcs a huge problem for me. And what a cast. Michael C. Hall as David and Frances Conroy as Ruth are worth special mention. Hall is so good at capturing David's internal struggle to accept himself. And Conroy can make a small gesticulation look Emmy worthy.

I would love to see a television series with these "independent cinematic" traits made in Australia. There is a strong history of television in this country. Some of my favourites have been Frontline, Wildside, and the first series of The Secret Life of Us. But I think we can go further. I think we can go beyond the literal and "safe" nature of some of these programs and look to something a little more challenging. Six Feet Under is less about a situation and more about a universal theme - death - and at times is very abstract in the way it explores the issue. The question is whether there would be an audience for this type of fare in Australia. From what I gather Six Feet Under rated well in its graveyard stint on the Nine Network - so maybe.

This blog has no specific theme except to act as a reminder of my thoughts. There is a history of memory loss in my family, and I'm already starting to forget things at the age of twenty five. Perhaps that is why I am so interested in family history and personal stories and want them told. So instead of keeping a diary in my indecipherable handwriting, I'm posting my thoughts online in case some bloggers out there are interested. Most of my posts will probably be on the arts and news. But you never know, I may surprise you and myself. For now, adieu.