Against The Hype

I’ve tried. I swear I’ve tried. But after numerous repeated viewings, I still look upon Vivien Leigh’s Blache DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire and wonder what gains the feisty, ever resourceful Scarlett O’Hara thinks she’ll get out of posturing so self-consciously and pitching her voice around the range of a twittery coo. It’s a testament to Leigh’s legendary performance as that other Southern belle in Gone with the Wind that it haunts this role too. Yet Leigh is so much more stiffly heightened here, even while keeping within a similar vein of theatricality, that we can’t quite say she’s approaching Blanche as an aged, more destitute remainder of who Scarlett once was either (though now that I would’ve liked to see).

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These days, director Christopher Nolan is justifiably esteemed for risking his blockbusters on such nominally cerebral material as Inception, The Dark Knight, and The Prestige. But for me, Nolan’s breakout success Memento—today celebrating the tenth anniversary of its release—is still the movie that best corrals his recurring strengths and weaknesses into one taut package. I’d go further to advise fans and skeptics alike to catch the chronological-order cut of the movie (available on the Limited Edition DVD), which shores up how duly the movie’s meticulous construction serves its high-concept premise, its reliance on copious exposition and its motivating dead lovers—all tropes that have since dogged Nolan’s work, often for the worse.

But more than that, the chronological-order cut also offers a crucial look at how editing can utterly change our conception of an actor’s craft, and a writer-director’s rounded compassion. The above shot, my pick for Nathaniel Roger’s Hit Me with Your Best Shot series, offers the gist of my elations and problems with Memento. I’ve heard somewhere that, coming off the back of The Matrix‘s success (my review), Carrie-Anne Moss’ signing on to Memento was what led to the project being green-lit. Funny that we haven’t seen much of her since, while the two movies that remain her most prominent cultural legacies are still going strong a decade later. And they both reduce her to token plot points! That’s irony for you.

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In alphabetical order, the tweets I wrote for some of the movies that I caught this past month (vastly under-representative, as I saw 25 movies this month):

ALICE DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE, ’74: Starts treacly, but once mother-son duo hit the road, so does film: flighty & grounded at Alice’s pace of life

ENTER THE VOID, ’09: Low-life melodrama bled through experimental art. “Soul’s eye view” mannered, meditative, crass, whettingly psychedelic

ISHTAR, ’87: So they made HAROLD & KUMAR movies in the 80s, starring A-listers (Beatty, Hoffman) to boot! Preposterous, broad, kinda funny

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING (Extended), ’01: Expansive, mythmaking

LOVE ME TONIGHT, ’32: Rickety songs, but crisp chiaroscuro, sprightly direction, comic use of sound make up for a lot. “Oh! oh! oh! oh!…”

MEMENTO (Chronological), ’00: Brutally ironic. Memory-loss plot duly serves Nolan’s penchant for exposition. His most moving dead wives, too

NEW YORK, NEW YORK, ’77: De Niro fearlessly mean, Minnelli never splashier; Scorsese milks their push-and-pull with grandiose aplomb

RAGING BULL, ’80: A stylish, dripping biopic of raw male ego. De Niro’s weight flux a bit gimmicky; Pesci understatedly impressive

SCARFACE, ’32: Thrilling eruptions of gunfire abound, and yet hammy and preordained as a Thankgiving dinner. Are remakes hammier still?

SHE DONE HIM WRONG, ’33: Mae West still chews delightfully on her rounded vowels, but scripted quips don’t match her NIGHT AFTER NIGHT debut

STAGECOACH, ’39: Inventive boxing-in of a tiny motley cast across dusty, empty locales, capped with two genre-making showdowns

TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT, ’44: Reprises CASABLANCA’s moods of war-time dissent, quiet heroism, sultry exchanges—and yet never feels copied. How?

THE YOUNG MR LINCOLN, ’39: Atrocious liberal tosh, beautifully staged and lit, tastelessly incoherent on justice and mob rage

In alphabetical order, the movies released in the US this year that I caught this month, then all the others beneath the jump:

BLACK SWAN, ’10: Aronofsky’s mastery of body horror prickles the skin. Other scare tactics, dance clichés, flat character types unimpressive

I AM LOVE, ’09: Lavishes on Tilda’s face and body as it does on hairdos, garments, cuisine. But we see, not feel, as she (and plot) unravels

THE SOCIAL NETWORK, ’10: A new story (Facebook-era entrepreneurship) witticized zippily through old idioms (loneliness of power/fame/riches)

TRON: LEGACY, ’10: Dramatically conflict-free; no human in sight. Scant SFX-on-rails action better than D.O.A. exposition that drags forever

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As the month closes, I’m consolidating here all the tweets on all the movies I’ve seen since I boarded the flight to college, in lieu of the fuller reviews that I haven’t found the time to write. I’ll be listing, in alphabetical order, the movies released in the US this year that I’ve seen, then all the others beneath the jump:

ANOTHER YEAR, ’10: Homely, comic, laced with bitter regret; end chapter tips into frost. A gem ensemble. Staunton haunts, Manville improves

CATERPILLAR, ’10: Assaulting, repetitive, too literal in its nationalistic and gendered metaphors; but in historical context, it kinda works

DOGTOOTH, ’09: Achieves the dark, biting horror of parental overprotection and deceit that Shyamalan’s THE VILLAGE only feigned to hint at

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS, PART 1, ’10: Cried within opening minute for Hermione’s self-erasure. Mechanical Cliff’s Notes-ing and scenery porn thereafter

IF I WANT TO WHISTLE, I WHISTLE, ’10: Incessantly follows its unlikable lead, with literal closeups on his back. But his unknowability wears thin

THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT, ’10: Milks awkwardness for long stretches, often swerves broad/tasteless for laughs. Still raw and tender, though

UNCLE BOONMEE WHO CAN RECALL HIS PAST LIVES, ’10: Mostly linear Apichatpong: not a good sign. At its best when unpredictable, and steeped in folkloric desire

WINTER’S BONE, ’10: Generic plot of cockblocks shifts to meth gang-fueled jolt, deus ex machina, Oscar clip. Sharper in scenes of domestic resilience

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