La Vie en Rose (2007)
VERDICT:
7/10 Prima Donnas
Thank God for Marion Cotillard.
La Vie en Rose chronicles the life of one Edith Piaf from her impoverished roots in the early 1900s where she was neglected by her mother, raised in a brothel by the ladies on payroll, and then taken away to Paris by her carnie father where she discovers her gift of voice while busking for pocket change. Then she grows up, she gets discovered by a club owner while busking for booze money, she headlines her first show, quickly becomes the biggest act in town, and lets the spotlight inflate her ego to the size of the Hindenburg. So she’s at the top of her game, she’s performing around the world and everyone knows her name, but then she gets addicted to morphine after her body becomes violently arthritic and things start to spiral downward for our Little Sparrow.
I don’t know about you guys, but I before I saw this movie, I knew as much about Edith Piaf as she knew about me. With the exception of Sigur Rós, I can’t really think of any non-English speaking acts out there that I’m a fan of or would be able to name off the top of my head even if someone were to play me their greatest hits, and as it just so happens, Piaf very much fell into that unfortunate category. Isn’t that so American of me? Anyway, being the Billie Holiday worshiper that I am and being that Piaf was very much in the same boat in that regard, I don’t know what took me so long ’cause I’ve been missing out.
As one would imagine, the music is very much a cornerstone and saving grace to this movie. It should go without saying that this movie probably wouldn’t exist if Piaf couldn’t sing worth a damn, but she totally can, she’s a legend for a reason even if it took me a good long while to come to that realization, and every time this movie dipped down to a 6, Piaf would take the stage, she’d start up those pipes of hers and I’d find myself with a minor case of goosebumps. Beautiful stuff, can’t beat music in movies when it shakes you to the bone, and this movie’s got it in spades.
Then again, without Marion Cotillard playing Piaf, this movie wouldn’t have come close to a 7.
The thing is, Edith Piaf doesn’t come off as a very likable person. There are brief moments at the beginning and end of the plot that provide wonderful little glimpses of someone that you would want to spend time with, enjoy a bottle of wine or three with and talk about life on the beach with, but alas, I refer to those moments as brief for a reason. Every other impression she makes is that of a true diva who proudly walks over those who are only trying to help her, considers herself the greatest thing that’s ever happened to the world musically or otherwise, and that’s never a good look on anyone now, is it?
Granted, she had a tough life that I can’t even pretend to empathize with, but if it weren’t for her voice, Piaf’s not the kind of person I would ever want to spend two hours with.
On top of that is the way writer/director Olivier Dahan decided to tell her story. For some reason, the plot depicting Piaf’s life is a non-linear one and continually jumps back and forth between major periods of her life without any real rhyme or reason outside of the fact that they all happened. It’s an approach that could have worked but ends up adding nothing to the big picture aside from confusion as to why this story couldn’t have been told chronologically.
The other issue is that there are a lot of people who shuffle in and out of Piaf’s life who all seem to play integral roles in her progression from a borderline orphan to the pride of France, but they all come and go so fast that we hardly get a chance to care about them. And that’s a shame because a couple of them even come back later on in her life after dropping off completely, Piaf clearly considers them some of the most important people in her life, but that’s all news to us since we only got to know them for a good ten minutes before they faded back into the herd until further notice. Just a poorly structured script that doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for the audience to give a crap about anyone but Piaf even though it clearly wants us to.
But I digress. Back to Piaf.
One of the most significant things about Cotillard’s performance goes right back to Piaf’s off-putting nature: the fact that you actually do want to spend time with her simply because the woman portraying her is so damn good. It’s weird writing about how much I liked Piaf’s voice when it’s Cotillard singing all along, but she really does look and sound the part to a tee and that always impresses my socks off in biopics. So the voice is a major selling point, another being that Cotillard is gorgeous to begin with and the more she starts to look like Piaf from one decade to the next, the more striking the transformation becomes. Man, the makeup crew here totally deserved the Oscar they won for the way they aged this girl from natural stunner to, for lack of a better phrase, a clown with sciatica. It’s the continually receding hairline, the subtle physical changes from year to year, and finally the way Cotillard is hobbling and shaking around like a leaf in a twister during Piaf’s last days that really puts it over the edge.
Not an easy character to embody, not an easy character to make compelling, but Cotillard blows it out of the water in what is very much one of the best female performances of the past decade.
Ultimately, La Vie en Rose could have been a much better movie, but what makes it at all worth watching is Cotillard. I’m always a sucker for a bit role from the great Gerard Depardieu, but since he also fits into that complaint of mine about characters who make a big splash one minute and are gone for good the next, I am left a sad fan. All the same, for a movie that’s otherwise relatively uninteresting, I can’t say enough about how good Cotillard is and how I completely understand the way she’s quickly becoming such a Hollywood heavyweight. She makes the movie and makes Piaf’s life far more engaging than it would have been with someone else at the reigns.
Boogie Nights (1997)
VERDICT:
8/10 Trouser Pythons
The most epic and legitimate thing that’s ever happened to porn.
Boogie Nights is about a High School dropout growing up in 1970s California whose life as a small-time night club prostitute of sorts is changed forever when he’s discovered by the biggest director in the porn industry and taken under his wing. So he runs away from his broken home, starts a new life with his new “family” of porn stars, changes his name to Dirk Diggler, and quickly becomes the Marlon Brando of banging chicks on film. For a while there, everything’s looking up for the kid and there’s no sign of stopping, but then the ’80s come around and absolutely everything starts going to shit.
Ain’t that the truth.
These days, Paul Thomas Anderson is absolutely no joke. You’ve got this, Magnolia, Punch-Drunk Love, and his magnum opus of milkshakes and oilmen, There Will Be Blood. Yeah, he’s been gettin’ it done for a while now, but all the same, I really have no idea how this beast of a movie came off the heels of his low budget, ho-hum debut, Hard Eight. Like upgrading from a Honda Civic to an time-traveling DeLorean in one year.
Honestly, look at all the names that are tagged up there. It’s a fuckin’ cornucopia of A-listers, and better yet, a number of them are even giving the best performances of their careers. I probably won’t be able to give each and every one of the folks in this cast their due, but the scope, the vision and the number of heavyweights who came out of the woodwork to be a part of this are all a huge leap from Anderson’s humble beginnings and it’s amazing the kind of substance he whips up considering the industry he’s working with.
The first time I saw this back in High School, it went clear over my head. As far as I was concerned, porn was porn and making it seem like anything more than sex and money shots was a hopeless endeavor to set out upon. But after seeing this again and realizing that it’s more about the characters and porn as a metaphor of the times than Anderson trying to get the masses to reach some mind-blowing epiphany about the art of knocking boots on camera, I got it. It’s kinda like figuring out what it was I liked out about Forrest Gump in that regard, only with less Dr. Pepper and way more orgies.
And Anderson really is something else behind the camera. So many incredibly well-structured long shots that jump from character to character to character without skipping a beat and gets the audience completely invested in everything that’s going on, some great montages that range from totally groovy to a Debbie Downer that gives the “ass to ass” finale in Requiem for a Dream a run for its money, just one of those movies where the director’s involvement in every aspect comes off as palpable. Man, if more folks like Anderson were making porn 40 years ago, if more folks cared about the story they were telling in same way he does here, let me tell ya’, Ron Jeremy would be winning Oscars.
So as far as the porn aspect is concerned, Anderson makes it work for two reasons: it’s rarely taken seriously, and when it is, it’s actually pretty meaningful. It’s a tribute to a time when sex was more celebrated than objectified and how that outlook disintegrated with the passing of a decade, but even in its glory days, Anderson’s not making any illusions about how laughably bad porn was back in the day aside from all the sexing and such. The fake pornos he creates are freakin’ hilarious, the acting is absolutely terrible and it’s a great send-up of something that was already unintentionally hilarious to begin with. Actually ends up getting pretty depressing and grim once it gets into the ’80s, but up until then, hilarious. Can’t think of a better approach to take when you’re trying to make a mainstream movie about porn, actually.
But anyway, the cast.
In one of his first big screen debuts, Mark Wahlberg plays our little porn star that could, Dirk Diggler. On the one hand, Diggler does allow him to play to his strengths as everyone’s favorite Calvin Klein underwear model, but aside from that, he’s surprisingly good for someone who definitely didn’t have a whole lot of acting experience under his belt. It’s great how eager and green behind the ears he is in regards to the direction his life is heading in, how he’s always practicing kung-fu in the mirror and how he’s just a genuinely nice kid who couldn’t be happier to make new friends, win awards for having sex, and to be part of this new life that’s so far away from his old one. Makes the contrast between his the darker periods of his career that much starker, and Wahlberg really manages to pull it off. Doesn’t hurt that he’s got one bang-up record career going for him, too.
Burt Reynolds is also perfect as our porn mogul of the hour and Dirk’s surrogate father of sorts, Jack Horner. Heather Graham absolutely gives the best performance of her career as Horner’s biggest starlet, Rollergirl; Julianne Moore is fantastic as Dirk’s surrogate mother of sorts/debut co-star, Amber Waves; and John C. Reilly is fucking great as Dirk’s sidekick/shadow, Reed Rothchild. Like I said, there’s a crap load of noteworthy actors here, far too many to sum up without boring you all silly, but trust me, they’re all out of sight.
Although the best part about all these characters is that none of them fall by the wayside. Every last one of ’em have their one little plot line going on, they’re all really interesting and very much play into the big picture, and they’re all given their due even though this many characters would likely be the downfall of most movies. For Chrissakes, superhero movies can’t even handle more than two villains let alone a dozen different supporting characters who all have developing arcs from beginning to end. With that being said, that one aspect is what I loved most about this movie. It really does feel like a tight-knit family and the porn ends up becoming a backdrop to a crew that’s far more interesting and genuine than their line of work.
Boogie Nights is one of those movies that I feel should probably be a 9 and probably would if I had been born two decades earlier and could relate to what these characters were going through in regards to the sign of the times. If I had the same connection to Dirk Diggler as I did to Barry Egan in Punch-Drunk Love, this would have easily been a 9. All the same, there’s a ton to admire and appreciate here, I love the fluid progression and digression of the story as it transitions from the good time, weed-fueled days of the ’70s to the cocaine crazy nights from Hell of the ’80s, it’s far more engrossing and impressive than a movie revolving around porn had any right to be, and I very much dig why so many people flip over this movie. There’s a lot more to write about here than I already have, this is one of those things someone could probably write a thesis on, but that’s as much a justice as I can do it. Truly epic. Not even kidding.
And how about that final shot? Some note to end on, huh?
And the biggest snub of the 2010 Oscar noms is…
NO LOVE FOR CHRISTOPHER NOLAN AS BEST DIRECTOR!
Damn, son. The Academy effed that ess up real good this year. But something tells me that Nolan is gonna come back like a mofo with The Dark Knight Rises. That’ll show ’em, Chris.
That’ll show ’em all…
Good voting, folks!
RESULTS:
– No love for Chris Nolan – Best Director: 18 votes
– No love for Andrew Garfield – Best Supporting Actor: 7 votes
– No love for Ryan Gosling – Best Actor: 4 votes (would have been my vote by a long shot)
– No love for Mila Kunis – Best Supporting Actress: 2 votes
– No love for The Town – Best Picture: 2 votes
– No love for Danny Boyle – Best Director: 1 vote
– No love for Barbara Hershey – Best Supporting Actress: 1 vote
– No love for Matt Damon – Best Supporting Actor: 1 vote
– Other: 2 votes for “No love for Daft Punk – Best Original Score” (how the hell did I forget to include that?), 1 vote for “No love for How to Train Your Dragon – Best Soundtrack” (works for me), 1 vote for “Christopher Nolan and Ryan Gosling. Can’t just pick one, both are deserving” (I hear ya’, man), 1 vote for “No love for Shutter Island‘s cinematography” (shibby dibby), 1 vote for “No love for LET ME IN – EVERYTHING!!!!” (looks like it’s been a rough award season for ya’, Sebastian), and 1 vote for “Julianne Moore best actress” (word, she really was good).
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
VERDICT:
9/10 Two-Bit Outlaws
Can’t go wrong with Newman and Redford, folks. Simple as that.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is about the said bank-robbin’, train-robbin’ legendary gunslingers of old as they go from doing what they do best with their Hole in the Wall Gang to riding for their lives from one seriously mean group of trackers after bumping off one safe too many from the wrong guy. Along the way they team up with their lady friend, they try every trick in the book to shake Johnny Law by heading East, South and anywhere that doesn’t have their faces plastered on WANTED posters, and they even try going the straight and narrow. But when push comes to shove, these guys were born banditos and they’re gonna die banditos, but they sure as hell ain’t goin’ down without a fight.
So when people ask me for good Western recommendations, Once Upon a Time in the West, The Proposition (despite how many people report back with “it put me to sleep”) and The Outlaw Josey Wales amongst others are usually ones that come to mind (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly tends to be a given). But this little ditty here doesn’t often make the list, and that’s not to say that this isn’t a great Western or anything, I guess it’s because this isn’t what you’d expect from a Western.
You don’t really expect to laugh in a Western, you don’t really expect a buddy movie from a Western, and you most definitely don’t expect to watch one of the leading men impress a girl with bicycle acrobatics as Burt Bacharach plays in the background. Then again, that’s what’s so fun about this Western and that’s one of the many things that makes it stand out from the crowd. It’s not about vengeance, it’s not about vigilante justice, it’s about the lighter side of being America’s Most Wanted and all things that’ve always made the life of a cowboy so damn appealing: shootouts, stealing shit, and doing it all with a smile on your face.
Thanks a lot, Garth Brooks. Thanks a lot for screwing ii all up.
But this here is fueled by a perfect storm of guys who really know a thing or two about making cool look easy. It’s directed by George Roy Hill of Slap Shot, The Sting and Slaughterhouse-Five fame, it’s written by William Goldman of Marathon Man, Misery, and All the President’s Men fame, and there to drive it all home are two of the most awesome fellas that have ever graced this fine galaxy of ours, Paul Newman as Butch and Robert Redford as Sundance. Let’s be honest, there was no way this movie could have failed.
As easy as it would be to start ranting about how Newman and Redford make the movie and how I sometimes dream about an alternate reality where they’re actually my two gay dads, a big reason why their dynamic is so damn great is due to the script that pens ’em that way. Butch is the brains and the mouth, Sundance is the quiet muscle, they’re the perfect complement to each other, they live to give each other shit and they could care less about backing up their rep since it always seems to precede them. But as someone who’s not from the 1890s, they don’t seem larger than life, they really just seem like normal guys…who, like, kill people and stuff.
Part of it is Newman and Redford’s chemistry, but I really dig the way Goldman makes a point to give these two a sense of humor that’s always there since his leads already have the whole “natural badass” thing covered. Just a really funny pair that are great at taking life in stride even when they’re holster-deep in shit and constantly wondering “Who are those guys?” that keep hunting them down.
But the chemistry between these two Hollywood icons really is something else. Newman and Redford don’t come off as characters, they come off as friends with spurs on. You watch them together and it’s no wonder why their names are synonymous with one another. God, these are the kind of guys you wish were your friends or could at least run into one night and buy a pitcher of beer for in the hopes of getting invited over to their table. From the minute you meet them, all you’ll want to do is keep on getting to know them, and that’s kinda the whole draw right there that never gets old.
Although I’m not sure how to feel about the whole non-love triangle with Butch, Sundance and Sundance’s main squeeze, Etta. There was total potential there to use her as a point of contention between the two hombres, but then again, that’s already been done and their dynamic does work as is. Butch would never pull that shit on Sundance anyway.
Newman would never pull that shit. Too much drama.
Sure, it’s not the most tough-as-nails Western out there, but that’s not to say it doesn’t stand up as a Western in its own right either. The final shootout between Butch, Sundance and the entire nation of Bolivia is flat-out awesome and really well-filmed, it’s got one of cinema’s more memorable knife fights to boot, and few gunmen have ever looked so mean and handsome at the same time as Redford and his power ‘stache. The formula’s there and it’s damn good, just doesn’t come in the same gritty packaging is all.
I haven’t seen Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid too many times in my day, but that refresher course is always a nice little surprise when I do. Always forget how much I love their last conversation, always forget how much I fucking love that ending, and I always forget what an entirely enjoyable way to kill two hours this is. It’s all about tone with this one, and while there’s not as much character development as there is character self-realization, that’s A-okay by me. After all, does it getter any better than discovering that you’re a cowboy through and through?
Actually…yes. Yes it does.
Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)
VERDICT:
8/10 Deirdre Duffys
Might not be the most obvious story in need of spoofing, but nevertheless, it had me laughing like gangbusters.
Robin Hood: Men in Tights pretty much takes everything that Kevin Costner with his American accent and Bryan Adams with his Canadian power ballads tried to make awesome in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and harpoons it all from top to bottom. You know the story, it’s been done ad nauseum, but this time around it’s actually aware of the fact that the remakes probably should have stopped with Disney, and that, dear viewers, makes all the difference.
So as with most movies that I thought were awesome in third grade (lookin’ at you, The Mask), my expectations upon revisiting this a full 18 years later as a grown-ass man were understandably low. One of those movies that all my friends thought was hilarious and I just played along with fake laughter in the cafeteria because admitting that it had gone clear over my head would inevitably ruin any chance I had at someone trading their Lunchables with me. Not a good first impression to go off of. But it’s not just this movie, it’s actually Mel Brooks movies in general that have unfortunately gotten less and less funny with each new viewing.
Before you write me off completely for that statement, Blazing Saddles is still great, but Spaceballs doesn’t quite do it for me anymore, I don’t think I laughed once the last time I watched Young Frankenstein, and I thought Spamalot was a hell of a lot funnier than The Producers when I saw ’em on Broadway. I don’t know, maybe I need to go through a Mel Brooks marathon one of these days to lay down the final verdict on things, but until I recently revisited Men in Tights, it had been a sad, unfortunate state of affairs. Please don’t hate me for this paragraph.
So there I was a couple weeks ago hanging out with friends, I’ve got a handful of beers in me, I’m feelin’ super, and after trying to settle on a movie in the Netflix Instant catalogue for what always feels like three hours, we start this baby up and I proceed to laugh my knickers off for the next 104 minutes.
The thing that did it for me is that this one just goes way outside the fourth wall. Speeches are interrupted by cameras crashing through stained-glass windows, Teamsters hanging out off-set get cut down by the Sheriff of Rottingham (HI-OH!) in the middle of sword fights, characters pull out scripts to make sure that Robin gets a second shot at the archery contest, and thanks to a time machine that no one seems to mention, references to Nike pumps, Everlast chastity belts, Abe Lincoln, Mark Twain and Don Corleone are there for the taking, too.
Although due to gags that fall flat like Rottingham’s penchant for not being able to structure his sentences properly or even some of the Merry Men’s rap songs, it’s not quite a home run from beginning to end, but some of this shit really is gold. Prince John’s constantly-moving mole, someone yelling “Hey, Abbott!” like Lou Costello when an actual Abbott of the Church walks by, Little John “drowning” in two inches of water – that kinda stuff had me howling and I was not expecting to howl at all here.
And on top of all that we’ve got Isaac Hayes as “The Painted Man”, Asneeze; Dave Chappelle as his son, Ahchoo; Richard Lewis as Prince John; Tracey Ullman as a witch who changed her name from “Shithouse” to Latrine; a cameo from Patrick Stewart as King Richard; a scene-stealing Dom DeLuise as the English version of Don Corleone; Mel Brooks himself as Rabbi Tuckman; Amy Yasbeck who does a fine Maid Marian; and Cary Elwes as Robin who’s just as charming as he was in The Princess Bride, just that he’s funnier this time around. Awesome cast if I do say so myself, too bad it didn’t really do much to launch Chappelle’s and Lewis’ careers though.
Folks, in this day and age where spoofs are equated with Vampires Suck, Meet the Spartans or any of one the shitstorm masterpieces that for some reason have gotten those fuckheads Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer filthy rich instead of blacklisted from planet Earth, it’s nice to see random and irreverent done right for a change. Although I did go through a brief phase in middle school where I thought Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves was the bomb, and of all the times I watched it, I never really thought it was unintentionally funny or setting itself up for something like this. Thinking I probably need a refresher course on that one to see if I was just jaded by Costner’s powermullet to notice the flaws, but it wasn’t until Russell Crowe took on the mantle that I thought Robin jumped the shark. Anyway, for a movie that I don’t think anyone was really asking for, it’s a solid spoof and totally achieves what it sets out to do.
Alright, the booze might have helped, but I had a ball with Robin Hood: Men in Tights in a way that I haven’t had with a Mel Brooks movie in ages. Don’t ask me justify the verdict against other Brooks comedies that carry legendary reputations far great than this does, you won’t get the answer you’re looking for and I honestly can’t really explain it myself. All I know is I had fun, I laughed way more than I thought I would and I’m generally a sucker for anything involving Dave Chappelle and/or Richard Lewis. There’s your 8.
From Russia with Love (1963)
VERDICT:
7/10 Gypsy Kings
Misleading title for something takes place entirely in Turkey, but still a solid follow-up.
From Russia with Love finds our pimpdaddy supreme double-O agent heading off to Istanbul in the hopes of recovering a Russian decoder for the Brits while fully aware that he’s walking right into a trap that’s probably been cooked up for the sole purpose of getting his ass killed. Turns out he’s totally right because the same crew that was rolling with Dr. No is now pitting the Turks and the Russkies against each other so that they can snatch that decoder for themselves and off that studly bastard JB in the process for killing one of their own back in Jamaica. TIME TO KICK SOME ASS!
So I guess you could probably cite this as the first example of the “definitive” James Bond formula in the series since this is the first movie that includes two James Bond staples that were very much missing from Dr. No: gadgets and an opening credits sequence that was probably on par with watching hardcore porn back in ’63. Not much to say about the credits outside of their being an upgrade from the funkadelic strobe light montage that kicked off the first movie, but when it comes to gadgets, this is one of the few instances where it actually ends up being a pretty awesome addition to the mix.
To defend himself from Turkish hitmen and their assassination attempts that tend to involve some sinister blend of curry and sulfuric acid, our boy Q outfits Bond with a briefcase of exploding death to carry in tow. It’s got a secret pop-out knife, hidden ammo and money compartments, a fake container of talcum powder that’s actually filled with tear gas (because apparently people were all about talcum powder in the ’60s), it’s just big enough to hold a Swiss Army sniper rifle, and if you open it the wrong way, it goes kaboom in your fucking face. The reason I’m going on about this Ultimate Briefcase is because it’s cool as well as practical without catering specifically to situations that would probably happen to nobody, a combo which gets increasingly hard to come by with each new installment if I’m not mistake.
After this, I have a feeling that things in the series are gonna take a sharp nosedive towards bullshit, particularly in the gadgetry department, so if there’s a time to celebrate Q’s inventions without having to question how often you’d really need a wristwatch with a lazer in it, this is it. But aside from all that, this is pretty much more of the same that we got from Dr. No. Not that that’s a bad thing ’cause that was a pretty solid formula to begin with, although I really don’t know how I’m gonna come up with new stuff to say about all 20-some-odd movies in this franchise if this keeps up.
Instead of Dr. No for a villain, we’ve got the rest of the SPECTRE crew represented by a pissed-off Russian lady whose main line of attack is a one-inch shoe knife, a chess master who bears a striking resemblance to Le Chiffre, we get to see a faceless Blofeld petting his cat, and best of all is a young, bleach-blonde Robert Shaw as Bond-killer extraordinaire, Donald Grant. Very cool. Only problem is that he doesn’t say a word for 95% of the time he’s on screen, then when he finally opens his mouth he’s got this annoying-ass British accent and cheerily calls Bond “old man” 36 different times. Luckily, he sheds that shtick after a while, but for such a hardcore dude, he probably just should have stayed a mute.
And not counting a questionable scene that I’ll mention in a minute, the action here is surprisingly solid. Bond’s North by Northwest-y showdown with a grenade-droppin’ helicopter and his knock-down, drag-out brawl with Quint were freakin’ wild and totally unexpected considering that the best we got from Dr. No was a sorry excuse for a car chase and a sorry excuse for a wrestling match that ended in all of ten seconds with Dr. No boiled like a radioactive lobster. Really good fight with Quint, actually. Amazing what happens when you replace judo chops with dropkicks.
You know, for the most part, this movie’s an 8 and it’s pretty damn fun throughout. But then there’s this one bizarre scene that I keep coming back to where Bond’s Turkish brother from another mother takes him to a shindig at a nearby Gypsy settlement. They show up, throw back some Turkish vodka while a belly dancer jumps their bones for five minutes, and then they watch two broads get in a full-fledged Greco-Roman wrestling match for another five minutes. As if that wasn’t random enough, the Reds confirm their reputations as the UN’s biggest buzzkills by crashing the gates with guns blazing, so James starts tripping, judo-chopping and shooting fools from the hip until they all run back to Moscow, and then he has a threesome with the two Gypsy gals who were fighting from before because the village chief declares him his “son” for being such a stone cold badass. A truly bizarre series of events that was weird from the get-go and even weirder by the end.
Really have no idea what the point of that scene was other than to showcase everything that was already unintentionally hilarious about these movies in one fell swoop by having Bond run around nonchalantly killing waves of nameless thugs and getting rewarded for it all by contracting eight different strains of Gypsy venereal diseases. In retrospect, it’s actually kind of awesome and it might have bumped the verdict up to a 9 if I had been drunk at the time, but who am I kidding, that shit came out of nowhere.
All the same, From Russia with Love is a solid Bond entry and a swell example of 007’s glory days. With the exception of Blofeld and his cat, the Russian lady with the dagger feet who Blofeld refers to as “Number Three”, Bond judo chopping like a madman and the mindboggling fact that he gets laid even more in Turkey than he did in Jamaica, there weren’t too many moments that made me immediately think of Austin Powers. Alright, that’s actually kind of a lot, but it’s far less noticeable in light of everything else that works. Connery’s still lookin’ good and he’s still the man, Daniela Bianchi ain’t too shabby as our Bond girl and title inspiration, Tatiana Romanova, I dig that their relationship reminded me a lot of the one from Casino Royale, and Pedro Armendariz is great as Bond’s Turkish MI6 contact, Kerim Bey.
Also has a damn good sense of humor until Bond starts running out of witty quips for each new guy he kills at the end. But, boy, does he keep those quips a-comin’ for a while there.
Amelie (2001)
VERDICT:
10/10 Regular Do-Gooders
Simply magical.
Amelie is about an introverted young woman with a healthy passion for life’s simple pleasures who discovers her true calling when she anonymously returns a long-forgotten collection of mementos to a stranger and subsequently changes his life in ways he could never imagine. From that point forward, she takes it upon herself to be the guardian angel behind the curtain and do whatever it takes to improve the lives of those around her. Then one day she happens upon a kindred spirit who is more or less the boy version of her, but she can’t bring herself to act on her emotions because she’s too caught up in helping everyone else to know how to help herself. Such is the plight of Ms. Amelie Poulain from Montmartre.
So with the exception of Micmacs (which I have yet to see) and Alien: Resurrection (how on Earth did he get attached to that?), I’m confident in saying that the works of Jean-Pierre Jeunet are a collection that will make you fall in love with movies. You can start anywhere and probably come out with the same conclusion, but this is the one I started with, this is the one you probably should start with, and I don’t think my low expectations have ever been quite so nuked the way they were on that fated day I rented this from the library.
Just as a heads up, I’m gonna be using the word “life” a lot in this review because that one syllable is pretty much this whole movie in a nutshell. It’s not about booze, drugs, sex or any of the other joys that adults tend to associate with happiness, it’s about everything else that doesn’t cost a dime and taps into our inner children in ways that movies rarely do. It’s taking a spoon and cracking the shell of a crème brulée, it’s skipping stones, it’s sinking your hand into a sack of grain, it’s popping bubble wrap, it’s all the things that were once endlessly entertaining in an age of innocence and it’s like experiencing them all for the first time.
Might sound like an odd premise to revolve a movie around from the outset, but trust me, it’s brilliant and it works because you know you love popping bubble wrap as much as the next guy or gal. But that’s just part of it, the other part being the crushing and healing powers of love, as corny as that may sound. Whereas a couple of Amelie’s neighbors are stuck in a rut thanks to blindness or having a crappy boss, most of ’em are out of love, jealous or heartbroken, and watching them help each other out of those shells by letting them in is something that never gets old, Amelie’s love life in particular.
It’s whimsical and it’s honest and it’s stunning the way Jeunet captures it all.
I love how every little detail of each new scene is bathed in faded, rustic color tones, I love the accordions and pianos that make up the score and continually elevate the emotional weight of even the most everyday actions to the point where it feels like you’re in a hall of wonders, I love the breathtakingly fast pace that Jeunet moves along without ever feeling rushed and I love the way he’s having just as much fun behind the camera as his characters are having in front of it. The timing, the vision and the detail are just exceptional here, it’s a blast to watch, and the style is as beautiful as the substance.
And whether it’s dialogues between people and photographs, Amelie counting down how many different lovers are climaxing at the exact same moment or the ingenious ways she gets revenge on the meanest grocer in town, there were times when this movie had me howling. Smiling’s a given with this one, but it really does have a great sense of humor that makes everything that much more fun. Jeunet’s script is just so well written from a comedic as well as universal standpoint and it’s incredible how many unique character arcs he throws into the mix without having any of them feel expendable.
The most prominent being Amelie herself and the amazing Audrey Tautou who was the absolute perfect choice to play her. Very much in the same way she is for those around her, getting to know Amelie is a breath of fresh air. So full of life, so delightful to be around, one of those people you wish were real just so you could have them near to brighten things up. That Audrey Tautou, what a freakin’ charmer.
Also nice that she’s just one of many Jeunet regulars who all blow away their respective roles. If only every town had regulars like those in Montmartre.
Geez Louise, I wish there was an Achilles’ heel in here somewhere, but everything about this baby really is out of sight. It’s really something to find movies that are such achievements on both a technical and emotional level as this is, movies that exemplify the value of paying it forward and random acts of kindness, movies the world could really use more of. I don’t know if it was meant to leave that kind of impression, but that’s what I always come away with far more so than the lovey-dovey stuff even though that was fantastic, too.
Amelie is the kind of movie that could change a life, or at the very least one’s outlook on it. I’ve seen this three times now and I really can’t think of any other movie that’s ever made me so happy that it made me tear up from the first 15 minutes right to the end credits with each new viewing. As someone who truly appreciates the experience of a cold beer in a hot shower along with the countless other pleasures that life has to offer, this is a movie after my own heart and an incredible testament to the everyday miracles and mysteries that we often take for granted with age or routine. Call it cute, call it quirky, I won’t argue with ya’, but it’ll put a hop in your step, it’ll make you take a look at the world in ways you haven’t done in ages and you’d be flat-out crazy to write off something so genuine and wonderful as a “chick flick”.
CRAZY, I tell ya’!
Congratulations, Cheeseheads!
The Downside: No review today. Completely underestimated how long the Super Bowl would run for, completely underestimated how long it would take to get a cab home in Manhattan at the exact same time thousands of other people were trying to get a cab home in Manhattan, also completely underestimated the
The Upside: Good Super Bowl, glad the Packers took it. Back with a review tomorrow, and let me tell ya’, it’s a good’n.
And the Best Director of 2010 is…
CHRISTOPHER NOLAN!
Damn, son. The people have spoken and they are not leaving quietly. Looks like Fincher’s got the best chance at actually winning that Oscar, but the Academy can officially go eff themselves for gypping Chris this year.
But don’t worry, kids. Chris’ll get his due one of these days. Dude is a beast.
RESULTS:
– Christopher Nolan: 21 votes
– David Fincher: 9 votes
– Darren Aronofsky: 6 votes
– The Coen Bros.: 3 votes
– David O. Russell: 1 vote
– Tom Hooper: 0 votes (ouch)
– Other: 1 vote for “Uwe Boll – BloodRayne 3: The Third Reich” (maybe next year).
And just as an FYI, anything that’s even remotely related to Leo from here on out will always warrant Struttin’ Leo. Hope that’s cool with you guys.
Dogtooth (2010)
VERDICT:
6/10 House Arrests
Strange as they come.
Dogtooth is about a Greek “family man” and his wife who’ve created a commune/prison/bio-dome of sorts out of their humble home in order to raise their three grown children in seclusion from the outside world. So the kids spend their days engaging in various games and endurance contests, counting the stickers they’ve won, and that’s cool by them because that’s all they know. But then Pops starts paying an outsider to sex up his only son, she starts causing trouble, accidentally exposes the eldest daughter to some of the outside world’s simple pleasures, and that’s when things start to go downhill.
In a nutshell, it’s like a bizarro dark dramedy about The Fritzl family, only without all that paternal rape stuff. No idea what would compel someone to write a script about something like that, sure wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when I saw the dad’s creepy-ass mugshot, but for something so insanely weird, it’s actually pretty watchable.
Geez, I really don’t know where to start with this one. As tragic and horrific as the whole Fritzl story is, there is an odd fascination that comes with it all. Like, how does someone get to the point where they can manufacture a life like that for their freakin’ kids and how would you deal with it as the said kids even if it was “normal” to them for all intents and purposes. And that’s what this is: a bubble where right, wrong and morality have been tossed to the wind in order to create a subjectively pleasant existence fueled by competition, family “values” and sibling incest.
Good times!
But as much as this movie left one big “WTF” expression on my face from beginning to end, it is kinda funny, too. Stuff like the parents giving them the wrong definitions for words (eg: a “zombie” is a tiny yellow flower, a “pussy” is a bright light, yada, yada, yada) so that when one of them asks for the “telephone” at the dinner table she gets the salt shaker passed her way. Even better is when they listen to an LP of their “grandfather” singing “Fly Me to the Moon” while their dad translates the lyrics into a ditty about how much Ol’ Blue Eyes loves his home and obeying his parents.
I’m sure I’m doing a shit job at selling this out of context and it’s not like this is gut-bustin’ material to begin with, but the way the characters are so dead serious/ambivalent about the otherwise ordinary aspects of their lives makes it come off that much crazier from a third-party perspective. That’s the formula for every laugh here, and for some reason it often works.
It’s also one of those movies that doesn’t come with an MPAA rating but probably would have landed an NC-17 with ease had it been made stateside. With the exception of one scene that plays into the charming screengrab below, it’s not so much a tough movie to watch as it is taboo by all our normal, civilized standards. Let’s just say that this family is about as shy with their bodies as Adam and Eve were before that whole forbidden fruit incident went down, and if that eldest son needs satisfyin’, he’s gonna get it from someone, family or otherwise. If The Bradys got busy with The Mansons, this crew may very well be the next two generations of spawn to pop out. Those dirty hippies from The Village ain’t got shit on these guys.
I wouldn’t blame you for giving up by now, but there’s actually more to this freakshow than everything I’ve mentioned thus far. To his credit, writer/director Giorgos (or Yorgos) Lanthimos does have a solid script at his disposal and does do a good job of making these Looney Tunes surprisingly easy to connect with. He keeps the tone consistent and the tone is just right since this would have been royally depressing without the humor to balance things out. And while there ain’t much about these folks that I can empathize with, they do actually feel like a family which their own unique wants and desires and a dynamic that ebbs and flows at a gorgeous pace.
Good acting from everyone, too. Rather than riddle off everyone’s unpronounceable Greek name, I’ll just address them as a whole since they all get really into their roles. Very deadpan, very enthusiastic, and very convincing considering the nutso nature of the being. Might be the biggest aspect that ties all the madness together into one neat little whole.
So, yeah, Dogtooth is fuckin’ bonkers. I’m personally amazed that I’ve managed to squeeze this much to say out of a movie that could have easily been summed up with a verdict of What the hell was that?/10. It’s not a bad movie by any means and it’s actually really strong in some regards, but as much as I’d like to give this a 7, it does eventually cross that fine line where things get too weird and start to overshadow the stuff that kept me invested. Definitely an original take on the whole innocent lost riff and it sure makes those moms from Toddlers and Tiaras look like dream parents, just wish I had a better grasp on the deeper meaning behind it all. Tough movie to recommend, but sure will make for some interesting conversation and I can totally see the right audience loving this thing to pieces.
But I do dig that poster. No idea what it means, but the simpler and cryptic-er the better is what I always say.
Pretty sure I say that, like, 30 times a day.
Cut The Crap Movie Reviews 
