Quite frankly, watching Donny beat Nazis to death is the closest we ever get to going to the movies.

Inglourious Basterds (Tarantino, 2009)

Ok, let’s just get this out of the way now: I’m not a huge Tarantino fan. While I think he’s a remarkably talented filmmaker who has made a number of smart and compelling films, they typically arouse my interests on a purely intellectual level. As I watch, I often find myself appreciating a stunningly composed shot or a wonderfully edited sequence, or pondering one of the many meta-moments that Tarantino presents us with. His film-geekdom permeates every film he makes, as each film weaves a new web of seemingly endless citationality. This is not a bad thing, per se. It’s just that I’ve never been able to get really absorbed in a Tarantino film. I never feel like I’m fully inhabiting the world he has created. His style, fun as it is to watch, doesn’t ever let me react to the film on a physical or emotional level. I am almost never moved, saddened, repulsed, etc. Again, this wouldn’t be a bad thing if Tarantino were aiming for a purely intellectual response. And certainly, he is an incredibly intelligent filmmaker who deliberately tries to engage the viewer on an intellectual level. However, that clearly isn’t the only reaction he’s trying to elicit, as the hordes of Tarantino fans out there can likely attest. And so I constantly feel like I’m missing something in the films. (Incidentally, this may be the reason that the much-overlooked Jackie Brown has long been my favorite of his films, while I find the ever popular Reservoir Dogs practically unwatchable.)

Inglourious Basterds was no different in this regard, although it did grab me in more places than most Tarantino films do. I really only know how to talk about his films as a series of moments, so I’ll just highlight a few key moments—the ones that made me stop and think or marvel at his talent and those that more successfully used his style to draw out some sort of affective response in me.

In the latter respect, the first of the film’s five chapters was stunning. As Col. Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz) interviews Perrier LaPadite (Denis Menochet), each shot is framed beautifully and the camera movement accentuates the feel of the Nazis closing in on LaPadite, making the small space of his kitchen seem as claustrophobic as the area under the floorboards where the Dreyfus family is hiding. Here at least the film did succeed in making me react to the action rather than just the style: though I knew what was probably going to happen all along, the cinematography and editing produced a palpable tension.

Similarly, the sequence in which Shoshana/Emmanuelle (Mélanie Laurent) prepares to execute her own version of Operation Kino was truly brilliant. Simple though it was, I love the way the action aligned with the soundtrack—specifically, David Bowie’s “Cat People (Putting Out the Fire)”—and the variety of close up and overhead shots was used to great effect here. Both of these are deceptively simple moments that stood out as a result of Tarantino’s style: I appreciated their construction but didn’t get lost in it.

Finally, on an intellectual level, I both loved and was incredibly uncomfortable with the scenes of the Nazis watching “Nation’s Pride”—the film within a film. In a film as reflexive about its own medium as Inglourious Basterds is (and, indeed, most of Tarantino’s are), these moments highlighting the act of watching a film are all the more meaningful. In addition to raising interesting questions about the use of film as propaganda, this scene invokes a powerful criticism of the treatment of violence as entertainment. Or does it? The camera repeatedly cuts between the (supposedly) heroic violence on screen and shots of Hitler laughing vigorously, which gave me the disturbing feeling that—as a spectator of Tarantino’s particularly violent film—I was meant to identify with Hitler here. I’ve read a few reviews that treat this scene as Tarantino specifically critiquing war films and their glorification of violence, but given his own reputation for violent films, I’m uncomfortable with that limitation. But how effective is this critique of the ways in which we treat violence as entertainment and glorify it when lodged within a film that makes audiences laugh at Brad Pitt (as Lt. Aldo Raine) carving a swastika into someone’s head? I’m struggling to figure out whether this scene offers a legit criticism of cinematic violence or if it just becomes another superficial, quirky self-reflexive moment. After all, the hero of the film within a film, Fredrick Zoller, appears uncomfortable with the celebration of his own violence, but then immediately seeks out Emmanuelle and reacts violently to her rejection of him. Thus, the violence on screen becomes a kind of foreplay to his sexual aggression and violence. In short, I just can’t tell if the film is critiquing or celebrating our love of violence. Can it do both? I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter; I’ve already rambled on too long.

The more I think/write about it, the more I like it, so I want to see it again before settling on this, but here goes…
Rating: 4/5

Your busted tired dance moves are no match for my security protocol

Monsters vs. Aliens (Letterman and Vernon, 2009)

A mish-mash of recycled sci-fi films, MVA could have been a feast for film geeks and kids alike. While it's fun to see new life breathed into old characters, there's not much else about the film that captured my attention. Even the film references got tiring at times: I definitely rolled my eyes at the "that would be a very convenient truth" line. Though the characters were interesting in theory, and the actors voicing them fairly talented, they just didn't come to life as I'd hoped. Seth Rogen carries the bunch as B.O.B., and the few humorous moments in the film stem from his delivery. Most of the film, however, isn't that funny or engaging, and all too often it feels like it's trying to be. At several points it was clear that we were meant to be laughing, and the silence in the theater was palpable and awkward. Overall, the film was cute enough, but felt like it was trying too hard to do more, making its shortcomings stand out, and a few fancy 3D effects weren't enough to make up for lackluster writing.

What happens if you walk in anyway?

Let the Right One In (Alfredson, 2008)

With just the right mix of sympathetic identification with the vampire and grotesque (though not overly gory) horror, Let the Right One In is one of the best vampire movies I've ever seen. Certainly, Eli--the vampire trapped in a twelve-year-old body--is among the greatest vampiric characters of all time. She demonstrates the compulsory hint of remorse for her actions ("I do it because I have to"), but the film still makes clear that she has a choice and has chosen to be a vicious killer. Of course, she's also a loyal friend to Oskar, a twelve-year-old boy who is plagued by bullies and prone to escaping into violent fantasies. Their friendship makes the film work quite well as a coming-of-age story, and it largely avoids most of the by now cliche relationship issues common to vampire films. That is, Eli is not over-sexualized (quite the opposite), nor does Oskar overly romanticize her vampirism and long to become a creature of the night himself. Solidly acted, with dark and alluring cinematography, Let the Right One In is both terrifying and beautiful.

Rating: 4.5/5

It seems you have quite a fondness for movies.

Paprika (Kon, 2007)
Admittedly, it took me three tries to make it all the way through Satoshi Kon’s animated film. I kept watching it just before bed and found myself drifting off to sleep. Not because the film is boring: the premise is interesting, and the animation is gorgeous. In fact, my tendency to fall asleep is rather indicative of how well the film succeeds at creating a dreamlike state. By way of explanation, some plot summary might be useful: a company has created a device (the DC mini) that enables psychiatric researchers to record their patients’ dreams. When the device is stolen, the thief is able to enter people’s dreams and terrorize them. As dreams and reality merge, the vivid animation makes it hard to distinguish between them, which helps you feel completely enveloped in the world of the film—an immersion that ties into the film’s commentary on the danger of denying people the freedom to dream and the parallels it establishes between dreams and film.
Rating: 3.5/5

I am Shiva the destroyer, your harbinger of doom this evening.

Rachel Getting Married (Demme, 2008)
Although it’s fairly limited in its scope—presenting the days leading up to and including the wedding of Rachel, a Ph.D. student, and Sidney—Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married establishes its small universe of dysfunction quite well. Anne Hathaway is surprisingly good (I’ve never much cared for her) as Kym—Rachel’s sister who has just gotten out of rehab to attend the wedding. The rest of the ensemble cast is decent, if fairly unremarkable. The film’s universe is littered with musicians, wedding guests, and extended family members who make a nice backdrop to the intense family drama that unfolds and nicely give us a sense of Rachel and Sidney as a couple—something that the script and acting don’t set out to do.

I’ve read a lot of reviews that lambast the film for its shaky, handheld camera work, but I thought the visual style worked well with the film’s premise. The fact that it looks like a home movie only re-inscribes our presence within the domestic sphere, making us feel like guests at the wedding who witness the awkward family fights that occur. The home movie aesthetics are even more justified by the presence of a Sidney’s cousin, a soldier home on leave who is virtually always shown wielding a handheld camera. The fact that we see him filming so often seems to suggest a link between his footage and the film itself—as if Demme’s film is actually a compilation of home movie footage shot by the characters within the film’s diegesis.

Though the visual style didn’t bother me in and of itself, the film’s flaws, for me, were in fact a product of its ability to recreate so faithfully the feeling of home movies. The footage of the wedding itself drags on a bit too long. Once again, I actually felt like a guest at the wedding: this is a testament to how well the film establishes its diegetic universe and characters, but at the same time, attending the wedding of two people you don’t know very well is quite tedious. I understand why the wedding and reception scenes are necessary: something needs to happen in between the dramatic moments, after all. But I don’t think the film would have suffered had more of these scenes ended up on the cutting room floor.

Overall, I certainly felt like I was inhabiting the world Demme created for Rachel Getting Married. At times, it’s a world I didn’t necessarily want to be a part of, but that too suggests something of its power.

Rating: 3.5/5

Can't films be therapeutic?

Waltz with Bashir (Folman, 2008)

Initially I wasn’t sure if I liked the animation style because it seemed a bit choppy. There was something disturbing and awkward about the way the images moved. (Perhaps it’s just because the opening sequence damn near terrified me.) It didn’t take long for me to change my mind about that, though. The animation brings the story to life in a way that seems appropriate to its thematic issues: just as Ari Folman’s memory of his involvement in the war in Lebanon is sporadic and incomplete, the characters move in fits and starts, stumbling through the background Folman has created for his subconscious. I love documentaries, and I’ve seen quite a few particularly interesting and personal ones already this year (Dear Zachary and My Winnipeg come to mind); perhaps this makes me more invested in the notion that film can be powerfully cathartic for those dealing with traumatic memories than most viewers. Regardless of my personal investment in the form, though, I think Waltz with Bashir stands out as a disturbing, frustrating, and gripping account of the effects of war, the fallibility of memory, and the power of film.
Rating: 4/5

ELFF Redux

I Love Trash (Brown, 2008)
I had intended to see this one at the film festival, but decided that I’d avoided work quite enough for one weekend, so I bought the DVD (which cost the same as what my roommate and I would have paid for tickets) instead. I’m still not sure what to make of it. The filmmakers—-David Brown and Greg Mann—-embark on a three-month experiment in which they attempt to live solely off of what they find dumpster diving. They move into an empty apartment with nothing but the clothes on their backs and their camera, and the space is soon filled with furniture, clothes, food, and luxuries all collected from various dumpsters. Their efforts to convince me that my fear of germs and diseases are nothing but bourgeois illusions would have gone over much better had David and Greg been a bit more likable. I realize that’s a terrible thing to say and shouldn’t be the basis of how I judge the film itself, but I found them irritating for much of the film. I wanted to hear about the practical aspects of dumpster diving (Did they talk to store owners to find out when they dump their unsellable food? What criteria did they use to determine what they’d take and what might not be safe?), and I wanted to see more of what they’d done with it (Greg was so excited to find paint that I wanted to know what he painted!). Alas, much of their footage consisted of repetitive shots of them taking food out of the dumpster or lying on the floor of the apartment. This repetition made a fairly short film feel like it dragged on far too long, despite its interesting premise.

Rating: 2.5/5