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On Comstock Avenue: A Scene for Two Actresses and a Man with Reverse Telepathic Abilities

30 October 2005

[The sound of heavy footsteps on wood]

[Tapping on a microphone]

Ehem.

[Feedback. It dissipates]

Ladies and gentlemen, our blog today will be written from the perspective of a man sitting by himself on a crowded bus.

Thank you.

[Heavy footsteps on wood]

-~-

inspired by true events

-~-

God, this is fucking ridiculous. I’ve got a paper due at five. Hate this bus. Takes so long to get home. 15 minutes. 15 minutes to home. Five deadline. It’s... I should really get the battery in my watch changed. Can’t believe I haven’t done that yet. Watch is so much easier then reaching into my pocket to get out my cell phone. 4:12, shit. I’ve got a paper to do, then I should clean my room. Or I could play video games. Yeah, video games would be nice. I could play my next football game. That would be nice. Take my mind of schoolwork for awhile. For an hour. Takes an hour to play a football game. I could play Alabama. I like the numbers on their helmets.

But if I play one, I’ll want to play two. That’s two hours. It’s... 4:13. Two hours from 4:13, that’s after six. 6:13. No... shit. I’ve got my paper to write. Paper due at five. Then I can play video games. No, then I can clean my room and reward myself by playing a video game. But only one, because by then, I’ll have that meeting to go to... Shit.

Girl behind his Left Ear [very faint in his mind, practically a whisper]:
...y’know? I mean who does she think she is? 4 pages? That’s, like, what? 1000 words? 10,000? By Monday? I’ve got shit to do this weekend, I don’t want to waste my time writing a stupid paper...

Okay, three football games. When I get home, I’ll finish my paper and email it in. Then I can play no more than three football games. I’m getting bored with it anyway, right?

Girl behind his Right Ear [ibid]:
...to be a good journalist, you have to write this stuff. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Maybe you should just write the first...

Four. Four football games... No. Fuck it. Maybe I should just go home and jerk off. That’d be a lot easier.

Girl behind his Left Ear:
I don’t know what to do, [name has been removed to protect the innocent]. I don’t want to write this stuff. This is not what I came to this school to write about. Profiles, yippee!

-~-

Editor’s note: this poor girl did actually say "yippee" at this point. It ain’t no lie.

-~-

...Profiles, yippee! You know, I want to write about shit that matters. I want...

God, this girl is annoying.

Girl behind his Left Ear [loudly, taking all of his attention]:
...like, what if I don’t get hired because, like, my teacher’s screwing me with this pansy crap. Y’know? [strained laughter] I mean, how’m I gonna get a job with this?

With what? You haven’t written it yet.

Girl behind his Right Ear:
You need to find something you want to write about.

Girl behind Left Ear:
Right. That’s, like... nothing [fuller laughter].

She laughs so much I don’t think she has a central nervous system.

Girl behind Right Ear:
You should be a food critic.

Critic? I want to be a critic. This idiot can’t be a critic.

Girl behind Left Ear:
Yeah, that’s easier said than done.

Damn skippy.

Girl behind Left Ear:
But yeah, I could do that. I could eat stuff I didn't like, then write about it and not have to actually do anything about it.

WHAT?

[the sound of alarm bells ringing – or, for that matter, alarms ringing]

Are you serious? You think that’s what the job is about? To bitch. To not like anything. Jesus, what a lonely life: the critic who doesn’t like anything he criticizes. What a bitch.

Where does she get off with that critics not doing anything thing? Seriously, the whole point of the job is to do something. A do something job: you say, ‘hey, that worked, nice job. Nice idea.’ Like that short story by that guy... about the grandfather with the advertising chip in his boots, taking his grandson around. ‘America.’ ‘What a good idea, let’s go get a beer.’ That story. Good story. Who wrote that? What was his name?


Forget about it.

It’s a guide: ‘that worked, that didn’t. Do the one that worked.’ It isn’t just putting x’s or stars on everything. It’s a dual medium: artist and critic. The artist creates and expands, moves in new directions. Critic guides and directs, gives the new directions shape and context.

Shit, that sounded good. I should blog about that. What did I just say? Shape and contacts. Right? Shit. No, critic v. the idea of the critic hating everything. That’s right.

I don’t hate everything. I’m not a critic yet, but I don’t hate all. I just have high expectations. Yeah, that’s what I should tell that girl. Oh, she got off the bus already. Well, that’s what a critic is, damn it. High expectations. That’s good.

That’s what I want to be.

I think...

Arthur Ryel-Lindsey » Comments:

The Great "8 1/2": The Problem of Praising Fellini

13 October 2005

You don't need me to tell you that Federico Fellini’s "8 ½" is a great film; one of the best films ever made. The film speaks – shouts, hollers, yawps – for itself, in several discourses, on several levels.

In terms of plot, Fellini’s 1963 masterwork is often labeled the best movie about making a movie; this is an over-simplification. "8 ½" is instead about consumption, assimilation, memory, creativity – both formative creativity and the ever more present and brutal creative stagnation – and then cinema within cinema. The film is more about the destruction of a movie than a movie’s formation. Marcello Mastroianni plays feeble but famous film director Guido Anselmi, recovering from weariness at a medical spring while preparing his next project and battling an endless procession of producers, designers, writers, and women. Unable to make any progress on the film, Guido retreats into his memory and imagination as a safeguard against the impulses demanding he produce. Finally – inevitably and excruciatingly – he cancels the project. In his imagination, he shoots himself. Destruction. Death. Curtain.

But the film’s last scene is not this destruction of the creative dream but rather a cinematic curtain call: the entire cast, directed by Guido, assembles and dances in a circle to the music of a circus band led by a small boy. Guido joins the cast – a player in his own play – and the final resonant image is not from Guido the director, where the film’s point of view had been weighted to this point, but rather from the flute-playing boy, marching off screen right. The film ends with a vision of cinema as child’s play.

Thus, while "8 ½" is about the failure to make a movie, it is equally about the vitality and imperturbability of creation, even at an artist’s lowest point. Though Guido cannot make any gains in his film, his imagination in rife with creative formulations. The film takes us back to Guido as a boy teasing the voluptuous dancing devil Saraghina. Later, in Guido’s mind, we see his ideal world: a harem with all the women he has loved in place, loyal, and ordered.

Moreover, within the film itself, Fellini plays with space, image, and sound to make "8 1/2"s environment seem unreal and carnivalesque; like cinema itself, a fantasy. The audience actually enters the film mid-dream: Guido is stuck in a traffic, his car filling with smoke, before he escapes by floating over the on looking motorists (he ultimately crashes into the sea). Visions like these are childish to Guido – recuperative and certainly sheltering. The music of his world is overly dramatic. The comedy subtle but certainly there. The result? As in all of Fellini’s films, "8 ½" is viewed through a child’s eyes: with a ceaseless awe for the world it creates, with allusions to magic tricks, with an ability to dance and float – for a time, at least – above the crowd. Hope, even in destruction.

Yet, these discussions of plot do not do the film justice. "8 ½" can be discussed in far more insightful terms.

On a biographical level, for example, "8 ½"s protagonist Guido is a thinly-veiled self-portrait. Fellini – having uncharacteristically completed "La Dolce Vida" (1960) with no idea what film to make next – was struck by a director’s block that was only broken when it became the focus of his now most renowned film. Its title is derived from Fellini's life's work: he had directed eight films and one film segment before his 1963 opus. The Italian stalwart was also infamously obsessed with women. Some suggest this is a consistent theme among the Italian filmmakers (and artists?), but "8 ½" is unique because of its placement of Guido in several physical relationships at once (with several unspeakably attractive women) leading to the infamous harem dream-sequence; Guido, as lion-tamer, cracks a whip to restore order amongst his wife, mistresses, and childhood lusts. The scene lays bare and obvious the shortcomings of Fellini himself. What otherwise plays with the grotesque becomes Fellini’s most honest moment.

Honesty begets intellectuality when the film is taken for any of its commentaries on art: cinema’s consumption of everything in an artist’s life – from his sanity to his memory to his ability to walk in a straight line down a hallway – or all the world as a cinema (something to voyeuristically watch), a Shakespearean theme paralleled in the film when the players watch the play (in this case, the screen tests).

And let us not ignore the questions the film’s characters raise about Italy as a dependently Catholic state. The film is riddled with nuns and priests and Guido, both in the present and in his memory, quickly seeks the guidance of the clergy along the way.

This discourse has only hinted at issues of composition – lighting, framing, sound; all immaculate – but, to be more brief than I have been, "8 ½" simply works, on every scale. It is a movie that gets better with age, that never falters, that is poetic and real and invasive and visionary. It stays. It produces vibrations.

Thus, you don’t need me to tell you that "8 ½" is one of the best films ever made. Unless, of course, you do.

The general problem, it seems, is that for those people not seriously studying film, "8 ½" remains largely unknown. One reason: "8 ½" and films like it are an acquired taste (but how are you going to acquire it if you do not know about it?). Also, mainstream America has that certain, broadly defined phenomenon that suggests that foreign films, especially foreign films from years gone by, might as well have never existed.

But even if that were not the case, a public ignorance toward films like "8 ½" is, in the end, unsurprising, given that even among film scholars, "8 ½" does not garner much respect. Looking at the major film organizations’ and magazines’ now requisite "Top 10 Films" lists (if not "Top 100"), the only one to include "8 ½" in any significant placement was the British trade magazine Sight and Sound: number nine in the critics’ list, number three in the list voted on by directors – behind "Citizen Kane" and Godfathers "I" and "II." That the directors voted "8 ½" so high should not go unnoticed.

No doubt directors love "8 ½": Fellini’s film is often called the most accurate portrayal of the director’s creative process. It is also one of the most often quoted films in cinema and even instigated a whole movie with its harem scene, Peter Greenaway’s "8 ½ Women." But when it comes down to claims of praise, if the directors are the only ones raising a voice, the support for the movie pangs of egotism: "look at how hard our job is, look at how much we achieve, look at how well Fellini captured our modes of thought." It would be one thing if the film was honestly no good, or even mediocre: it really would be egotism. But "8 ½" deserves all the praise it gets, so that egotism is just a color that can needs to be removed.

"8 ½" is a brilliant film: in look, in sound, in text, in form. I should not have to tell you that. You should already know for yourself. But, in lieu of directors espousing their own game, no one is there to say "hey, go netflix this one."

Well, I am here now: go see the world through a child’s eyes (if you do not like it the first time, you will like it the second).

Destruction. Death. Hope. Titles. Fine.

-~-

Photo Caption: The Director and his Women. Film director Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni) avoids the gaze of his wife, Luisa (Anouk Aimee) in Federico Fellini's "8 ½." Film frame.

Arthur Ryel-Lindsey » Comments:

Juiced: Soderbergh's Achievements in "Ocean's Twelve"

03 October 2005

So, I am nearly ten months behind on this discussion, but having recently seen a certain movie, I am prepared to make a statement that – to members of my generation of film goers – will be largely frowned upon: Soderbergh’s "Ocean’s Twelve" is better than Soderbergh’s "Ocean’s Eleven." Better, because it is a gag, not a necessity. Better, because it is a good time, not a time that we are all too used to seeing.

Let me tell you what I mean.

"Ocean's Eleven," Steven Soderbergh’s wildly popular 2001 remake of the 1960 Rat Pack venture, is a fine film and an excellent example of a cinematic recreation that outshines its parentage in almost every way. Soderbergh departs from the original film's campy – at the time necessary – musical solos and slapstick routines to make the heist of a Las Vegas casino a serious cinematic core framed by a very nice comedic interplay. The central heist is more deliberately envisioned, the core cast is debatably stronger as an acting troupe than Sinatra, Martin, and Davis Jr., and as for the filmmaking, Soderbergh – a fifteen year veteran of the independent film scene – brings his film in leaps beyond the first, with details placed in scene – like a computerized diagram of the heist route in the background that mistakenly goes into the bathroom – suggesting that the set had creativity to spare.

Of course, "Ocean’s Eleven" was one of several high-profile movies about high-profile heists that came out at the time, half of them remakes: "The Thomas Crowne Affair" (John McTiernan, 1999), "Gone in Sixty Seconds" (Dominic Sena, 2000), "Snatch" (Guy Ritchie, 2000), the aptly-titled "Heist" (David Mamet, 2001), "The Score," (Frank Oz, 2001), "The Good Thief" (Neil Jordan, 2002), "The Italian Job" (F. Gary Gray, 2003), and "The Ladykillers" (Joel and Ethan Coen, 2004). While the heist genre rarely goes out of style, this list seems like a heavy concentration. And "Ocean’s Eleven" is certainly one of the best among them.

The problem is that these films are all fairly formulaic. The team of bandits get together with wind of some lead or a hot tip from the female love interest. We have the time-tested veteran, the one who is probably too old for the job, the enthusiastic kid who at some point plans to do the job himself or skip out on them all or take the money for himself (usually Ed Norton), the sexy female partner, the ruthless villain, the technical genius – most often a punk kid but sometimes the black guy who likes to wear odd hats – the well-to-do marks and so on. The object of their affections range from stockpiles of money to gold to paintings to diamonds, but always the devised plan is flawless and daring if it was not, on the face of it, impossible; hence the need for the movie. And everything goes along swimmingly, until the intelligent and assuasive cop shows up, or the goods get moved, or the diamonds once stolen get stolen by someone else, or the one unexpected twist moment occurs to show us how they really did it; the Keyser Soza billboard moment, if you will, right at the end of the film.

Not all of these items apply to every film, of course, but as a primer, it works fairly well: select three to five units from the character list, find an exotic item to steal, make sure the lead is cocky, intelligent, has a criminal history, and can do a few turns with Rene Russo on the dance floor, and add a few plotline snags on the way to the eventual heists of the century; will there ever be a character in this kind of movie who fails at achieving the impossible?

Additionally, these films are all marked by very polished camera work often taking advantage of exotic surroundings like Las Vegas or Monte Carlo. Thus, in all of them, we have precise setups, mostly stable cameras, intriguing lighting designs often evoking film noir, some very controlled camera movements and every once and a while a brilliant sequence surrounding the heist involving music (see the use of Nina Simone in "The Thomas Crowne Affair" particularly... then see Steve McQueen in "The Thomas Crowne Affair").

With the exception of "The Good Thief" – which is already an anomaly in this list for doing the best to break the above cliches while retaining their smoke – these films are also marked by high end actors, and no film achieves the realm of star power more than "Ocean’s Eleven": George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Julia Roberts, Andy Garcia, Don Cheadle, Elliot Gould, Carl Reiner, Bernie Mac, Casey Affleck, Scott Caan, and so on.

But the film cannot escape its lineage as a heist movie, no matter how well it has been made. It flows nicely through the standard snafus and problems, but they are still standard. It crescendos well into the last few plot twists, but it has a tacked on "years later" moment at the end that could be dispensed with. In short, it may be the best of the class of aught one, but its still a member of the class, like the empty space in the line at graduation, the diploma for the kid who was too good to show up with the rest of the group: awarded but not unnoticed.

Three years later – a "years later moment" we shall not dispense with – Soderbergh delivered his anxious audience "Ocean’s Twelve," which upped the star-power ante to include Catherine Zeta-Jones, Bruce Willis (playing himself), Albert Finney, and a few foreign stars: Englishmen Robbie Coltrane and Eddie Izzard in bit parts and white-hot French actor Vincent Cassel as rival thief "The Night Fox." The audience was largely disappointed. I will tell you now, though, that the movie cashes in.

Filmed in twenty-one locations including Rome, Monaco, Amsterdam, Paris, and Lake Forest, Illinois, "Ocean’s Twelve" is a fun, stylistic reversal of everything Soderbergh did in the first film. The heist is not one heist, but several, moving in very rapid pace. The camera work is much less polished, at times even slipping into an ungainly handheld shot that, at one moment, does not quite capture the car exploding on the other side of Brad Pitt’s head. At least, not without a drastic step to the right (see frames left; this may have been a rehearsed move to keep the car obscured, but I doubt it). The editing is much more jumpy and almost tourist film titles mark the movement from place to place; they are reminiscent of 1950 and 60s era European films, which heightens the European-ness of "Ocean’s Twelve" in general.

"Ocean’s Twelve" is, after all, distinctly European. Its attitude is laid back, take-it-easy, nothing too fast, relaxed and groovy (to borrow an expression from one of the film’s cast members). This, I’m willing to bet, is the point.

Soderbergh was a brainchild of the American "independent" film movement. He jump-started the Sundance Film Festival in 1989 with "Sex, Lies, and Videotape," really the first great film the festival had, which coincidentally set it off on the path toward becoming the international shoulder-rubbing convention it is today. Soderbergh spent several years dealing with his sudden cult celebrity by searching for an identity in several failing films. He soon found himself in dire need of another big hit: "I knew I had to pull my head out of my ass and start thinking about the economic realities of making films," he told Peter Biskind in the book "Down and Dirty Pictures," "I needed to make a decision about whether or not I was content in working on the margins." "Out of Sight" (1998) was the first in what Soderbergh said was a "conscious attempt on my part to enter a side of the business that was off-limits to me, because I had marginalized myself." Moreover, it was the beginning of Soderbergh’s now familiar one-for-them, a-few-for-me strategy:

– "Out of Sight" followed by "The Limey" (1999), "Erin Brokovich" (2000), and "Traffic" (2000)
– "Ocean’s Eleven" followed by "Full Frontal" (2002) and "Solaris" (2002)
– "Ocean’s Twelve" soon to be followed by "Bubble" (2005), "The Good German" (2005), based on the novel by Joseph Kanon with Clooney in the title role, and the highly anticipated biopic "Che" (2006), starring Benicio Del Toro.

"I don’t know what else you’re supposed to do with whatever juice you’ve got at the moment other than get interesting movies made," Soderbergh said, "We’re trying to move as quickly as we can before that juice runs out."

In this light, and in the light of what Soderbergh says in "Down and Dirty Pictures" about "Ocean’s Eleven" – "For me, ‘Ocean’s’ made no sense. It was the hardest thing I ever did. It’s a movie about absolutely nothing. I found it just brain-crushing. I never felt fluent, never felt comfortable. Every day I was hanging on by my fingernails." – the sequel must have been made (a) under studio pressure and (b) to have an absolute laugh. Honestly, 13 of the world’s most recognizable actors – most best friends with the visionary director – in nine European locations as well as Las Vegas, and Soderbergh too smart to succumb to "brain-crushing" twice: you’re telling me that any of them are giving this film any amount of serious thought?

Certainly you, the reader, are not trying to tell me this. But you are, imbd.com user "patrickjw," who has only ever taken the time to write a review about "Ocean’s Twelve." He writes:

The film is in desperate need of a better editor, as it is so bloated and ponderous that towards the middle of the film, if you've even managed to keep track of who's stealing what from whom and why they're doing it, you won't even care any more. You'll just be begging for the ending. The film is filled with bizarre camera angles, such as a shot of an incoming airplane that for some inconceivable reason is filmed sideways. There are also some VERY bizarre scenes, such as a scene where Julia Robert's character has to pretend to be Julia Roberts, and a thief break-dances through lasers. However, the biggest flaw of the movie is the absence of a good heist scene. The heist in Ocean's 11 was masterful, and there is nothing in this film that even comes close. I didn't go to see this movie to watch a cop get reunited with her father who happens to be a master thief, I went to see a team of funny people go up against the odds to steal a lot of money. Bottom line: You will hate this movie. Don't waste your money on it.

Question 1: Does a sequel have to be made in the precise vein as the original or can a director take the liberty of having, in this case, "fun"? I think Mr. Soderbergh and I would say absolutely no, by no means does one filmmaker ever have to make two movies the exact same way nor should he/she, to save his, her, and our sanity. The jury vote does not seem to be unanimous, however. A discussion for a later date, certainly.

Question 2: Why so harsh? Relax and learn to take films in the manner in which they were intended. Or at least learn to take things easier. The camera angles nor the described scenes are bizarre. The plane comes in sideways, fine, but one would think Mr. W would also comment on the moment when the word "Amsterdam" is spelled out by individual letters over postcard images of the city. Why is one camera angle out of however many bizarre, and, more to the point, why is that bad for the film? Also, to ignore the comment about the truly graceful scene of Vincent Cassel gliding through the laser field – done in a way both pastiche and parody of that cliche scene – Julia Roberts playing Julia Roberts pangs somewhat of Soderbergh’s "Full Frontal," where Roberts plays an actor on and off screen, and pangs definitely of Roger Mitchell’s "Notting Hill" (1999), where Roberts plays most-famous-actress-in-the-world Anna Scott. Surely, Mr. W does not think "Notting Hill" bizarre. Further, isn’t Roberts as Tess playing Julia Roberts part of the fun of the film, and isn’t that fun reflected in the film’s credits, which say, "And introducing Tess as Julia Roberts"?

What movie goers had trouble avoiding, it seems, were comparisons between "Eleven" and "Twelve." Clearly, Soderbergh did not care to make one like the other, and the result is an outlash against the latter film for its pure childishness, for its non-resemblance to a movie at once cliche and beloved.

Be aware, those who, like me, are late in coming to "Ocean’s Twelve," that it is just a good-time-had-by-all film: total fun, from beginning to end, without an breath of seriousness. On the level of plot – the level "patrickjw" is thinking on – sure, the movie is flawed: Terry Benedict, the ruthless casino owner gangster, is ultimately unlikely to let Ocean’s group of cons simply repay their debt and the sudden emergence of the long lost missing father and his secret identity both seem coincidental and tacked on. But what does it matter when its just a fluff, multi-million dollar venture?

In the end, "Ocean’s Twelve" overflows with energy and enjoyment, in front of and, certainly, behind the lens. A lot of the film comes off as ad libbed, with almost hokey references to the actors’ films throughout: Matt Damon’s Linus telling Bruce Willis he had predicted the ending of "The Sixth Sense" or Topher Grace (playing himself) saying he had "phoned it on that Dennis Quaid movie" (i.e. "In Good Company"). A lot of it seems like a running gag between Soderbergh, Clooney, and Pitt. And let us thank someone for that, else Soderbergh might have lost his grip.

Let us thank someone else for what "Ocean’s Twelve" has since achieved: Soderbergh will make his next three movies independent of studios. He also has his hand in ten other films in production, as producer, writer, or director. Clooney, meanwhile, is about to release his second film, "Good Night, and Good Luck," which recreates Edward R. Murrow’s on-air assault on Senator Joseph McCarthy, perhaps the single greatest moment in the history of broadcast journalism. Clooney will be appearing almost simultaneously in the cold war drama "Syriana."

Thank you, for giving them the juice to do that.

-~-

Photo Caption: "I'm not the only one looking for Ocean's Eleven." The explosion of Rusty's Car in "Ocean's Twelve." Note the handheld camera that results in most of the incident being obscured by Brad Pitt's head. From the Warner Brother's Trailer.

Did you know: The word "snafu" comes from American military slang, being a popularized acronym for "situation normal: all fouled (or f---ed) up."

Arthur Ryel-Lindsey » Comments: