Movie Reviews
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DJANGO UNCHAINED (2012) DIR. QUENTIN TARANTINO
Rating: 10/10
All of Quentin Tarantino’s filmography has always been leading up to a Western. Although this is technically a “Southern,” Django Unchained is a masterclass of action, dialogue, and style.
Django, an ex-slave freed by “dentist” Dr. King Schultz, makes a deal with his savior that if he helps hunt criminals for bounty rewards, then the doctor will aid Django in the rescue of his enslaved wife. Leonardo DiCaprio plays Calvin Candy, the malicious slaveowner the duo is trying to fool. As the rip-roaring journey goes on, gallons of blood are spilled in typical QT fashion.
The Best Screenwriting Oscar was well-deserved in this 2012 hit. Every line of conversation not only flows with the signature piquancy that Tarantino is famous for, but is realistic to each character. Dr. Schultz probably has the best lines, and Christoph Waltz gives a performance nearly as good as his 2009 Hans Landa role in Inglourious Basterds.
Well-composed shots and a beautiful color palette give this film a great look. Not only is it visually stunning, but the soundtrack is one of QT’s best. String-plucking folk songs give the movie a western feel, while heavy rap and hip-hop solidify the blaxploitation genre and revenge spirit.
The shootout toward the end is incredibly choreographed and extremely invigorating. Every infinitely-badass gunshot gets me more energetic, and by the time the Tupac song comes on, I’m gripping my seat with excitement. I can only imagine what it’d be like to see such a masterpiece in theaters.
Many people complain that Django has too many endings, and is too dragged out and all-over-the-place. I do agree that it could be more focused and exact, but the runtime is not a problem for me. I was enjoying myself so thoroughly that I didn’t really want it to end; I think the director felt the same.
I know QT is very violent and controversial. Hell, he had to put an entire scene in black and white because it was too grotesque. But honestly, I’d recommend Django Unchained to a younger demographic. I’d say 11 and up could handle this, depending on the kid. The same goes for Kill Bill (volume 1 at least); I think a lot of kids would have a blast while watching. I know I sure did.
APOCALYPSE NOW (1979) DIR. FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA
Rating: 10/10
“The horror… the horror…”
I consider Apocalypse Now to be the greatest war movie ever made. I also think it’s Francis Ford Coppola’s best film (yes, better than The Godfather). It holds its rank among my favorite movies of all time, and it’s one of the films that got me interested in cinema.
Palm trees sway in a summer heat. The sun beats down. The choppy whirring of helicopter blades come in and out like ocean waves. Simple chords of a gentle rock song start up. Suddenly the screen is engulfed by flame, a huge orange cloud blowing up everything in sight. Total annihilation. As helicopters drift through the madness like swarming bugs, we fade to the face of Captain Willard, haunted by the horrors of war. The hazy, hallucinatory insanity captured by the first few minutes set the tone for the entire runtime of the movie.
The plot is simple: Captain Willard (played stone-faced by Martin Sheen) is assigned to assassinate Colonel Walter E Kurtz (Marlon Brando), a rogue soldier gone insane in Cambodia. Willard travels by boat with a group of fun-loving troops who soon enough must face the tragedies of war. Apocalypse Now takes place during the infamous Vietnam War, but there really aren’t a lot of on-screen gunfights or battle sequences.
The camera captures war in an incredibly beautiful way, rivaled only by the likes of Malick’s The Thin Red Line. Nearly every frame is something to hang on your bedroom wall. The shot of Willard rising from the murky swamp, animal instinct shining in his eyes, lightning illuminating wisps of fog — it’s gotta be one of the best images in cinema. The lighting and colors are fucking breathtaking.
Marlon Brando’s performance is superb, even if his screen time is at a minimum. The same goes for Robert Duvall, whose surf-loving persona is embodied perfectly with a hoarse voice and buff body. Martin Sheen is silent and brooding, but we always root for his character.
I love the mood that is carried throughout the film. Once we’re removed from society and order, we are immersed in anarchy and madness. It’s a calm and fiery aura that sweeps over the viewer like a scorching flame. As we enter the world of the insane, we realize that there is no such thing as “insane,” and in a world where everyone’s crazy, normality is insane.
There are many parts throughout the film that truly exhibit the evil in the soul of mankind. Apocalypse Now explores the deepest pit of a man’s heart. What’s even more horrific than the events that unfold was the making of the film itself. Plagued by innumerable problems, including Martin Sheen’s heart attack, it’s surprising that FF Coppola didn’t blow his brains out while directing. In fact, he thought the movie would turn out to be a total mess, but by god was he wrong. The finished product proves to be one of the single greatest pieces of cinema ever.
TRUE DETECTIVE SEASON 1 (2014)
Rating: 10/10
Today I’ll be doing something different, a TV review. The first season of HBO’s True Detective is what I think to be the finest mini-series out there. Interesting characters, brilliant writing, mind-blowing performances (McConaughey in particular), and a dark tone make this show on par with most movies today.
We follow overworked family man Martin Hart and his philosophizing, hallucinating partner Rust Cohle as they try to solve a murder mystery case that proves to be more complicated than anyone could have imagined. We are treated to three different timelines, taking place in 1995, 2002, and 2012. In this huge space of time, the two policemen (reluctantly) get to know each other, are baffled by the case, are held up with family issues, get into fights, pull off complex schemes, bend the law, and eventually reach a light at the end of the tunnel.
My favorite aspect of the show is most likely the interview scenes where Matthew McConaughey gets to show off his spectacular acting skills. He’s now a beer-guzzling, washed-up officer who rambles on about time and the universe while recounting what happened with their mysterious case. Both the writing and acting hit a high point during these scenes, coming together in perfect harmony to give us an interesting character study and existential ideas.
The cinematography is perfect. I loved how many characters were represented by locations. Be it a filthy house or a burned church, every place was symbolic of an idea. The soundtrack is also great, especially the very catchy theme song that plays during the opening credits (which, by the way, offer some amazing visuals).
My only problem with this show is the first episode. The first time I tried watching it, I thought it was a boring, self-indulgent mess that took its material too seriously. But I’m glad I gave it another shot, because after the first chapter, all the other episodes are masterpieces (especially episodes 4, 5, and 8).
I really can’t recommend this show enough. It’s only 8 episodes, each one an hour long, and although it may be very disturbing, it’s extremely intriguing and artfully crafted. It’s like a buddy-cop movie that sat through a philosophy seminar. It’s this kind of quality entertainment that blurs the line between television and film.
THRONE OF BLOOD (1957) DIR. AKIRA KUROSAWA
Rating: 10/10
Throne of Blood is the fucking definition of “atmospheric.” Kurosawa crafts a nightmarish fantasy in which fog rolls, crows caw, and spirits sing. The first few opening minutes are a great example of the dark tone that is carried throughout. The way the horses drift in and out of focus through the mist; the sound of the witch’s laugh echoing around the forest; the signature Kurosawa touch of flashes of lightning and torrential rain. It was like a childhood fable, containing some of the mystical aura that made The Night of the Hunter so great. Even the title alone is immensely cool, and its alternative name “Spider Web Castle” is nearly more so.
The famous story of Macbeth gets an eerie retelling in this 1957 masterpiece. Toshiro Mifune stars as Washizu, a samurai commander whose rise to power is stained with the blood of rivals. After a clairvoyant spirit suited in a robe and make-up (à la The Seventh Seal) reveals that two samurai will become powerful leaders, suspicion and paranoia sets in as the prophesy slowly comes true.
First off, Throne of Blood was stunning to look at. The cinematography was beautifully sinister, displaying rain and dust and fog. One aspect I admired was how practical it was. Ghosts were portrayed as 3-dimensional characters. Hundreds of arrows were really fired around Mifune during the final sequence. When the spirit foretold that the trees would have to rise up and attack the castle, I thought it was some kind of riddle. Maybe the trees rising up would come in the form of arrows, whose wood derived from the forest. But no, Kurosawa proves he can film the unfilmable and literally shows us trees lurching slowly toward the tower.
The technical aspects of Throne of Blood are fantastic, but the subject matter it’s fused with is produced with just as much expertise. As usual, Kurosawa is trying to spread the idea of humanity’s endless self-induced suffering, using Shakespeare as his medium. The main themes of the film derive from what the creepy spirit utters toward the beginning of the film: “Human beings are so strange. Terrified to look into the bottom of their own hearts.” At the bottom of Washizu’s heart is the allure of obtaining power, by any means necessary. By the time Washizu has reached the top of the summit, his soul has sunk to the deepest cave. He sits on a throne of blood.
The movie tackles wrongdoings versus desire, and fate versus free will, in typical Shakespeare fashion. Is Washizu a puppet of his destined future? Or has his yearning for control and blindness to evil rendered him his throne?
I can’t recommend this film enough — I truly think it’s Kurosawa’s most underrated movie. Maybe I’m just being reactionary, but for me, Throne of Blood beats classics such as Ikiru, Rashomon, and Yojimbo because of its flawless ambience and entertaining plot. The 110-minute runtime flew by, and I was genuinely begging for more by the end. It reminded me of a black-and-white Ran, since it contained some of the same themes and a similarly bleak message. The huge masses of soldiers and authentic castles also provoked some déjà vu, but in the best way possible. Anyone who’s a fan of Kurosawa, or atmospheric films in general, should definitely check out this film; I couldn’t have enjoyed it more.
TOKYO STORY (1953) DIR. YASUJIRO OZU
Rating: 10/10
Tokyo Story was my first Ozu, and I am afraid that I will not find anything better than this in his entire filmography. Tokyo Story was one of the most gracious, peaceful, beautiful, poetic, meaningful, depressing movies I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The dynamics of the family, the interpersonal connections, and the timeless message all culminate into a flat-out masterpiece.
We are introduced to a sweet old couple impossible to dislike, Shukushi and Tomi Hirayama, who sit smiling with excitement, hours away from seeing their beloved children. Switching to the perspective of the adult children, we watch their much-busier lives in action. They live in the big city; they own a modest home; now they have a family of their own. We soon enough find out that the grandparents are but a burden — a side conversation in the lively dialogue of life. One grandchild complains that his study desk was moved to make space for his grandparents. The parents are busy tending to work and chores. When the grandparents arrive, there is a sense of urgency and inconvenience.
The beauty of this film is in the empty spaces, the absences, the lingering images that provoke thought. In one scene, the characters leave a room, yet the shot keeps going for a few seconds longer. This is Ozu letting us contemplate and analyze what we’ve just seen. We see en empty chair, two pairs of vacant shoes, an unoccupied grassy hill. These images are the soul of the film. Throughout the runtime, Tokyo Story is trying to show us the differences between generations, the disappointment and despair of life, the nadir and zenith of the universal family. The older couple feels alienated, excluded, and unwelcome in the newer generation. The absences can represent the gaps between ages, or the closeness to death, depending on how you see it.
The cinematography was at times artsy and beautiful, at times wondrously fairytale-like, and at times just startlingly real. The low-angle still shots were like paintings — meaningful in the sense that the audience could lose themselves in a film that transcends the boundaries of the 2-dimensional screen. Close-ups were flat, eye-to-eye with the camera. Shots of a character’s face were personal and intimate. I sometimes felt like I was really there, in 1950s Tokyo, sitting on a mat with the rest of the family. I could truly taste the small cups of saké; I could smell the fabric of the cloth robes; I could feel the breeze of the paper fans.
A few moments throughout the film stirred deep emotions in me and nearly brought tears to my eyes. I didn’t find most sadness in the fact that the grandparents were ignored, or that there were vast differences between generations. I found sadness in the characters themselves, specifically the grandmother (Tomi). When she was picking flowers with her grandchild, there was a profound moment of universal communication that surged through me like a bolt of sorrow. The second moment was when Tomi was reaching out to young Noriko, whose husband has tragically died. The old woman realizes the despair of her life through Noriko — her daughter-in-law is a mirror for Tomi, a microcosm of potential and spirit whom she can use to reflect on her own life and give advice on how it should be lived. That’s what Tokyo Story is at its core, an earnest portrayal of life itself, its difficulties, its ups and downs, its truth. And that is why I love it so much: it is simple in its approach because it takes on the task of speaking the universal language of the heart and soul.
ROSEMARY'S BABY (1968) DIR. ROMAN POLANSKI
Rating: 10/10
Rosemary’s Baby was truly a great film. I used to be quite a horror addict, so the fact that I had never seen this movie was shocking to me. It was a perfect rainy day movie.
The set-up of the film was one that modern movies still mimic and simulate today — happy couple moves into new, haunted house with a bloody background and ghostly presence. But Rosemary’s Baby is different, and the plot is so unique that any film that mimics it today would come off as parody rather than homage. The atmosphere is dark and ominous, and what starts off as a fun, lighthearted romance turns into something synonymous to a disturbing car wreck that’s just intriguing enough that you can’t look away.
Rosemary (played flawlessly by Mia Farrow) starts off a dainty, happy woman with enough 60’s charm to win over the audience. Her cute haircut and thin frame give us a likable protagonist, and give director Roman Polanski a blank canvas — a Barbie doll whose blonde locks he’ll sever into a mangled ‘do, whose beautiful skin he’ll shade a ghastly white, whose temper and sanity he’ll push to an absolute limit.
As the story continues, we meet the unreliable neighbors Minnie and Roman Castavet, whose old-timey repartee provoke suspicions from the viewer. After Rosemary falls ill after drinking some “chocolate mouse,” one of the most vivid and horrifying scenes takes place. Our hero is helplessly tied down to a bed, stripped naked, and raped by the devil himself. Combined with a montage of hypnotic images, at first we think it’s just a frightening dream, but we realize just as gradually as Rosemary that what is unfolding is not a dream at all — “This is really happening!”
One thing I loved (mostly because I’ve never been so taken by it in any other film) was the characters’ inflections in their voices. Every so often I couldn’t resist imitating one person’s line or laughing at another’s speech. The polite 60’s culture didn’t date the film, rather it made for a fantastic counterpart to the separate, darker atmosphere.
The paranoia that sweeps through Rosemary creates a sickening knot in the viewer’s stomach — I could never predict what would happen next. I found that the helplessness, the despair, the delusions, the frustration, and the ailment of the lead character was extremely effective on the me while watching. The ending speaks for itself; I vastly admired how the satan spawn was never shown onscreen, and that the mother chose to tend for her child. Overall it was a phenomenal, entertaining, and engaging story with captivating characters and a gripping plot.
PULP FICTION (1994) DIR. QUENTIN TARANTINO
Rating: 10/10
Quentin Tarantino’s masterpiece Pulp Fiction is nearly my favorite movie. It encompasses every trait of a great film, and also changed cinema in general in so many ways that we don’t even notice. It irks me every time I’m reminded that it lost Best Picture to Forrest Gump.
This movie takes place over a fairly short period of time, yet it is able to cover so much ground because, as we learn soon enough, each character’s story overlaps with one another. The diner Pumpkin and Honey Bunny rob is the same one that the two hit-men are chatting at. Vincent Vega’s rendezvous with Mia Wallace comes only hours before he’s shot to death by Butch Coolidge, who saves Marcellus “Looks-Like-A-Bitch” Wallace from sadistic rapists with a samurai sword. Okay, you may be thinking, what’s so special about that? So what if QT tossed a bunch of scenes in a bowl and randomly mixed ‘em up? That’s the thing — they’re not random. They’re perfectly placed in an order that keeps us confused (but not too much) and intrigued. When Vincent Vega is shot in one scene and then shows up in another, it’s startlingly different and daring. Oh, and each scene QT tosses in is a flat-out masterpiece.
Every sequence has been infinitely quoted and referenced in everyday lingo. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard someone say “Royale with cheese” or “Zed’s dead.” The Oscar-winning script the director wrote is one of the best of all time; it’s got all the action, the excitement, the tension, the 3-dimensional characters, and comedy that each script needs, but oddly enough it contains a large amount of mundane conversation and pointless talking. But it’s not pointless. We get to know the characters and familiarize with them through small talk, something never really portrayed on the big screen before Pulp. It’s always constant information, answering who, what, when, why… here they spend 10 minutes talking about a foot massage. Yet it’s extremely entertaining.
There is so much that this film did for cinema as an art form — awesome pre-recorded soundtracks, intertwining/nonlinear stories, pop culture references, bringing back old actors into the limelight, giving a film chapters like a novel, and many other characteristics.
Looking at the technical aspects alone, this film has superb acting, a killer script, an interesting plot, well-done cinematography, and an amazing soundtrack. There’s not much to say about this movie that hasn’t been said already: in short, it’s a masterpiece of the highest quality.
AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD (1972) DIR. WERNER HERZOG
Rating: 10/10
Here is a film so monumental and great that it transcends the boundaries of what it means to be a “movie.” Its philosophical value is up there with 2001 and Apocalypse Now; it is thought-provoking as well as visually stunning. Each frame is truly worth a thousand words. Wooden rafts float along the vast, pure water through clouds of misty fog. Breathtaking mountains in the background and noises of animals bring me to the unforgiving Amazon. Songs of sadness never plays when characters die. The soundtrack is used when you least expect it, and that’s what makes a scene truly haunting.
Werner Herzog doesn’t direct here, he captures: for the power of man is no match against the fateful forces of nature, and those who try to control it will be punished. This is a rule that applies to those inside and outside of the film, as one can see from the raw, shaky cinematography and realistic-looking scenes of starvation and suffering.
In part, Aguirre is an unfinished story of the journey to El Dorado. But when one knows the falsehood of this mythical city, Aguirre is really a story about greed, corruption, and insanity. If one expects the story to be about the journey alone, then the end will seem abrupt.
This film was a hypnotic odyssey, one half dreamlike fable and one half documented footage of man vs nature. It is humankind, stripped bare, and exposed for all to see. In the jungle, there is no rank. The societal hierarchy that people have created and fight over is no longer; now those still alive squabble for the throne until it means nothing anymore. One Indian who used to rule as king now remarks that he is but a slave in chains, while a fat, lazy soldier who has just been appointed leader stuffs his face with food. The former leader lies bleeding in a coffin. As it shifts from one person to the next, we find soon enough that there is no real “power.” There is always imbalance, and the imbalance in this film is both beautiful and terrifying.
The deaths in this film were shot so counterintuitively that it actually added to the haunting atmosphere. We find out without any warning that Aguirre’s daughter is dead, and when he holds her in his hands there is no music playing, and not even any sign of regret on Aguirre’s face. An arrow quickly pierces a man’s leg yet he is completely indifferent and just stares on into the infinite jungle.
Too starved and tired to go back, and without any way of reaching land, the crew is forced to press on through the river and hangs onto any hope they have left. And in a film where hope is absent, the audience is left with despair. The final shot is awe-inspiring: the camera circles around Aguirre as he stands, king of all the land around him, yet at the same time he is rendered powerless, with death slowly approaching. He declares himself the wrath of God, a royal fantasy springing from insanity, blind to the fact that it is God’s wrath that is punishing him.
FINDING DORY (2016) DIR. ANDREW STANTON
Rating: 8/10
I’m not a huge fan of unneeded sequels. It only further cements the fact that Hollywood has run out of ideas. However, when one of my favorite childhood movies, not to mention with the Pixar name flaunted over the title, gets a second edition, I can’t help but feel nostalgic. Leaving the theater I wasn’t disappointed, and although it was far from the perfect movie, and nowhere near the quality of Pixar’s magnum opus predecessor, it was an entertaining and upbeat movie with a great message.
We follow Dory (a strange pick for a protagonist due to her constant forgetfulness among other things) on her path to reuniting with her long-lost parents. Along the way she meets many new friends, yet the audience is still given a healthy dose of old companions like Nemo and Marlon (sadly, no Bruce the shark).
The vivid colors of the undersea world and the spectacular sound effects were extremely captivating. The suction-cup pops of “septipus” Hank’s tentacles and the beautifully rendered ocean features & fish were grade-A traits to a visually and audibly pleasing journey. The pacing was good, although a little lopsided as we repeated flashbacks and then rushed through other scenes.
As for the story, it was clichéd and predictable, yet nonetheless heartwarming and feel-good fun. I’m sure most kids would love it and adults would have a good time too, especially if they’re familiar with the first movie. But the nostalgia I talked about in the beginning was one of the largest problems with the film, and all reboots/remakes/sequels in general — they prey too much off of sentimentality. If I had never seen Finding Nemo, I wouldn’t feel the intended emotions in some of the key scenes.
Although the main message of the movie was that family is worth fighting for, the more subtle thread of the power of the disabled was also a great moral. Notice how Hank is missing a tentacle, Destiny is semi-blind, Becky is peculiar & reckless, Gerald is, well, a bit off, and of course Dory has her memory loss. All these characters are incapable in some way, but most of them end up furthering the plot and helping the characters.
The achilles heel of Finding Dory is its familiarity to Finding Nemo. It had a few great scenes here and there, and it was a technical masterpiece, but it suffered from a formulaic storyline and it was slightly forgettable.
THE 400 BLOWS (1959) DIR. FRANÇOIS TRUFFAUT
Rating: 10/10
For a while I debated whether or not I should write this review. The 400 Blows struck me in such an individual way that I was unsure if I could generalize my thoughts for this film without getting too personal. However, I’ll try my best to review it in a way that applies to everyone reading who hasn’t yet seen it.
We follow Antoine, a young student who is constantly mistreated and looked down upon by any kind of authority, be it parents, teachers, or police. Between homework, detention, and chores, Antoine struggles harder than any adult in the film. Instantly I was attached to his character, his situation, and his needs. The behavior of Antoine’s teacher and the cruel punishments he enforces made me sympathize and connect with the kid in a way most students today would probably associate with him as well. Being a high school student overwhelmed with homework and responsibilities, I really saw some of myself in Antoine, and whenever he rebelled or expressed individuality, it was more rewarding and gratifying than most other filmic moments.
Antoine escapes school and runs away from home, staying secretly at a friend’s house and stealing money for food. Although Antoine is choosing to run away and he’s the one that’s making his decisions, it always feels as though he’s a puppet of the plot and that he’ll never have any power. He’s always running away from someone, always testing his luck, always defying authority. Yet not once does he feel like a bad kid, because it’s so unbearably unfair that petty crime seems insignificant.
It’s funny — when Antoine is in jail, he’s no more trapped as he was when at school, when at home, when on the run, or at any other time throughout his story for that matter. It’s a rather bleak thought, I guess, but life is never all it’s cracked up to be, and that’s the message Truffaut is trying to get across.
I could praise the technical aspects of this film, such as the beautifully simple string-pluck soundtrack, or the soft sound design/cinematography, but I think that it’s more a substance-driven journey. Strongly executed themes and clear-cut tone, The 400 Blows proves to be one of my favorite foreign films. Nothing is more haunting than the ending freeze-frame, an unsure and indefinite face with the white text “Fin” written across the screen.
UGETSU MONOGATARI (1953) DIR. KENJI MIZOGUCHI
Rating: 9/10
This was my first Kenji Mizoguchi film, but because of the fascination I have in such films as Sansho, The 47 Ronin, and Oharu, as well as the quality of this movie — Ugetsu Monogatari (Tales of Moonlight and Rain) — I am prompted to see more.
The film gives off a misty, mysterious feel that truly classifies it as a ghost-story, and the eerie, off-key tune played throughout adds to the surreal essence. Two couples, Genjuro & Miyagi and Tobei & Ohama, are poor villagers who eventually earn some money due to the husbands’ hard work. However, they are rushed out of their small town by the violent force of soldiers and must abandon their houses. The couples are separated in hazy confusion, each character ending up facing their own hardships, although there was a large difference between the destinies of the men and the women. The men overcome their struggles and are met with wealth, fame, and lust, while the women endure rape, violence, and loneliness. However, the prosperity of the men is not long-lived, and they are forced through harsh changes.
As said by many, acting is reacting, and in the beginning of the film, it seems as if only the women are reacting whereas the men are always doing their own thing and making individual decisions. After twists and turns, tragedy and redemption, the men have been thrown around like puppets until all they can do is react to their surroundings. By the end of the movie, the men don’t “act” anymore, rather they are controlled by their fates and have lost much of the jurisdiction they had had previously. Instead they “react” — Tobei learns of his wife’s new occupation; Genjuro is plagued by his new lover. The men are punished for their greed and blindness by the actions of the women.
The film played out like a lucid dream, cloudy and enigmatic, blurring the line between life and death. It’s as if Ugetsu takes place inside the middle section of a venn diagram that graphs existence and its grim counterpart. It’s not all just a depressing course of events, though; there is an inspiring underlying message beneath the saddening narrative. It’s about how love transcends life and property. After Tobei realizes his samurai armor means nothing, he learns to appreciate his long-lost wife. Once Genjuro accepts his fate, he is still able to feel his partner’s presence from beyond the grave. The “pleasures” of the men (money, women, praise), in the end, are insignificant, and the actions fueled by greed only cause dreadful reactions.
Heartbreaking, masterfully-crafted, and endlessly analyzable, Ugetsu is a ghost tale, a love story, and a tragedy. With strong themes and solid performances, I can truly call it a masterpiece.
DRIVE (2011) DIR. NICOLAS WINDING REFN
Rating: 10/10
Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive is one of the best modern films I’ve seen in a while. It has been criminally ignored by the general public, and praised as underrated by many in the cinephile community. It has a throwback flashy style set to a techno 80s soundtrack that gives the movie an edge, as well as an intriguing outer shell for the story itself.
Ryan Gosling, dressed in a suave jacket and equipped with a hammer, embodies his mysterious character with ease, uttering apathetic one-liners and performing edge-of-your seat stunts. It’s astounding how much can be communicated without words. Although Gosling hardly speaks, we always know what he’s thinking. Through facial expression, body language, and even minute yet essential sound effects, the audience is guided through a modest character study.
There was a large tonal shift about 1 hour into the runtime that completely changed the feel and the, well, “drive” of the film. What was a colorfully fun and moderately tame crime movie turned into a stylized, neon strobe-light of violence and revenge. Head-stomping, wrist-slicing, throat-stabbing — it’s all there.
At the core of Drive is a love story. Not between the Driver and his neighbor, and not between man and machine as the title suggests, but rather between plot and aesthetic: story and style. Note that Drive is not for everyone. If you’re looking for a Fast and Furious-type thrill ride strictly about cars, this film has very little to offer you. If you’re looking for something a little different, something with vivid flair and a cool characters, and you’re not afraid of a little blood, then I can’t recommend Drive enough.
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE TWO TOWERS (2002) DIR. PETER JACKSON
Rating: 10/10
If The Fellowship of the Ring suffers from camp and childlike fantasy, The Two Towers mends these problems by acting as its grittier, darker older brother. The second entry captures the visual allure and storytelling prowess of the first, but by also making it less extravagant and a little more graphic (with the help of shaky-cam and tinted filters), the audience may take it more seriously and, in turn, have more fun with it.
Being the middle installment, Two Towers is the bulk of the story — the rising action of Frodo’s journey to destroy the One Ring. We therefore get less introduction and have to keep track of fewer characters, and instead can focus on the actual narrative itself instead of people and events. Peter Jackson does a masterful job of tuning us in to each character, their thoughts/emotions, and at the same time, letting the sprawling, massive epic unfold onscreen in all of its Middle-Earth glory.
The thing that made this film for me was one of the best characters of the franchise, Gollum. Not only was he strikingly fascinating, but his development throughout the movie was quickly-paced and brilliantly acted. We’ve heard his mysterious backstory whispered in a hushed tone like friends around a campfire, but only until now has he been finally cast from the shadows and placed under examination. It’s a sorrowful and chilling character study that manages to be truly intimate in such a “big” story.
I can’t praise enough the Battle of Helms Deep sequence — the massive action scene with exhilarating combat, incredible effects and costume design, undeniably cool character moments, and a few splashes of comedy here and there. The rain pitter-pattering on the sleek metal armor was the kind of elemental detail that reminded me of Kurosawa, contrasting nicely with the chaotic eruption of warfare.
Overall I think that The Two Towers marginally exceeded its predecessor and was a true masterpiece, filled not only with edge-of-your-seat action, but also the complex skill provided by Peter Jackson that every movie needs in order to be considered “great.”
THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955) DIR. CHARLES LAUGHTON
Rating: 10/10
Charles Laughton only directed one film, starring Robert Mitchum in 1955. It opened to critical and box office failure. Charles Laughton died in 1962, and never saw the wave of praise and influence it garnered once it became a classic noir horror. The Night of the Hunter is one of the greatest films ever made.
Harry Powell (Robert Mitchum) is a religious criminal whose cellmate robbed a bank and hid $10,000 somewhere near his house. After Harry is released from prison, he travels to his cellmate’s house where Willa Harper and her two kids reside to find the money. Powell eventually marries Willa, but John (Willa’s son) never buys the facade, and convinces his sister Pearl that Mr. Powell is truly a bad man.
This movie’s visuals were unbelievable; literally every shot was a masterpiece of contrasting light and shadows. It had some of the best black-and-white cinematography I’ve ever seen. There were a few images — such as the silhouette of the old woman sitting with a shotgun, or Willa in the lake, her hair waving with the seaweed, suspended in water — in which I had to pause the film and appreciate the sheer beauty it provoked.
Robert Mitchum was perfectly cast as the “hunter.” His menacing voice made him sound like a crooked salesman, and his eyes twinkled like they were hiding something. The actor who played John also gave a convincing performance for such a young kid.
When I first hit play, I had no idea this film would be so good. In fact, in the first 15 minutes, I thought it was a tonal mess. In a breakneck pace we jump from scene to scene, and the emotions I felt while watching jumped from happy to sad to scared to anxious; I thought it was going too fast to solidify a mood. However, as the plot continued, and our narrative shifted to the hands of young John, securing the creepy tone.
I found the plot structure quite interesting. Once Willa was killed by Powell and the children escaped from the house, traveling downriver on a canoe to the tune of Pearl’s eerie “Once upon a time there was a pretty fly,” I thought that this would be the end of the film. However, the kids take shelter at an older woman’s house, where Powell somehow finds them again. After he’s shot and arrested, Powell is finally arrested and the children live happily ever after.
The influence on other films and directors was quite clear while I was watching. The basement scene stood out to me the most when thinking of a scene that has been reworked by modern horror directors. The suspense of Powell’s search, the tiptoe caution of the kids, and the tension-release pattern were like a present-day horror scene. Director Martin Scorsese has said this was one of his favorite films, and during the basement scene, there was a telescope zoom that was strikingly similar to a shot in The Departed. The Coen Brothers have also stated that The Night of the Hunter had a large impact on their filmmaking, and the cat-and-mouse plot and brooding villain of No Country for Old Men was an obvious homage.
I especially loved the sets used throughout the film. The cookie-cutter houses and cloudless skies bring the viewer back to childhood, a time of awe and uncertainty. One image that conveys this feeling very well is when Powell is standing outside the children’s bedroom singing his signature “Leaning.” The immaculate lawn, the artificial picket fence, the lamp post straight from the set of a play, it’s all very wondrously synthetic, giving a dreamy childlike vibe of fright and mystery.
This film is not only one of the greatest of its decade, but one of the greatest of all time. The regrettable failure that The Night of the Hunter opened to seems unimaginable, but it was truly ahead of its time.
NIGHTCRAWLER (2014) DIR. DAN GILROY
Rating: 10/10
“I’d like to think if you’re seeing me, you’re having the worst day of your life.”
Dan Gilroy’s directorial debut Nightcrawler is a masterful, Fincher-esque character study that feels much like the modern update of Taxi Driver.
Jake Gyllenhaal, in one of my favorite performances ever, embodies psychopath Lou Bloom, a law-breaking, blackmailing, quick-talking news footage recorder whose principals are set high, but morals lower than any serial killer. With every wide-eyed stare, every fast-spoken analogical motto, Gyllenhaal truly captures the essence of this character.
Nightcrawler is a modern masterpiece because it not only exhibits great storytelling skill, a concise script, and a sleek, modern tone, but it makes a few real-world connections to the corruption of breaking news and violence in the present day. We slowly come to learn that Nina, one of the news directors on the channel Lou sells his footage to, is just as deranged as he is. They both watch with open mouths and glistening eyes at bloody car wrecks and deadly home invasions like dogs staring at fresh food. As the news anchors present the clips, Nina gives them cues on what to say and how to speak as to frighten audiences and gain viewership for the network. The only person who isn’t a rarely-seen secondary character with a real code of ethics is Lou’s business partner Rick, a young man whose need for cash is what’s keeping him in association with Lou.
I found this film’s cinematography, subject matter, and overall tone to function much like a David Fincher film (resembling Zodiac, Seven, and Panic Room the closest). I also thought it ranked high among such classics as Taxi Driver and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest as a fantastic character study. I was truly fascinated and engaged in Lou’s downward behavioral spiral and upward financial success (I was half-expecting there to be a narration, but the physical action of the main character was enough to clue us in).
Overall I deeply enjoyed this film. Dan Gilroy’s first-time directing was surprisingly skillful, and I can’t praise Jake Gyllenhaal’s performance enough. I highly recommend it, and it’s a quality film that will certainly appeal to modern audiences.
KAGEMUSHA (1980) DIR. AKIRA KUROSAWA
Rating: 9/10
"As swift as wind, as silent as forest, as fierce as fire, as unshakeable as mountain.” That’s how the old Furinkazan war saying goes, and it’s a recurring motif throughout Akira Kurosawa’s 1980 masterpiece Kagemusha. This saying represents the unity of the Takeda clan, all parts symbolizing an important factor. One must be stealthy and careful, but also ruthless and ferocious. That unmovable mountain is Takeda Shingen, the warlord whose death is the inciting incident that sets our story in motion. Once their warlord Shingen is dead, an ancient Japanese clan must employ a body double for three years to impersonate their fallen hero, but the thieving and mischievous traits of this new double (or “kagemusha” in Japanese) as well as the increasing force of enemy clans causes disruption in the castle.
I found that Kagemusha was much like a prequel to Ran. Not in subject matter, as the two stories are completely unrelated, but in style and approach. Even Kurosawa called it his “dry run” for the 1985 film. The sprawling, epic atmosphere of the film, visual grandeur, plot/setting, and bleak endings were heavy similarities. One thing to add, however, is that Kagemusha I found to be slower and less seizing and direct than Ran (Kurosawa refrains from close-ups more than ever), and maybe Kagemusha would make a better mini-series than a film because of its episodic course of events.
The cinematography was eye-popping; vivid neon colors were stroked across the screen, creating a nightmarishly vibrant world in which the story unfolds. The dream sequence is the best example of the lurid visuals; reflections of the boldly splattered sky glimmer off the surface of a pond; neon sand dunes are painted pink and blue like ice cream scoops; lights bathe the characters, immersing them in mixing colors and strong emotions.
Tatsuya Nakadai’s performance as both the dying Shingen and his double are impressive, for he embodies two completely different personalities on the screen, one of them even trying to embody the other.
About midway through the film, Shingen’s brother, Nobukado, states that “the shadow of a man can never desert that man. I was my brother’s shadow. Now that I have lost him, it is as though I am nothing.” Later on we watch as the imposter thief exits a scene, his shadow growing on the wall as he walks, symbolizing the growing transformation from low-life criminal to rich and powerful warlord. As the film progresses, the thief becomes less and less a kagemusha, and through physical and mental methods, becomes the Shingen lord himself.
After the battle of Nagashino, we end the film on a rather bleak note. Just as Ran left off with the striking portrait of Buddha lost deep in the ruins of a collapsed building, a banner with the Furinkazan war philosophy floats submerged beneath water, forgotten among a field of dead bodies. Kurosawa proves himself not only to be one of the greatest directors of all time, but also that he can deliver meaningful messages, asking once again “Why can’t people get along? Why must war and hate cloud our vision? Why do we put personal issues over ethical values?” Kagemusha is a significant and beautiful movie which proves that when the “unmovable mountain” breaks its stationary stance, it becomes just as vulnerable as a sitting duck.
EYES WIDE SHUT (1999) DIR. STANLEY KUBRICK
Rating: 10/10
Stanley Kubrick died in 1999, meaning that Eyes Wide Shut was his last film. It was also one of his greatest. The movie plays like a lucid nightmare, incorporating much of the atmosphere that made The Shining so eerie, but also the more dramatic and real-world meaning that applied to audiences in A Clockwork Orange.
Dr. Bill Hartford (Tom Cruise) is our main character, who at first is much like Barry Lyndon in that he flows through life as events change around him, but with Bill’s dreadful ideas about his wife and another man, we realize that jealousy is the fuel that drives his emotional and physical needs. In a night of twists and turns, Bill rents a costume to find himself at a mysterious house where a cult of mask-wearing nude women and robed men huddle and perform strange practices, then have public sex throughout the house. After it’s discovered that he is an unwelcome member, he is kicked out with dire threats should he ever tell anyone what goes on here. Bill leaves, but then snoops around with the suspicious stealth of JJ Gittes from Chinatown, only to be warned again of the dangers of this club.
The christmas-tree lighting and swaying steadicam movements made for great cinematography; sometimes I got lost in the gentle motions that appeared as if filmed underwater, characters drifting to and fro like seaweed.
This film also addressed the nihilism in modern sexual behavior, stating that sex has become something of an addictive pastime with a lost meaning and mindless practice. Kubrick compares deviancy to religion in the worshipping cult scenes, and Nicole Kidman’s last line shows the satisfaction and relief our characters receive from such pleasures. In an ominous and almost parodic way, Kubrick mocks the viewer (per usual) by taunting us with enticing visuals only to remind us of the futility in dark exploration. It was a grand sendoff to one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live.
A CLOCKWORK ORANGE (1971) DIR. STANLEY KUBRICK
Rating: 10/10
From the very first scene, A Clockwork Orange grabbed me. I had only seen 5 Kubrick films beforehand, but knew his extreme skill all too well. From the very first moments of the electro-symphonic melody cutting through the silence and blaring neon colors lighting up the screen with Stanley’s name, I knew I was in for something great, and more importantly, something different. The cut to Alex’s face, the zoom out, the narration, it all came together in a startling opening scene that set the stage for “a bit of the old ultra violence” that would soon paint my TV screen.
The “ultra violence” he’s talking about truly lives up to its name — the film proved to be probably the most violent movie I’ve ever seen. Raping, torturing, fighting, killing, beating, drugs, money, and sex — it’s all portrayed in a way that is both exciting and disgusting. I describe it as “exciting” because the film is exploiting an adrenaline-rush of brutality, something you don’t see every day, and as Alex remarks, “It’s funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you [capture] them on a screen.”
After his police condemnation, he is strapped to a chair and forced to watch violent films as visual coaching. Alex is consistently compared to what he sees on screen; the men in white beating the old man have similar costumes to Alex and his droogs; the music that the Nazis march to is the same as the tune playing while Alex strolls confidently, draped in intricately-designed purple clothes, through the record store. All this violence Alex is watching is clearly meant to represent the film itself, creating a paradox in which our main character is the audience — us — and his feelings of excitement are parallel to the thrill we viewers get from such savagery. But when Alex realizes the true horror behind what’s projected onto the screen, he feels sick, just like we’d feel sick if we endured hours of torture films.
During the intense public training Alex goes through, he is tested on his reaction to offensive criminals and naked women. But under the tightly-pressed shoe of an enemy, beneath the bare breasts of an attractive young woman, the sickness Alex has been trained to feel closes in like police at the scene of a crime. In these situations, Kubrick is asking the audience: what would you do?
Filmed on small, tight lenses, Kubrick’s skilled zooms and close-ups make us feel like this is a snuff film of sorts — an honest representation of modern culture. The acting (Malcolm McDowell steals the show and leads the whole film), cinematography, themes, script, and music are all top-notch, and the black humor had me laughing out loud, and then later evaluating why exactly I laughed at something so dark. The set and costume designs are just flashy enough to pass as a dystopian future, and the bizarre language they speak is just understandable enough not to bother audience members. It’s one of Kubrick’s most meaningful endeavors, with a lesson all too relevant in today’s world.
BARRY LYNDON (1975) DIR. STANLEY KUBRICK
Rating: 10/10
Barry Lyndon is one half the story of a man and his rise to wealth through deceit and a lack of morals, and one half the downfall of the protagonist as he gradually becomes a narcissistic, negligent monster. Barry is played with intentional restraint and passivity by Ryan O’Neal, and seems like a hollow (yet not 2-dimensional) character who simply flows through the story as his life changes around him.
It was truly a visual masterpiece; every frame was an 18th-century British painting, with color, light, shadows, and tone balanced to perfection. Kubrick even employed special lenses to film only by the aid of candle glow.
I found this film to act much like a painting as well — it was pretty to look at and had very interesting, engaging events, but the viewer never felt “there”; I was never so immersed in the story that I was biting my nails during the gun duels, or even sad when the son died. I was only watching the story unfold, which, although entertaining, was very remote and indirect.
Also, I found several parallels between Barry Lyndon and Akira Kurosawa’s Ran. First, the idea that the audience is watching from the gods’ perspectives is much like the detachment of Barry Lyndon in that the viewer never truly interacts with the film, it is just a spectacle to watch. Second, the long, sprawling epic feel of Ran in addition to the shocking visuals were strong points of Barry Lyndon as well. Both films had breathtaking settings with huge areas of land, and the stories took place over long periods of time. Both films rank highly on the most visually stunning I’ve ever seen. Third, the endings were similar. In Ran, the dispute is eventually resolved in the death of all 4 main characters, whose selfishness and hatred were ultimately the downfall of one another. The prologue in Barry Lyndon gives a very similar statement: “Good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are all equal now.”
Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this artful film; the cinematography, directing, and soundtrack were all high points for me, and it surprisingly never seemed to drag despite its 3-hour runtime.
RAN (1985) DIR. AKIRA KUROSAWA
Rating: 10/10
1985’s Ran was the first film I’d ever seen by Akira Kurosawa, and so far it’s his second-best. It finds its rank in my top 25 films of all time, and when I first watched it, I knew something special was unfolding before me. No other word seemed appropriate enough to describe it than “epic,” because that is the true essence of it.
Kurosawa described the film something along the lines of “human events seen from the perspective of the gods,” which is exactly what it is. Ran is, simply put, a third-person exhibit of occurrences over an expanse of time, capturing the downfall of the Ichimonji family as harmony is broken.
As aging warlord Hidetora’s sons dispute over the kingdom, we feel the pity and shame in the actions each character commits, be it backstabbing their family, plotting a battle, or cheating on their partners. The audience watches, like Kurosawa says, as “gods,” as the story progresses from a peaceful kingdom, to a chaotic struggle for the throne. Once the brotherhood has been broken and the symbolic bows have been snapped, the clan disunites and wages war on one another, resulting in overwhelming death and destruction. It is not only a fascinating political scramble, but each character has traits that define them and therefore effect the outcome of the politics. The three sons are all vastly different from one another, and their elderly father is probably the most interesting and defined character of them all. His descent into insanity was flawlessly acted, and the make-up and costumes he sported were dramatically exaggerated, similar to that of a character in a play.
Although I was slightly confused upon first viewing, I now see that its intricate plot was necessary to capture the grand-scale course of events properly. I couldn’t recommend this film any more; its 2.5 hour runtime is not a problem, and although some audience members may find it to be a slow-burner, even the most stagnant scenes will captivate viewers with breathtaking visuals and the outstanding attention to detail Kurosawa has for movement in all of his films.
SEVEN SAMURAI (1954) DIR. AKIRA KUROSAWA
Rating: 10/10
Seven Samurai is a film whose influence and high regard is extremely prominent in today’s culture of Western moviemaking. It has had the largest impact of arguably any Japanese film, and it is also considered to be one of the best movies ever made. When I first watched Akira Kurosawa’s 1954 masterpiece, the only previous experience I had had with the director (and most Japanese cinema) was 1985’s Ran, which absolutely blew me away with stark visuals and the grandeur of the storytelling. Seven Samurai even outdid Ran.
I can’t praise enough the way the action is captured through creative camera angles and professional editing. There is a perfect blend of adventure and comedy that make it fun for the audience. The script is also top-notch, giving us witty dialogue and a paradigm structure. Performances, especially by Toshiro Mifune and Takashi Shimura, hold the story up, and the realistic production design (costumes, houses, settings) add to the authenticity as well. Kurosawa’s directing is that of legend — his editing skills are impressive, but the way he controlled each scene is masterful. One other factor was the beautiful cinematography. The use of elements (one of Kurosawa’s signatures) made every scene a gorgeous show of dust clouds, pouring downfalls, sweltering heat, blowing leaves, roaring rivers, blazing fires, etc. Each piece of the puzzle fits perfectly and makes the viewer feel as if we’re really there — huddled in the crowd of scared farmers, or fighting alongside brave samurai.
Not only is the film a technical marvel and advancement for cinema, but it’s also an engaging, humanistic art piece. Kurosawa takes the time to introduce each character thoroughly so that we get a feel for their needs and struggles. By the time the battles arrive, we’re biting our nails in hopes of the samurai’s victory, for their downfall would be devastating. Most action movies today prefer eye-grabbing stunts over 3-dimensional characters and themes, while Kurosawa does both flawlessly, exhibiting a mix of intense fight sequences and more dramatic, heartfelt scenes. Themes of loyalty, bravery, honor, respect, and support are all interwoven into this masterwork. The acting, plot, visuals, and script were all factors that would combine to create an enormous legacy for Seven Samurai, effecting the way movies are now made.
IKIRU (1952) DIR. AKIRA KUROSAWA
Rating: 10/10
Ikiru is among the most beautiful films I’ve ever seen. By that I don’t mean visually or audibly, although it was pleasing in both those categories. By “beautiful,” I mean effectively and mentally inspiring.
The plot is one I noticed has been reworked in movies like Groundhog Day, American Beauty, and even the TV show Breaking Bad. Public Works manager Kanji Watanabe has been “dead” for 20 years under the stress of his soul-crushing job, but after he learns he has cancer and only 6 months to live, he tries in a last ditch effort to fulfill his dreams, thus the title “Ikiru,” which, in Japanese, means “to live.”
Watanabe has been buried under papers and behind desks where hundreds of people wait their turn in line to complain about dirty water, ruined buildings, etc. There is so many documents to go through at his job, that a business man later remarks that “to get rid of a trash can, we’d have to go through enough papers to fill another trash can.” After a diagnosis determines our protagonist has stomach cancer, Watanabe sullenly goes home to his resentful son and daughter-in-law, and in a flawlessly executed, tear-jerking flashback, we cut to realize that Watanabe’s wife has been dead for years now. He goes out for drinks, stumbling upon a man who, after hearing his sad story, decides to take him out for a night on the town. The dreary city, however, is not the solution to Watanabe’s “absence,” and he ends up singing “Gondola no Uta” in sorrow of his fate. However, he finds a girl, Toyo, who restores his faith with her joyous personality, and inspires him to find something to do with his life.
We then cut to after Watanabe is dead, during his funeral, and in a series of flash-backs, we see that he put all his time and energy into building a park, something unheard of in the Public Works Department which really does nothing. We come to learn that he risked his life and persevered tediously to get the park built, and after lots of pleading and paperwork, he finally accomplishes his goal.
In the most beautiful scene of the film, we watch Watanabe on the swing at his park, singing his song “Gondola no Uta” again, this time without a sense of self-pity, but a feeling of victory and content as he comes to terms with his fate.
Ultimately it’s the journey of a man from his boring, pointless job into a man who desperately wants to live, but in his need for excitement, he realizes the true purpose of his life. It’s not to have a party recklessly, give up, and good time, it’s to help those in need and bring happiness to yourself through the joy of others. Watanabe learns that to be selfish will never bring true happiness, and discovers the brighter side of life.
What once was a depressing, self-pitying song has now turned into a celebration of life, and the bittersweet triumph it brings: “Life is brief. Fall in love, maidens before the crimson bloom fades from your lips, before the tides of passion cool within you, for those of you who know no tomorrow.”
BATMAN V SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE (2016) DIR. ZACK SNYDER
Rating: 5/10
Batman V Superman was one of the most anticipated films of the year, and there was a lot of hype to live up to for director Zack Snyder. Following up Christopher Nolan’s masterful work in the Dark Knight series would be difficult, not to mention breaking the pattern of forgettable Superman films. Snyder had to provide an entertaining brawl between the two characters, satisfy large fans of the characters but also regular movie-goers, and compete against rival superhero flicks of 2016 such as Deadpool, Suicide Squad, X-Men Apocalypse, Captain America: Civil War, the list goes on and on. Ultimately, Snyder collapsed under pressure.
Rotten Tomatoes was criticized for calling BVS “not fun enough,” but this really is true, especially because of the clunky political commentary that littered the script. Not to sound naive, but when I go to a superhero movie, I want to see action, excitement, and entertainment, not an awkward pretentious backdrop that tries to express the characters’ political philosophies. Furthermore, there was a lot that I didn’t understand, and the whole first hour and a half seemed overly confusing, like there was no real drive or objective. Maybe that was because I never saw Man of Steel, or because I’m not a huge DC fan, or simply because the movie wasn’t grabbing my full attention.
The cinematography was too bleak and filtered for my likings; the colors seemed depressingly muted in a franchise with so much emotion. The soundtrack and acting were redeeming points, but the fact that the fight between the main characters was ended because their mothers’ names were both “Martha” was ridiculous (not to mention I really thought Jesse Eisenberg was too geeky and not intimidating enough to be Lex Luthor). I did, however, think that the fight scenes were well-choreographed, Wonder-Woman’s character exceeded my expectations, and Ben Affleck wasn’t shabby playing the Caped Crusader. Overall, I wouldn’t recommend it or want to watch the grueling 3-hour journey again, but I didn’t hate the experience either.
RASHOMON (1950) DIR. AKIRA KUROSAWA
Rating: 9/10
Akira Kurosawa, the director of Seven Samurai, Ran, Ikiru, Yojimbo, and several other classics, wrote and directed the mystery masterpiece Rashomon in 1950. It would then go on to influence all of Western cinema with its use of nonlinear storytelling and unique film techniques. Even shooting the camera up at the sun was shunned until this movie came along.
We start off in the majestic ruins of an old building during a torrential downpour, the rain acting as a beautiful cinematic visual that can be both violent and soothing, much like the film itself. A woodcutter, a commoner, and a priest sit together, recalling a crime that occurred days ago and the confusion that entrapped the account. We are then treated to four different stories of the same event, each one different varying from person to person.
The first man, Tajômaru, played feistily by Toshiro Mifune, states with angered laughter that he saw a man and wife traveling through the woods, the woman so beautiful that he had to have her. He tricked the man, tied him up, and raped the woman. As we continue, however, the audience starts to train themselves not to believe everything they hear. The wife tells her account, the dead husband narrates his story through the powers of a medium, and finally, the woodcutter from the beginning tells the other men what he claims “really happened.”
“I can’t understand it,” the woodcutter says, as he is perplexed by the evil of man, and the hell of the city. In each separate story, we are plunged into deep seriousness with each murder and violation committed, demonstrating the deep humanistic views this movie exhibits. After each account is finished, the woodcutter and priest start to argue with the commoner, who says that one must be selfish to stay alive in this world, and that he embraces the pity of man.
And then, to pit them against each other in the most fascinating way, Kurosawa puts the life of a newborn baby at stake, which tears the characters apart according to their ethical values and beliefs. The commoner gives up and runs away after stating there’s no escaping the violence of what happened. The priest and the woodcutter, however, are left at the building, holding the baby that represents the humanity and the tragedy of the entire film. A singular human life — one that not only serves to show the differences between characters, but also allows the film to end on a high note, that life is important, and that the woodcutter has restored the priest’s faith in humanity.
Overall it was a film I could learn from, and its duality (meaningless, pitiful violence vs. the importance of human life, much like the themes conveyed in The Deer Hunter) was what kept me intrigued and contemplative until the very end of the story.
#HORROR (2015) DIR. TARA SUBKOFF
Rating: 1/10
2015’s #Horror is, simply put, the worst piece of “cinema” I have ever had the vomit-inducing displeasure of watching. It is tough to put into words my feelings of intense and utter hatred toward this insult to all filmography. Every single factor was absolutely mind-blowingly awful.
The acting was cheesy, the writing was atrocious, the themes were more terribly-executed than the victims in the movie, the cinematography was ugly and bleak, the plot line in general was confusing and detached, even the soundtrack was depressing. Not only does this “film,” if I may call it that, manage to fail completely in its main message of anti-cyberbullying by obscuring it with gruesome deaths and unrealistic performances, but it makes the entire teenage demographic look like helplessly phone-dependent morons.
The Candy Crush “submit” sequences were mind-numbingly loud and hyper scene-transitions that completely ruined the isolated tone of the film with flashy colors and pinball sounds.
When I finished this movie, I felt depressed, angry, confused, frightened, regretful, violated, disappointed, and probably another hateful emotion that hasn’t been introduced into the English language yet. It is ultimately the greatest abomination that has ever poisoned the silver screen, and I couldn’t recommend it any less. If I could give it negative stars, I would. I want those 1.5 hours of my life back, of which I used in hopes of a so-bad-it’s-good cheese-fest, but instead I was presented with a disoriented, inhumane piece of crap. Bottom line, don’t watch this movie; it may cause a severe drop in IQ and an increase in anxiety for the future of cinema.
GROUNDHOG DAY (1993) DIR. HAROLD RAMIS
Rating: 10/10
Groundhog Day is, in my opinion, the best comedy ever made. This film is a haunting character study about a narcissistic weatherman who finds himself repeating the same day over and over again in a tormenting cycle of purgatory… and damn, is it funny. It mixes more dramatic themes of helplessness, depression, existential wonder, rebellion, inspiration, and true love, with hilarious set-pieces and great writing to give us a story whose pace never falters.
The script perfectly crafts a character who is not only a 3-dimensional egocentric pessimist (played flawlessly by Bill Murray), but who also changes into a charismatic, aspiring optimist who seeks to find the goodness in himself and others by the end of the film.
Groundhog Day is so very original; the concept has been referenced and reworked, but the idea of recycling the same day is still synonymous to only this movie. During the metamorphosis of Phil Connors, we see two parts to the story — the half whose purpose is to make the audience laugh (succeeding with comical gags and witty one-liners), and the half whose purpose is to make the audience think (I walked away from this movie with so much to contemplate — “What if this happened to me? How could I break the cycle? How is my life meaningful? What is the purpose of existence?”). Never did I think this 1993 Harold Ramis comedy could open up so many existential questions and be so creative, but as the story progressed, exhibiting the benefits and faults of repetition, I was completely proven wrong, and blown away by the profoundness of the plot and its message.
Groundhog Day is sometimes overlooked as “just another goofy comedy,” but I assure you, it is so much more than that, and while most modern comedies are becoming lazier in concept and focusing more on how many laughs can be generated from the viewer, it is the ideas I found myself thinking about after Groundhog Day that stuck with me much longer than the screwball slapstick found in most farces today. It is the paradigm of comedy, and therefore it has a 10/10 rating from me, proving to be one of the most thought-inducing and meaningful comedies ever made.
TRAINSPOTTING (1996) DIR. DANNY BOYLE
Rating: 9/10
“Choose life.” That’s what we open and close with in Trainspotting, a simple 2-word phrase that means separate things to our lead character in the beginning and end.
Renton (Ewan McGregor) is surrounded by his drug-addicted friends; he plays soccer, drinks at pubs, and shoots heroin by his buddies’ sides. But the truth is, he isn’t like them. He has the power of self-control (at least more so than his friends), and is smarter than Sick Boy (a worn-out, rotten soul), Begbie (an uncontrollable bully) and Spud (a well-meaning addict who makes bad decisions).
This movie’s moral was anti-drug, and whether it was exhibiting crawling spider-babies, putrid toilet stalls, or feces-splattered bed sheets, the objective was always to demonstrate to the audience how ugly one’s life can become by using drugs. Trainspotting was quirky and imaginative, conveying themes of hopelessness and despair, but also making it a fun ride for the viewers. It had laughs, action, romance, and that indie-experimental peculiarity that makes it so enjoyably atypical. The script and dialogue was great, the cinematography, the acting, and the comedy was also top-notch, but it was the characters that really pulled the entire experience together. Overall, I’d give this a 9/10 because it was a crazy, funny, violent, scary, and valuable movie whose underlying message is clear.
CITIZEN KANE (1941) DIR. ORSON WELLES
Rating: 9/10
Citizen Kane is the Mona Lisa of film. It’s the go-to for any movie buff — whether it’s thought of as a groundbreaking, landmark story that would influence the art of cinema for decades to come, whether it’s used as a handbook of camera tricks, plot, and structure, or whether it’s just known as a great movie over all, it is beloved by millions and has been analyzed for decades. Every scene contains something new that was either completely absent in most movies before it, or employs filmmaking techniques in a way that would affect future critics, movie buffs, and filmmakers even to this day, a whopping 75 years after its 1941 release.
In the beginning we are introduced to our lead character, Charles Foster Kane, a millionaire whose success and grandeur can’t cure his depression and loneliness; the feeling of remorse that haunts him ever since the simplicity of his childhood was crowded and tarnished with the complex fears and desires of the wealthy city life. He marries a woman named Emily Norton who eventually grows to hate him despite all the gifts and treasures he gives to her. In a particularly striking scene, the audiences watches as Kane and Emily talk at the dinner table; each time the camera spins, time goes by and we see the changes over the span of their marriage. With each dizzying swirl of the camera, Kane and Emily grow farther and farther apart, their newspapers are drawn higher as they become more bitter and spiteful until we get a long shot to see that the two are ten feet apart, sitting at opposite ends of the table to represent their emotional distance.
Kane finds a new girl but this affair is eventually discovered by Emily, who leaves him. Kane and his new wife, Susan, also go down this dreadful path and, even though he showers her in presents and handouts, even paying for acting lessons that would result in a heavily-criticized performance at the opera house, Susan is discontent, and Kane is ultimately alone. His dying last word, “Rosebud” — which would live on in the history books as one of the most famous quotes of all time — brings us back to the winter wonderland scene where Kane is just a boy riding his sled through the snow. The wintry scene is reduced to a memory captured in a snow globe, which shatters as Kane dies, and we watch as his beloved sled — entitled “Rosebud” — is burned and forgotten in a furnace; the fires of the greed and power of his adult life swallow up whatever innocence was still left in a tragic display of flames, loss, and sorrow.
CHINATOWN (1974) DIR. ROMAN POLANSKI
Rating: 9/10
Chinatown is a mysterious neo-noir crime thriller that ensnared me with each clue and wouldn’t let me go until the very end. It was interesting, dark, and was authentic to the genre.
Built on what has been called the greatest screenplay of all time — one that is studied now by aspiring screenwriters all over the world, we follow cool and quick-witted JJ Gittes (Jack Nicholson) as he uncovers the secrets of a damaged marriage, city corruption, and most importantly, a suspicious murder.
The structure was perfect, as well as the pacing that took us from plot point to plot point. I was either enjoying an exciting action sequence, or analyzing a slower, more conversational scene. Even the scenes without dialogue or action, for example, when JJ Gittes is searching through the city records, the quirky librarian and sound effect of the ceiling fan kept me entertained. Whether Gittes was dodging guards or searching through dangerous places, I was on the edge of my seat. The web of mystery that Gittes entangles himself in is just as fascinating to the lead character as it is to the audience, and as it unfolds on the screen, the viewer gets more and more information, as well as more and more confused. The story arc was perfect; each character developed as the 2-hour runtime flew by, and the 3-part structure was clear and concise — no excess, nothing left out.
The last 10 minutes were jaw-dropping, not in the sense that there was a huge twist ending (although there were several unexpected turns), but rather because it was storytelling in its finest form. Overall it was a well-crafted film start to finish, and one of the best crime-mysteries to date.
ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST (1975) DIR. MILOS FORMAN
Rating: 10/10
Milos Forman’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest only conjures up one adjective when I think of it: haunting. Behind the symbolic chain link fence we get a view into the lives of mentally unstable men, and the equally unstable people that run the institution. In one of, if not, the best of Jack Nicholson’s roles, he embodies RP McMurphy, a man whom society has deemed insane. He spends his days in the ward with the other guys, played beautifully by Danny DeVito, Sydney Lassick, Brad Dourif, and the rest of the cast. McMurphy becomes the leader of the group, and at points throughout the story I found myself wondering if he really was insane, for when he was talking with the other patients, he seemed encouraging and down-to-earth, but while conversing with authoritative figures like Nurse Ratched and the owner of the ward, he acts unstable and inappropriate.
One thing I found very fascinating was the use of games throughout the film; the patients were always playing Monopoly or basketball or cards, and with each game, we see that the men can never understand the rules or play correctly, between Martini endlessly ordering “Hit me,” and Chief’s inability to make a slam dunk. This is a lot like society, since the men are outcasts and cannot follow the metaphorical rules of normal life, and therefore must be institutionalized. However, with McMurphy’s help, the men learn to feel good about themselves and play the game how they want to play. They never truly learn how to finish a game of Monopoly or win at Blackjack, but they do learn that they don’t have to feel bad about their inabilities. Mc Murphy encourages them to watch the baseball game, even if it’s only in their heads; Chief helps the group win a round of basketball, even though he cheats the system by holding the net. All of this goes to show that it’s not about the winners and losers of society, it’s about the freedom they have, and that even though these men are different, they are not inept. Overall, Cuckoo’s Nest is an inspirational tale that drives home a haunting message, and earns a 10/10 rating from me.
AMERICAN BEAUTY (1999) DIR. SAM MENDES
Rating: 10/10
American Beauty absolutely blew me away. Never have I walked away from a film that reaches its place in my top 10 of all time the same day I first watched it. It was unexplainably phenomenal. Apparently some have gone as far to say that it represents the “meaning of life,” and in a way I agree with that statement.
The audience is introduced to Lester Burnham, a lonely suburban dad who is facing a mid-life crisis, stuck in a lousy marriage to a success-driven control-freak, and is father to a distant yet intriguing daughter who is overlooked and ignored in the family.
Alan Ball’s fantastic screenplay reels us in from the opening lines, giving us a view into Kevin Spacey’s character’s daily life. He wakes up, masturbates in the shower (the high point of his day), rides in the back seat of the car to work, puts on a phony grin for his boss and coworkers, and makes it home in time to listen to elevator music while his wife and daughter argue at the dinner table. It’s every suburban home-owner’s haunting, repetitive nightmare, void of meaning, absent of love, and lacking life. During his midlife crisis, however, Lester Burnham is lucky (or unlucky) enough to meet his daughter’s best friend Angela Hayes who he fantasizes about, rose pedals and all. We get a view into everyone’s life; the daughter struggles with her floozy friend and creepy yet insightful neighbor; the wife has an affair with the Real Estate King and is forced to face the laissez-aller monster she thinks her husband has become; Lester tries working out, smoking pot, quitting his job, buying his dream car, etc. in a successful attempt to reignite the flame of his youth.
This film observes the subdued problems inside the picture-perfect white-picket-fence suburban houses, and ultimately is about people and their darkest desires. It will change any suburbanite’s perspective — even city-dwellers or more rural people — this movie is unique, powerful, and is a comedy-drama-fantasy-sex-thriller that everyone must watch.
GOODFELLAS (1990) DIR. MARTIN SCORSESE
Rating: 10/10
Goodfellas is in my top 15 favorite movies of all time, and in my opinion, Scorsese’s best film to date. Goodfellas captures the unique and comical Italian lifestyle like he does in Raging Bull, exhibits a life of crime, sex, drugs, and money like the Wolf of Wall Street, shows the arc of an interesting and 3-dimensional character like Taxi Driver, demonstrates themes of jealousy and betrayal like Raging Bull, and gives us a look at the lives of gangsters in Scorsese fashion like Casino and The Departed. It incorporates all these themes, devices, and details in a way unlike any other film, and is arguably a better mobster flick than iconic 1972’s The Godfather.
Ray Liota and Joe Pesci both give the performance of a lifetime, and Robert De Niro, Lorraine Bracco, and Paul Sorvino also add to the ensemble talent. The beginning 20 minutes are a huge montage that shows off the skill of the cast and crew with stylish cinematography (perfect yet not-too-severe lighting and motivated tracking shots), triumphant performances (Joe Pesci, like 1995’s Casino, fully embodies his off-the-hook, murderous character just like Ray Liota becomes Henry Hill as he narrates his way through the story).
The “funny how” scene is one of my favorite scenes in the history of cinema because of its slick use of raising tension and flawless effort from everyone involved — in front of and behind the camera. Scorsese also gives us an authentic look at Italian lifestyle through the actors, the food, and by even including his own mother in the cast. What I appreciate about this film is that it is one of the rare “perfect movies”; there is not one scene that is not quotable, re-watchable, and equipped with all the traits of breakneck-paced storytelling. This film will live on as the essential gangster movie, as well as Scorsese’s magnum opus.
CASINO (1995) DIR. MARTIN SCORSESE
Rating: 9/10
Some refer to Casino as Goodfellas 2. I disagree with this statement. Casino has a different setting, different cast, different plot, themes, time, and even mood. Goodfellas is arguably the better movie, but Casino is its own story. Yes, I can find some common ground when critics say that Joe Pesci's character, the story arc, and the subject matter was the same, but that is merely Scorsese’s style.
One thing I noticed that was particularly different stylistically was the use of extreme light. In every scene the main character was radiating white light, shining off their face, their hair, their hands; it was very excessive. Yet this technique was hardly seen at all in Goodfellas. It was a good choice in Casino because it highlighted the bling of the Las Vegas life, as well as the wealthy 80s showboat vibes (Robert De Niro’s suits were award-worthy in this movie).
When I think of Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese, I think of the 3 main films: Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, and Goodfellas. However, after watching Casino, it takes Goodfellas’ place. Robert De Niro’s performance in my opinion was better in this 1995 film — he had much more screen-time, and was more respective with specific standards and principles.
In Goodfellas, the last half hour is built entirely off Henry Hill’s (Ray Liota) drug-induced paranoia, which makes for much of the source material of Casino. The police are a more powerful and present force, and cause the audience (as well as the characters) to feel like they could be caught at any moment. To add to that, the back-stabbing and betrayal between mob forces were also sources of constant anxiety and insecurity. This movie had a break-neck pace, and its interesting characters and stylistic filming techniques were very enjoyable (and surprisingly different from Goodfellas).
TAXI DRIVER (1976) DIR. MARTIN SCORSESE
Rating: 10/10
Taxi Driver has always been one of my favorite movies. I watched it for the first time when I was a too young to understand some of the more complex themes, yet it intrigued me with such great force. There were so many things that caught my eye and drew my attention — the striking side-track while Travis is talking on the phone, the depressing, intimidating soundtrack, the feeling of loneliness in a city of millions.
This movie is phenomenal because it is arguably one of the best character studies ever put to film. Our protagonist Travis Bickle is fascinating yet scary, psychotic yet relatable; he appeals to us all through the strongest theme in the film: loneliness. This theme was displayed in a way that made us sympathize with our leading man, even if his mind isn’t always in the right place. Martin Scorsese’s bold direction produced a film that most young directors dream of aspiring to, yet so many aren’t brave enough to attempt a story like this.
It wasn’t until a recent re-viewing that I actually realized its sluggish pace, for there is hardly any action at all. Yet, even still, it captivates me more than most other films. Every moment, with or without action, tells us something new about the character, his struggles, his issues, his interests, and gives us insight into what’s going on in his mind. A word of warning: this movie is only for those who can stay with it and not feel the slow feeling of boredom creeping over them. Audience members that are looking for action — do not look here, even though it is such a powerful film. However, for those who can bear the molasses-like pace, moments like the pan-up to Travis’ new hairdo and the payphone side-track will be extremely rewarding and thought-provoking.
I highly recommend this movie, as it has found its place in my top 20 of all time. It’s one of the few films that has left me thinking for years after I’ve watched it, as well as an essential movie for aspiring directors and audiences looking for a meaningful story. Taxi Driver is an American classic.
DEADPOOL (2016) DIR. TIM MILLER
Rating: 7/10
“Deadpool” — even the mention of the name brings up excitement in Marvel fans everywhere. The thought of the Merc with a Mouth having his very own movie is thrilling enough, but with this much hype, it’s hard to live up to expectations. Deadpool lives up to its expectations.
This film was so different from most other superhero movies. The fourth-wall breaks, the raunchy humor, and the violence, language, and sex permitted by its controversial R-rating ups the entertainment. Deadpool’s character was hilarious; this movie was a comedy start to finish, yet it also incorporated the action of comic-book movies and the satisfactory revenge of any redemption plot.
The side that was a love story was clichéd (boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back), but it was aware of its own cliché in a satirical sort of way. The beginning credits grabbed me with the name spoofs, and between avocado references and violent fighting, the film kept me attentive and entertained.
The ending was a bit too anticlimactic, but the anticlimax was actually turned into a punchline. However, this joke was at the expense of preventing us from feeling the satisfaction of revenge, and since the dramatic need of the main character was to kill the antagonist, the ending was unrealistic to the protagonist and disappointing for the audience. However, the ending was not enough to bring the whole movie down, and over all it was a very enjoyable experience (and the Ferris Bueller gag at the end had me laughing as well).
TRIPLE 9 (2016) DIR. JOHN HILLCOAT
Rating: 5/10
John Hillcoat’s Triple 9 started off with a bang — we see a group of robbers stealing cash from a bank, and then in the blink of an eye they are speeding down the highway, when suddenly, in an original and exciting twist, the bag begins puffing out colored gas. The criminals are painted red and the van is releasing a huge cloud that highlights the vehicle for all the police to see. They manage to get away, but after this chase, things start to slow down.
We witness murder, betrayal, and revenge, but none of it really seemed interesting. The film pulled me in with its breakneck-paced opening scene, but was on the extreme decline from there. There were several interpersonal connections which could have been more fascinating if every character didn’t blend into one another with similar dialogue and unorganized relationships.
As Roger Ebert said about The Usual Suspects, “To the degree that I do understand, I don't care.” The plot was overly confusing, and I could probably keep up if it was more 3-dimensional. The entire thing seemed like a huge montage of untied loose ends, and the ending did not solve anything, just freeze-framing on Woody Harrelson’s face (a great actor who was sadly wasted in this film). This was too intricate and not appealing enough — it had no real purpose. The beginning was a fun thrill ride, but the movie ended on a depressed note that seemed without meaning. This film was forgettable and unambitious, but the action and performances made up for the over-done plot line.
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING (2001) DIR. PETER JACKSON
Rating: 9/10
This movie is a modern classic, and its 15-year age is almost unnoticeable with the detailed CGI and astonishing resolution. J.R.R. Tolkein’s seemingly unfilmable vision springs to life in Peter Jackson’s bold adaptation.
Much like Sergio Leone’s trademark, we are constantly provided with intimate close-ups followed by breathtaking landscape shots. Mountains covered in snow, rolling grassy hills, clear reflective waters, this film is like a New Zealand brochure with a plot. The CG scenes are beautiful as well (especially when the fellowship is traveling down the river and they come across the huge stone statues), exhibiting a full-force effort from the special effects team. The film’s plot, or drive, rather, is to get the One Ring from the Shire to Mount Doom in order to be destroyed.
What I love about it is its simplicity, the fact that there is only one objective in mind, yet the series sprawls into this 11-hour tour of nature and action, displaying themes of friendship, loyalty, and determination. All in all, it’s a film about how important our close relationships with others are, because without the help Sam or Legolas or Gandalf or Aragorn (and the list goes on and on), Frodo Baggins never would have reached his goal.
SANSHO THE BAILIFF (1954) DIR. KENJI MIZOGUCHI
Rating: 10/10
“Without mercy, man is like a beast. Even if you are hard on yourself, be merciful to others. Men are created equal. Everyone is entitled to their happiness.”
I sat wrapped in my bed sheets, my computer propped up on my lap, bathed in darkness. I listened for any sign of my parents walking in over the sound coming from my earbuds. At 2 in the morning, I finished Sansho the Bailiff. Although exhausted, I was endlessly impressed.
Kenji Mizoguchi is one of the three Japanese masters (along with Kurosawa and Ozu), yet I had only seen Ugetsu thus far. Sansho not only out-shined Ugetsu, but became one of my new all-time favorites.
We start out watching a Japanese family consisting of a brother and sister and their lonely mother (and their servant tagging along too). They make their way through the woods, flashing back to past times with their distant father. ‘Guchi raises the tension and foreshadows hardship with strangely suspenseful scenes. Every time the family separates ever so slightly, dreadful possibilities pop up in the mother’s (and the viewer’s) minds. Eventually we work up to a scene where two phony salesmen-like crooks throw the mother into one boat and kidnap the two siblings, forcing them into a slave labor camp.
The tragic plot is somewhat simplistic, but it’s truly heartbreaking. The clearest theme being separation, all the family members’ love for one another shines through among the disastrous conditions. The children feel love for their father, even though the last time they met was as infants. The mother feels love for her kids, singing a soulful song about how her pitiful life is so torturous without them. And the children feel love for each other. Zushio and Anju, although they differ in beliefs and values, are devastated when separated.
All these connections of love and caring make the film sound like it is based off the idea that love always prevails, but it is quite the opposite. The moral of the story is actually that the bad guys sometimes win, and there is a lot of injustice in the world. Zushio is never able to free the slaves; Anju dies before Zushio can reunite with her; the mother is left in a state of shock and insanity. Hell, the name of the movie is named after the villain. How much more bleak can you get?
But the sadness makes us realize how much we identify with the characters, how the events that unfolded were so very unfair, and how this can apply to the real world. Although heartbreaking, Sansho the Bailiff is gripping, artful, and truly resonated with me. I see it as Mizoguchi’s magnum opus, and I’d suggest anyone who hasn’t seen it to try and watch it as soon as they can.
AU HASARD BALTHAZAR (1966) DIR. ROBERT BRESSON
Rating: 4/10
Well, this one’s gonna be an oddball review. I don’t usually have too many strong opinions that differ with those of the general public. I’m often quite an agreeable movie-watcher. More often than not I like films that get high praise. But Robert Bresson’s 1966 film Au Hasard Balthazar was one of the worst, if not the worst, highly-regarded film I’ve ever seen.
Let me give you some background, in case you are unfamiliar with this film’s reputation. It currently holds a 100% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s in the Great Movies section of Roger Ebert’s reviews. It was ranked the 15th best film of all time on the Sight and Sound critics’ poll. It is often thought of as the pinnacle of Bresson’s career and one of the best movies ever. Now let me tell you what I thought: although there were a few silver linings, Au Hasard was an overall bore, with more depression and dispassion than a funeral.
First off, I must say, I have seen 5 films by Robert Bresson; one of them was a masterpiece and the others ranged from awesome to very bad, so he’s definitely not a poor director. But what he has created here is his worst.
The movie’s plot is simple… well, there isn’t much of a plot, as much a story. It tracks the account of a young girl Marie and her beloved donkey, Balthazar, over the years, as they get separated and reunited at different points through life.
Just the setting alone is drab and dreary. The wildly untamed French countryside, lined with rundown village houses and dirt roads, captured in stark black and white is, for me, a very dull and ugly place. The actors that inhabit such a location also seem to be infected by the somber mood, reading lines monotonously with no feeling or emotion. In fact, the donkey gives the most lively performance of the whole cast.
As Marie gets older, she meets Gérard, a wannabe bad boy with serious anger issues. He literally rapes her in a rusty car and then sets Balthazar’s tail on fire, and because he’s such a sweetheart, Marie falls in love with him (??). This makes for a truly un-relatable main character… unless the main character is Balthazar, whom we can’t completely relate to because he’s a goddamn donkey.
The storyline is very fractured and the pacing is not too enjoyable either. Although it's just over 90 minutes, it felt like I had been watching for donkey’s years (get it?), and I almost fell asleep several times.
However, this is not supposed to be an attack on this film. I can appreciate a few artful aspects, and I really deeply wanted to love it, because Au Hasard is loved by viewers and critics alike. But it sadly left me unsatisfied. Bottom line is: if you’re looking for a good donkey flick, please, watch Shrek instead.
THE TREE OF LIFE (2011) DIR. TERRENCE MALICK
Rating: 10/10
There is a quick shot somewhere within the depths of Terrence Malick’s titanic masterpiece The Tree of Life that captures the main character, played by Jessica Chastain, dancing freely in the morning sun. She extends her arm to let a fluttering butterfly land on the tip of her finger, and brings it in to inspect it. This shot, and the story behind it, sums up the entirety of the movie.
I heard that those few seconds of the film, captured by master cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, were completely unplanned and contain no special effects or pre-preparation. It’s just raw, pure cinema; it contains the simple beauty in life (it’s much like another shot from Aguirre, The Wrath of God, another obscure title that involves a butterfly landing on a soldier’s palm). That’s what The Tree of Life is, essentially: an exploration of time and space, a searchlight scanning for any signs of meaning, of purpose, of beauty, behind the enigma that is human life. We are but a burning light shrouded in infinite darkness.
A film such as this, as ambitious as other chef-d’oeuvres such as 2001: A Space Odyssey, is hard to tackle with a simple review, but it is so captivating, so magnificent, I find it hard not to write anything about it. First off, every frame is literally a work of art to frame on your bedroom wall. Using all natural light and restricting camera zooms and filters, each scene feels organic, realistic, and gorgeous. I am utterly shocked to find out that Lubezki lost to Scorsese’s Hugo that year at the Academy Awards.
Second, the acting. Hunter McCracken is just perfectly cast. Brad Pitt gives an unusually quiet and restrained performance, while Jessica Chastain’s role as the wise, whispering mother is done to a tee. After her son dies in the war, we feel her grief, her sorrow, and her search for some kind of resolution. Her tears are shockingly genuine. We cut between timelines, one in 1950s Texas and the other in modern day, when all the children are grown up. Everything feels completely authentic in the 50s setting, with vintage cars and the old wooden interior of the family’s house. There is a sense of everlasting hope that always accompanies the era of childhood, a feeling that everything is so shiny and new, so wholesome, so ready to be explored. The two boys not only explore the tactile world around them but also the levels of class, age, religion, and love embedded in their American society. There’s a scene where one sibling dares the other to lie his soft finger over the muzzle of his pellet gun, telling him he won’t shoot. Yet he pulls the trigger anyway. There is so much unsaid learning in this short scene. When it comes to the parents, the father, like any old-fashioned household, is the supreme ruler, the top tier of the hierarchy. He works hard for his family, and comes home to relax and be catered to. He’s under stress, with a low tolerance, causing any sign of tension to explode into fury. In most scenes he comes off as a bully, yet it’s paradoxically depressing because he’s being a dad in the only way he knows how. He’s doing his best yet he’s so flawed and unbalanced, showing that parents, no matter how much we see them as these colossal, invincible creatures, are just as human as everyone else. They cry, they bleed, they hurt. When we see Sean Penn, the grown up child we followed through the 50s, we can still see the shadow of a vulnerable kid. We don’t see the strong, up-tight father figure that Brad Pitt played. In the same way, if we watched Pitt’s character through his childhood, he wouldn’t be as intimidating.
One thing to note is that the film is not just 2 timelines, it’s an inestimable amount of timelines, all part of one huge continuum — the timeline that is life itself. The boundless amount of time and space, from the beginning of the universe to the heaven that lies beyond. The creation of planets, the inception of organisms, the expansion of man and knowledge. We keep building up, yet it seems that there is no real end. We see the start, we see the middle, yet we’re left hanging. Because in truth, we are still searching, drifting through the universe, a single speck in an ocean of darkness. We have yet to reach our end, because it still hides within the extent of the unknown.
Next up on the list of merits I must tackle in this review: the creation scene. Has any montage in the last 10 years — no, 20… no, 50… no, in the history of cinema — every been so inspiring and artistic? Maybe only challenged by the likes of 2001’s Stargate sequence, or the final battle of Seven Samurai, yet it’s still breathtakingly original and powerful. Unimaginably eye-popping visuals paired with the elegant opera “Lacrimosa” even provoked tears from me. Watching it again I feel as though the frame of my television screen could stretch on forever and immerse me in the totality of existence. Nebulas, gases, light, stars — we zoom into the cosmos and realize every tiny pixel is a world of its own because of the enormous scale. I have never seen something with more grandeur and with more weight. We slowly transition from huge shots to smaller Earth landscapes. We watch as life thrives under the sea, on land, and even on a microscopic level, getting so small it seems just as frighteningly infinite as the colossal galaxy itself. What is this universe that we inhabit? Are we alone? Why?
In summary, The Tree of Life is a celebration of mankind, of his accomplishments and faults. It’s an awe-inspiring expression of existence, not layered with complex metaphors and analyzable philosophies, but simplistic beauty. What is so impressive about this film is not that it’s deep because it’s intricate, but rather it’s profound because it’s effortless. Like a poem straight from the heart.
“Light of my life. I search for you. My hope. My child.”
HIGH AND LOW (1963) DIR. AKIRA KUROSAWA
Rating: 10/10
High and Low is one of Akira Kurosawa’s greatest films, but what’s unique about it is that it doesn’t focus on samurai. Like Ikiru, it takes place in the early 60s, focusing on a millionaire shoemaker whose ethics are tested when he’s suddenly thrust into the midst of a kidnapping. When his son’s friend is kidnapped, Kingo Gondo (Toshiro Mifune) must decide whether to pay a hefty ransom or let the kidnapper kill the child. The problem is: Gondo can’t pay a ransom without plummeting into debt, since he just spent virtually all his money in a business deal.
The first (and arguably stronger) half of High and Low pits moral belief versus financial struggles. For the husband, it’s public image against individual gain. For the wife, it’s a life of luxury versus civic duty. And for the father of the kidnapped child, it’s stern refusal against undying hope. Not only is it wildly entertaining as it captures a high-strain environment, but it creates a very personally applicable scenario. It’s a movie that makes one think: “What would I do in this situation?”
About 1 hour into the film, there is a distinctive shift in the story’s drive. We switch from a high-tension, one-room situation (one that lets the suspense build until the audience can feel the claustrophobia), to a gritty manhunt on the streets of Tokyo, the detectives playing cat and mouse with the criminal. Toshiro Mifune is substituted for Tatsuya Nakadai, another talented actor who plays an investigator. The police try everything they can to catch the perpetrator — from storing the ransom money in the least popular suitcase brand to using marked bills for the cash.
As for the technical side of the film, it’s marvelous to look at and incredibly modern-feeling. The contrast of every image is raised noticeably so that the black is as dark as night and the white is as light as paper. This could be suggesting that a pulp thriller such as this is literally very black and white — in other words, based off of facts and opinions. There are the true details that the crime case is built off of, and then there’s the individual input each character contributes to the conflict. Not only is this metaphorical of the story, but it’s some gorgeous cinematography, not to mention the fact that the camera is always mobile, creating adrenaline in the viewer. The set design is also impeccable. The chairs, the tables, the phone, the windows, the stairs… everything about the main character’s house maintains a classic 60s look. The suits that the detectives wear, the cars that they drive, and the attractions of the city streets are also very stylistic.
Flashbacks, shaky-cam (particularly during the train sequence), and fast-paced, perfectly-executed action make this film an absolute thrill-ride; I was invested in the characters and plot throughout the entire runtime. I can’t recommend this movie enough — I truly think it’s the greatest police procedural ever filmed.