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Reviews
The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)
Good, but missing the tension of Plein Soleil
The Talented Mr. Ripley is a good film. The pacing is fine (if it moved too slowly for you, just wait. When you are a grown-up you may develop the attention span for serious films. Meanwhile, you can certainly go see Pokkemon again), the acting is very good, the soundtrack fantastic. But there was something a little less than convincing about the tension. The mood in this film comes across as artificial.
Plein Soleil, made from the same novel, kept this viewer at the edge of his seat for more of the film than The Talented Mr. Ripley. Most of the tension in Plein Soleil was created by the lighting and mood of the photography. The Talented Mr. Ripley sacrificed that heightened edginess for a stronger contrast between the sensuality of the settings and the drama.
Is this better or worse? This reader is tempted to back out and say that it is a matter of taste. Both approaches are valid. Perhaps one is better than the other, but strong arguments could be made either way.
Meanwhile, it is worth seeing, and plenty of reviewers are saying that it is closer to the novel than Plein Soleil. Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't, perhaps it doesn't matter.
Al di là delle nuvole (1995)
This is by necessity an incomplete review.
I saw this film for the first time last night. I have been thinking about it all night and this morning. I cannot say that it was my favorite film, at least not yet. I need to see it again.
The cinematography is stunning. Each shot has a lyricism that one would expect in a film that has Wim Wenders's name attached to it.
It is always tempting to see de Chirico in any picture of rows of orders vanishing into the gloom, but in this case the analogy fits. In many ways the figure of Malkovich walking through the fog and wind of Ferarra echoes the shadow of the off-canvas statue that haunts Milan in the major works of the Italo-Greek painter. He is slightly menacing, a presence who watches and, in his capacity as a film director, exerts influence on the entire story.
The dedicated Wenders fan cannot help but think a little bit of Damiel and Cassiel wandering through the streets of Berlin, watching all but not directly interacting with the inhabitants. And, following the Himmel Uber Berlin metaphor, the angel (or in this case Malkovich the Director) gets to interact with one of the stories.
At this point I have to bow out of taking this line of criticism too far. I need to see the movie again. I am fairly sure that this is the thread that will bring Malkovich's monologue together.
Perhaps his musings and pontifications are pretentious, empty dialog that sound good but cannot possibly be parsed into real communication. Maybe that is the whole point of it. No one can make that judgment with any degree of certainty or authority until having done his homework.
We must be careful when throwing around the word "pretentious." It is easy to write off anything that smacks of the intellect as pretension, but that leads to a terrifying mental state, one in which the only conversation seen as genuine, earthy or authentic is the most banal. When we shun all discussions of philosophy, God, existence, meaning and all that brain candy, we are setting our culture up to die a slow, stupid and ugly death. Perhaps this is the warning that Wenders and Antonioni are giving us. It certainly is not the only theme of the film, but I think that it cannot be ignored.
The other (and most obvious) leitmotif is that of satisfaction. There is a lot here on that, and a thorough review of all the subtleties and consequences of the development of this leitmotif would well exceed the 1000 word limit for this review.
My advice is to see the film. But I offer a caveat: it is not an autonomous film (at least I don't think so yet). Some films interact with the intellectual and artistic thinking of their times so much that the viewer needs to have a background in the Zeitgeist before approaching the film. Par-dela les nuages is one of those films.
Koyaanisqatsi (1982)
Overrated.
There are much better films out there that function as meditations on the flow of time and people and things. Some have plots, some mere hints of plots, and others none at all. The experience of viewing these films is akin to looking at a painting or contemplating the subtle changes in nature.
Unfortunately, Koyaanisqatsi just does not quite make it. In places where it should allow the natural (and accidental) beauty of a subject to come through, it instead uses pointed repetition to preach a one-dimensional message. If it encounters an interesting subject it lingers on far too long. Please note that I have a lot of patience with meditative art, being a longtime fan of Wim Wenders, the composer Morton Feldman, and the painter Robert Ryman. I can handle art that explores deeper and deeper, examining the hidden and bringing to light details that no one ever has seen, often including the artist (see John Cage's works on the process of art as a process of exploration for both audience and author). But Koyaanisqatsi finds a scene of moderate interest and hammers on it until there is nothing left to see in it, and KEEPS ON GOING. So much for subtle variation.
Overall, Koyaanisqatsi comes across as a spoof of minimalist excess. It's like the minimalist painting that REALLY IS just a white canvas. This mind-numbing effect is reinforced by the relentless music of neo-banalist Phil Glass. Meaningless harmonic structures, crudely stitched together, repeating over and over, proclaiming the composer's incompetence at every pseudo-cadence.
This is maybe a good movie for pot-head hippies or maybe for teenagers trying to find some meaning in the many superficial contradictions in the world. Perhaps it can be a way to wean American youth away from too much Chuck Norris. But maybe it really isn't any better for them than Chuck Norris.
Mr. Holland's Opus (1995)
Cliches, inept music, and bad acting - oh what fun.
My first complaint is one that can be applied to almost every popular movie about music, to whit, a movie about someone who has a passion for music should have competently written music in it. Also, there should be no flaws in musicology. If one is not going to get every detail right on music, one should make a movie about dinosaurs or middle-aged housewives meeting old college flames or hard-hearted cynics finding a spark of warmth in the world. One who is not willing to understand that in music, more than in any other field (besides rocket science), the devil is in the details.
However, that having been said, there are movies (Amadeus comes to mind) where the history and music were inaccurately portrayed but still worked as movies. Mr. Holland does not make up for the shortcomings. It is clicheed, poorly scripted, and not well acted. I cannot say that there is a great movie about passion for music driving a composer. Probably because popular romantic notions about artists and composers are silly and wrong to begin with, a movie based on such a flawed premise is destined to fail. Music is interesting, so study music, study music theory, study music history. Learn what makes good music good and bad music bad (it is not all that subjective). Do not waste time on inane pap like Mr. Holland's Opus.
Der Himmel über Berlin (1987)
The Perfect Film
I saw this film for the first time when it first came out back in '87 (I think it may have been '88 by the time it got to my town), and was stunned. I am not one to use superlatives, but I have yet to see a better film. Certainly 8 1/2, La Strada, La Dolce Vita, La Notte di San Lorenzo, Wild Strawberries, and maybe ten or so others come close, but they do not quite get to this level.
What is so good? The cinematography, the language, the integration of sound and music, the character development, the pacing... in short, everything.
Now, it is easy for someone raised on a diet of Bruce Willis films to think that the pacing was too slow. Art is supposed to slow our pace, to put us into contemplation, to shatter, or at least to fracture, our perception of time and space. Der Himmel uber Berlin does this in a way that is analogous to taking a long, hard look at a painting by Diebenkorn or Matisse. Like a Matisse, the viewer can experience joy at various levels, from the first, superficial glance to prolonged and repeated viewings. Perhaps one can get to a point where there is nothing more to glean from it, but that indicates a failing on the part of the viewer, not on the part of the film. However, anyone who has difficulty understanding this film should realize that it is okay not to. It is a difficult film. Perhaps it is better for the confused viewer to put it aside for the time being, to see other films, to read, to think about other things. But it would be a terrible shame not to try to come back to Der Himmel Uber Berlin. It is too great a film to ignore.
Casablanca (1942)
This is a fun movie, but it is not art.
Who can't help but to like this film? It has a rugged, square-jawed hero, bad guys (not just Nazis, but the French who would betray their own country to the Nazis), a pretty girl (very pretty), exotic locales, and lines that everyone can recite, a la Rocky Horror Picture Show. Lots of fun. However, the fact that this is on the IMDB top 250 is sad. There are at least 250 films better than it (notice I say "better than" not "that I like more," nor "that you like more"). Degustibus non disputandus est. I will grant that. However, art has tougher criteria than "I like it, and my opinion counts because I am Me!" Casablanca is a disjointed muddle of a film. It is cliche ridden, as subtle as a ton of dynamite, and does not come close to true masterpieces of film art. Want to see a good wartime film with good heros and bad villains? See Rome, Open City or La Notte di San Lorenzo.
For a better, deeper critique of what is wrong with this film, I suggest reading Umberto Eco's essay on it. It is (I think), found in How to Travel with a Salmon or Travels in Hyperreality.