The Candidate (1972)

CandidateposterTwo hallmarks of the political film genre are Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and All the President’s Men. The latter starred The Candidate’s lead, Robert Redford. However, in this case, the candidate, Billy McKay, is perhaps a more tempered version of Jefferson Smith. He’s a young lawyer, good looking and passionate about justice and doing right by the people.

But this is not a film about a monumental struggle between good versus evil. There are no blatant moments of scandal or obvious skeletons lurking in the closets (although there’s the suggestion that McKay has a slight fling). Still, both men, both the Democrat and the Republican seem like generally amiable individuals — not venomous monsters. If you were with them around a dinner table, no matter your political bent, it would probably be easy to strike up a conversation. But both men, the incumbent, Crocker Jarmon, and the young challenger are playing this game called politics to win the state of California. There’s no doubt about it.

It’s fascinating that the film was actually penned by the real-life speechwriter of Senator Eugene J McCarthy, Jeremy Larner, so you get a sense that there is inherently some truth to the backroom conversations going on between campaign managers, newscasters, and the Senate hopeful. There’s an ethos being elicited and it helps that The Candidate gives off the aura of documentary more often than film.

But what we do see, is the progression of a man. McKay begins resolutely in his ambitions. He’s not at all a politician and he was not planning to become one until he is called upon by a veteran campaign manager. Marvin Lucas (Peter Boyle) thinks the lawyer has the pedigree (his father was a governor) and the genuine charm to win over votes. And finally, Bill agrees to it all as long as he gets to say what he wants. But as things continue to evolve, this beast that is the political machine begins to churn rather insidiously.

There’s not some dramatic moment of epiphany but there is a sense that McKay has started to allow himself to be sucked into this political popularity contest. His advisors are constantly setting up their next moves, putting together press junkets and public appearances to bring their candidate before the people. Meanwhile, his wife (Karen Carlson) is trying to support his cause and his famous father (Melvyn Douglas) eventually looks to get in on the publicity as well. And McKay is certainly candid and likable but he also soon learns what is expected of him. His answers become vague, he toes the line closer and ladles out the type of rhetoric the masses want to hear. The sad thing is that it’s this strategy which begins helping in the polls. Not astronomically but it’s a systematic shift giving him a good chance to win the contest.

But by election night, the votes are being cast, both sides are frantically preparing and Bill realizes he might be on the edge of a precipice he never foresaw. He’s being hoisted up as a champion of the people and yet he realizes he doesn’t want to be there but by this point, it’s too late. He can’t turn back. He can’t reimagine himself because he played the game already.

It’s hard to decipher where the film goes from here — what truly is next? His staff is happy. His wife is happy. His father is happy. Everyone else seems happy too. But the candidate is left to get whisked away by a mob — still wearing a glum face of bewilderment. In some ways, he’s a Jefferson Smith for the modern era. Duped by a system that he thought he could reform, only to find out he sold out. It’s somehow both comic and cynical — in a rather unnerving way — striking a tender nerve. Imagine if you have an election as volatile as the latest one. This film is no less true even over 40 years later. In some ways, everything still functions like a nefarious game. The question is, who is the joke really on?

3.5/5 Stars

The Truman Show (1998)

trumanshow1Yogi Berra famously once said, If the world was perfect, it wouldn’t be. And to go even further still, in As You Like It Shakespeare wrote, the world is a stage and all the men and women are merely players. They have their exits and entrances.” So it goes with this film — The Truman Show. In fact, in some ways, it feels reminiscent of the likes Groundhog Day and even Jim Carrey’s later project Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It’s meta qualities and storytelling structure truly pushes the boundaries of what we know to be true. And in each case the results are gripping.

Directed by Peter Weir an Australian craftsman of other fine works like Witness and Dead Poets Society, the film takes this fascinating concept and truly runs with it even from its initial title credits. Truman played so delightfully by Jim Carrey, is the perfect schmuck next door. He has a white picket fence, a beautiful wife, a stable desk job. What more could you ask for? It’s not the least bit weird that we get an uneasy feeling we’re in Stepford, in this case, his town named Sea Haven.

As an audience, all of this seems suspect, but Truman goes through his life strangely ignorant. Still, he has this unquenchable desire to go to Fiji, but the memories of his father’s tragic death and his wife’s (Laura Linney) reluctance to skip out on their mortgage is holding him back.

trumanshow2However, as things progress there begin to be even more warning signs and indications to Truman that all is not right in his world. In truth, his life is a TV show, where everyone is privy to a television program including the audience, but that program ends up being his life. Truman Burbank is at the center of this orchestrated universe and he has been for 30 years. But over time he gets wise to the game and he’s looking to push the limit of the rules as far as they will go so he can get to the bottom of it all. But as he begins to push the boundaries of this world, goofs and mess-ups become more obvious. Truman begins to notice loops and inconsistencies in the story being told around him. Some people, namely the former extra Sylvia (Natascha McElhone), want Truman released from this prison–this life under a microscope.

However, when we meet the show’s creator, director, and mastermind Christoph (Ed Harris) he sees what he has given Truman as a gift ( I have given Truman the chance to live a normal life. Sea Haven is the way things should be). But when Truman goes off the grid, there’s a media frenzy and he forces the hand of his creator. Thus, this “creator” and “created” paradigm is developed and they have their first interaction, which consequently will also be their last.

trumanshow3If there is a Creator of the Universe, our universe, The Truman Show puts it in a clearer light. Christoph seems like a somewhat selfish individual who allows his creation to walk off set rather reluctantly, but he finally does let go. Thus, his actions seem to make it clear that the most loving Creator possible would let his creation do what they pleased. He would be in control, but he would willingly give his created ones free will to do what they want. That makes sense to me. I would want to be a living, breathing, mistake-doing individual rather than a mechanized robot. That’s the beauty of this life.

Going back to the eminent Yogi Berra. Our lives are not perfect, they are full of hurt and pain and mistakes. A lot of which is brought on by ourselves or other people. But would we have life any other way? I think not. Because if life were perfect in every step, perfectly controlled and accounted for, what would that be? Hardly life at all. The Truman Show is a fascinating film, but let’s not have the conversation stop there. It is simply a film, but allow it to point you to the deeper, harder questions. Questions of free will and a creator, an imperfect world versus a utopia and so on. What if someday the joke’s on us and we find out that someone has been watching our every movement? That’ll be the day.

4.5/5 Stars

Review: The Maltese Falcon (1941)

maltesefalcon1Dashiell Hammet’s “blonde satan” Sam Spade is an icon of not only 20th-century literature but also 20th-century cinema, thanks in part to Humphrey  Bogart and John Huston. He’s the cynical, hard-nosed, unsentimental P.I. whose general unpredictability sometimes leads to angry outbursts and other times gleeful amusement. He’s a straight talker and not about to be pushed around. If this sounds familiar at all, it’s because it lays the prototypical foundation for any film noir gumshoe ever. Except Bogart’s Spade receives the credit as the archetype. All other portrayals whether homage or parody stem from his performance. And it is quite the performance, but he has some worthy adversaries attempting to upstage him.

Brigid O’Shaughnessy  (Mary Astor) is the conniving, beguiling, lying little stagy siren who comes into his office in need. She sets a precedent with a string of lies and that never ceases. However, there are half-truths and bits of genuineness backed by her quivering voice and pleading eyes. It took another round to realize what a femme fatale she actually is because she is in fact so good at it. You almost don’t realize how deadly she could be. And in the pantheon of femme fatales, I admittedly forget her in deference to the likes of Phyllis Dietrichson, Gilda, or Kitty Collins. Perhaps Spade’s a little stronger than most protagonists, a little more resilient, not allowing himself to be completely duped. But from the get-go, Brigid has him reeling and guessing. The difference is that he knows it. It’s not until the very end however, that’s he’s finally able to get an actual line on her.

maltesefalcon2Then there’s Joel Cairo played so cunningly by the always wily and beady-eyed Peter Lorre and Kaspar Gutman portrayed so assertively and pointedly by the perennially memorable Sidney Greenstreet. These two men would come back in Casablanca and numerous other Warner Bros. Pictures, but they are the epitome of iconic characters actors who make any narrative that much more interesting. They have mugs and physiques really made for the dark recesses of the noir world, and when you put these four together it does spell trouble. Add a quietly seething Elisha Cook Jr. as Wilmer, the always personable Ward Bond as a Police Detective, and Lee Patrick as Spade’s doll of a secretary and you have a true winner.

With the eponymous blackbird to drive the plot all you really need are these characters and their inherent greed to pull them along. The beauty is that we do not know the details, but following Spade we slowly have piece after piece revealed, character after character make their entrance until everyone’s together and things get interesting

The story has loads of substance built-in and Huston was absolutely meticulous with his preparation for the film script and otherwise, which paid heavy dividends in the end. Hardly anything seems throw away and all the dialogue and scenes flow in a wonderfully seamless way that continues to carry us along in anticipation. It’s so engaging in fact that it becomes quite easy to disregard the film’s astute cinematography utilizing low-key lighting, which would become a norm for noir and then low angles that are reminiscent of another film that came out that same year, Citizen Kane.

Modern viewers might well accuse this film of being overly talkie, but amidst its iconic characterizations and bewildering plot, there are immeasurable pleasures to be mined. Few people would contest that the Maltese Falcon really is a major benchmark in film, as not only the early beginnings of German-influenced American melodramas (aka film-noir) but also a major career boost for the up and coming Huston, not to mention the veteran character actor Bogart. For film-noir lovers or cinephiles in general, this truly is the stuff that dreams are made of. John Huston and Bogart would both come back with success, after success, after success, but there’s something to be said for where it all began. The Maltese Falcon is a treasure indeed.

5/5 Stars

Film Theory, Film Criticism, Film History and Where I Stand

 

Someone posits the following question: Are you interested in critical film theory?

My first response is what even is “critical film theory?” And I know in academic terms they are probably talking about film theory or film studies and the many strands of thought and analysis that have come out of academia in the post-war years. That’s good and fine but I would say that I am not a steadfast adherent to film theory and I’m hardly a disciple of any singular dogma, but it got me thinking at least a little bit of where I’m coming from and what my influences are.

I’m educated but hardly an academic. If I’m a critic then some would undoubtedly criticize my less than critical style. As far as film history goes, I love it! If I had to choose between any of these three entities I think I would easily take the mantle of a film historian first and foremost, although in that discipline I am an amateur. But I am a passionate amateur, self-made, self-taught and the last half dozen years or so I’ve amassed a great deal of film knowledge cramming so many cinematic facts in my head, it sometimes amazes me that I can remember most of them.

But I love the way that film is both a historical and visual medium. It can act as a time capsule taking us to different eras, places, and worlds. Introducing us to every type of person imaginable involved in every type of story. And the beauty is that even when those stories are not exactly planted in reality, they have a backstory. Actors, directors, the historical backdrop. All that plays into the film no matter the subject matter. It’s that context that fascinates me. So yes, I would probably consider myself a historian.

However, in order to get others to listen, even if it was only a very few, the need to take on the role of a film reviewer and, dare I say, a critic seemed necessary. As I said before I am self-taught so my reviews are hardly analytical in the academic sense. More on that in a moment.

In passing a few critics that I’ve admired over the years are certainly Roger Ebert, James Agee, Francois Truffaut, and more recently Alissa Wilkinson and Justin Chang. From time to time, I’ve read Kenneth Turan, A.O. Scott, Richard Brody, Anthony Lane, Matt Zoller Seitz, Eric Kohn, Leonard Maltin, Pauline Kael, Manny Farber, Vincent Canby, Andrew Sarris, Kenneth Morefield, Jefferey Overstreet, Brett McCracken, Joel Mayward, Dennis Schwartz, Jefferey M. Anderson, Tim Brayton, and some of the other prolific Rotten Tomatoes reviewers who take the time for lesser-known films.

But going back to my point of view. There’s not one perspective that I feel attached to because that’s precisely why I enjoy writing. I can put on different lenses based on the context and what I want to say. I can be formalist in my admiration for a film’s structure and composition. I can take a more contextual or cultural approach which ties into my appreciation for history, but perhaps most important to me in the progression of my own writing is what might best be described as a humanist approach. I hesitate to use this term because I would not necessarily consider myself a humanist in the generally accepted sense but I believe this lens informs my own often spiritual perspective.

Because my baseline for watching films is ultimately what they can tell me about humanity and more exactly what a film can tell me about myself, broken and confused as I am. It becomes obvious that it’s easy to criticize this perspective as being emotional and unfounded in rational thought. But I would interject that this is why I try and temper this sort of approach with the aforementioned strategies, namely formalism and historical context.

Furthermore, if I had to tie myself down to one sort of thought I guess I would have to admit paying a debt to the auteur theory which indirectly ties back to formalism. Some people might scoff at this point and that’s alright. I never admitted to being an academic or a professional critic. I just love movies and I love writing about them.

But I would say that I was influenced by the auteur theory without realizing it at first. On a practical level, it’s easy to begin cataloging and categorizing films based on their directors. You begin to take mental notes and draw up distinctions. Certainly, there are not always clear lines drawn up since a film production is made up by a lot more entities than just a director. I am astute enough to know that the director being everything is simply not the truth.

However, I would concede that in general the director, more than the screenwriter, cinematographer, or even the actors, can be the author of a film if that is their impetus. Because film is a visual medium and as the orchestrator of that process it makes sense enough that the director can utilize the script, the camera, his actors, the editing etc. to realize a certain vision. This might be artistic, commercial, or simply for entertainment but such a quality is evident in many of the most noteworthy directors. Once again, it’s easy to grab hold of a director that we like because we see certain qualities or themes or even collaborators who we really appreciate.

Another thing about the champions of the auteur theory at Cahiers du Cinema and namely Francois Truffaut is that they seemed to be attempting to put film on equal ground with other classical arts. I’m not sure what I think about that or whether that even matters but I will say that film has been and still is a powerful outlet of artistic expression.

Furthermore, the fact that these men championed underappreciated directors but also those movies and genres that might be dismissed in other circles really intrigues me. It’s this idea that no film is inherently better than another whether an Oscar winner, a foreign film, a comedy, a drama, a black and white flick or a modern blockbuster. The fact that they are different makes them interesting and they can all have merit or weaknesses on their own. So I’m allowed to appreciate a pulpy B Film-Noir as much as a prestige picture. Whatever that means.

Still further, rewinding a bit, it is the formalist theory that allows us to appreciate the work of an individual director because we can begin to pick up on and decipher themes, styles, and the like which become pervasive in their oeuvre. For instance, Hitchcock always had cameos, maintained a droll sense of humor, worked in the thriller genre almost exclusively, was concerned with innocent men on the run, crammed his plots with psychological tension, and almost always cast icy blonde actresses. On top of that, he was always one to experiment with inventive techniques and gimmicks. It makes him almost instantly recognizable. In other words, it doesn’t take a genius to latch onto his genius.

But going back to the boys at Cahiers du Cinema, I think I appreciate them not simply because they formed the backbone of the cinema-shattering Nouvelle Vague but because they put their money where their mouths were in a sense. The fact that they went from being mere critics to actually creating on their own seems to lend some credence to their words. Francois Truffaut is a striking example of this because out of all the men who came out of the movement he is probably my favorite. His films are personal, entertaining, and accessible. He loved movies too and he left his mark on each picture.

So does that clear up anything on where I stand with Film Theory, Film Criticism, and Film History? Probably not but all I ever claimed is that I really appreciate movies and that I get the privilege to write about them. Even if that writing is only for myself. That’s quite alright because I believe that I have been allowed a God-given passion for film, history, culture and the like. It’s this joy that I want to share with others to cultivate relationships and dialogue with all sorts of people. Because each one of us has worth, despite our very shortcomings. Once more, that’s once and for all why I watch movies (Side Note: This is also why I write humanistically).

Thanks for listening to me pontificate on this seemingly arbitrary topic. I promise this will be one of the few times. After all, that’s not what I want my modus operandi to be. Soli Deo gloria.