Raping with love

Jodorowsky's Dune

Crit

Golly, that was fun. Had you asked me a few hours ago to name my favorite documentary about a film that wasn't made, I'd have unhesitatingly said Lost in La Mancha, the disaster film about Terry Gilliam's failure to make his film based on Don Quixote. And had you asked me a few hours ago whether I've ever seen a film by Alejandro Jodorowsky, I'd have said no, nor do I have any immediate plans to, though I've been morbidly fascinated by trailers for El Topo and The Holy Mountain at IFC. And had you asked a couple of hours ago whether I've ever read Frank Herbert's Dune, I'd have no, nor do I intend to.

All my answers are different now: this is easily the best and most engaging film I've seen in that subgenre of cinematic frustration, and if El Topo were available to stream from Netflix, I might watch it tonight, and I might just read Dune sometime. But mainly, I desperately want what I can never have: to see this film that was never made.

Nymphomaniac: Volume 2

Crit

Lots fewer cocks than in vol. 1, but lots more excruciating sadomasochism, which I suspect explains the much lower Rotten Tomato numbers: much of this is flat-out brutal to watch. But the psychophilosophical exchanges between Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård) remain satisfying, at least until the final reel or so, when Seligman delivers a feminist defense of Joe's behavior that, while legitimate, feels a little too pat--as does what follows. As I often say about Lars's films: glad to have seen it, will probably never return.

Trailers

• For No Good Reason--Much anticipated documentary about Ralph Steadman.
• Only Lovers Left Alive--Much anticipated Jim Jarmusch vampire flick.
• God's Pocket--John Slattery-directed film somewhat anticipated as one of our last chances to see Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Radio radio

The Railway Man

Crit

Colin Firth works hard as a man still traumatized decades later by the torture he suffered at the hands of his Japanese captors after the fall of Singapore, and Nicole Kidman works almost as hard as the newly divorced woman he meets on a train, then stalks successfully at another train station, but this tale of suffering and reconciliation feels rote despite their efforts.

Trailers

• Tracks--A young woman (Mia Wasikowska) walks 2,000 miles across Australia with 4 camels and a dog. Oh, don't ask why,
• The Grand Seduction--Haven't we seen this before, the little British Isles town trying to trick a young doctor into settling there? What we haven't seen is Taylor Kitsch (Friday Night Lights) as the doctor.

We need the eggs

Der blaue Engel (The Blue Angel)

(1930)

Talk about your femmes fatales. Ages since I've screened this, and I have no idea why, apart from its being depressing as hell, the classic story of the respected Gymnasium professor (Emil Jannings) whose head, as it were, is turned by the irresistible Lola Lola (Marlene Dietrich). Musical highlight is Friedrich Holländer's "Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuss (Falling in love again)."

To die for

Under the Skin

Crit

Wow. This may or may not be the best film I see this year, but it's almost certainly the oddest; I wasn't sure until almost the end whether it's science fiction, a crime story, or pornography. And I still have no clue exactly what the unnamed character played by Scarlett Johansson does to the men she picks up in Glasgow, or how she does it, or why she does it, or who the motorcycle dude (or dudes--there seem to be 4 later on, which suggests that maybe we were seeing a different one each time earlier) is, and whether she is willingly allied with him (as she seems progressively less to be).

I am sure that I'm going to be thinking about some of the early-David Lynchesque imagery for a while, and being disturbed it. And I'm sure that Johansson, who last year gave one of her career-best performances without having access to her wonderful face, here gives another amazing performance with little access to her equally wonderful voice. This time it's all with the face, but infinitesimally subtle, the actions and reactions of . . . whatever the hell she is.

Oh, and I'm reasonably certain that the postgame Celtic crowd we see early on has been to an Old Firm match away, since one of the pedestrians asked for directions reveals that Ibrox is nearby.

Oh, and one more thing: I haven't seen any mention of Liquid Sky as a forerunner in the subgenre of alien femme fatale. So I'm mentioning it.

That had to hurt

The Wrestler

(2008)

I still don't see the greatness, and I don't intend to try again; any takers?

Him

Transcendence

Crit

Seriously? I spent good money (bargain matinee money, but still) on something drawing 19% on Rotten Tomatoes? Yes, I did, and I think there must be a conspiracy of tech nerds or antitech nerds, or maybe both, because this isn't that bad, and by some reasonable standards of entertainment, it's not bad at all.

 

Sure it's goofy, but is it any goofier than, say, The Matrix? Maybe less meticulous in squaring its various circles, but no less goofy. And like that canonized film, this one grasps at Big Questions: how does consciousness work? What is the self? Does the soul exist? Can we tap the hive mind? And perhaps the biggest question of all: Johnny Depp? That it doesn't have a clue how to answer any of those questions doesn't make it any goofier than The Matrix, merely less pretentious.

 

Meanwhile, it looks great and shouts out sweetly to sources futuristic (2001), apocalyptic  (pick any zombie flick), and digitistic (remember back when we were newly affluent enough to get premium cable, and all it had was 5 mediocre movies, softcore porn, and Max Headroom?). Oh, and appropriate to the season, to Jesus movies too: the transcendent Will makes blind men see and lame men walk.

Hey, I've done lots worse spending 8 bucks.
 

Dom Hemingway

Crit

This one leans just barely into the Rotten zone on RT--so a rating triple Transcendence's--and it earns its low marks more legitimately, I think. Not that Jude Law doesn't make it an engagingly noxious thrill ride for a while, never more so than in the opening scene, when Dom delivers a poetic, rhapsodic, priapic paean to his prick. Sadly, the film goes flaccid after a half-hour or so, and it seems not to have another go in it.

Trailers

• Locke--Imagine pitching a biopic of a 17th-c. English philosopher. That's not what this film is, mind; I'm just suggesting that you imagine it.
• Godzilla--Why did I skip the 1998 one? Because I lived with someone with critical faculties then, perhaps? Anyway, this one has people like David Straithairn and Juliette Binoche and Sally Hawkins to lure us art-house suckers in, and I may be lured. 
• The Drop--This looks like a pretty rote mob flick, but it may be the last chance to see James Gandolfini.

The wrong (son of) man

Life of Brian

(1979)

Is this really a film I need to see every year? It's almost certainly the slightest of my annuals, but then all my annuals are pretty formidable. And really, once a year shouldn't we be reminded to look on the bright side of life, and death?

Fourth and forever

Draft Day

Crit

If this movie were a pass route, it would zig and zag and juke and deke its way down the field, do a couple of chin-ups on the goal posts, vault the fence for some high-fives with the end-zone faithful, take the stairs two at a time up to the owner's suite for a couple quick swallows of Dom, catch the elevator back down to ground level, exit to the parking lot to join the last of the tailgaters for a sausage or two, play a little SUV hide-and-seek with the young-uns, hop the ticket turnstile and scoot for the locker rrom, reenter through the tunnel, and stop on a spot in the center of the field 10 yards straight down from the line of scrimmage, where it would take a soft lob from the QB and, the defense having long since lost interest, moonwalk into the end zone.

In short, the only thing special about this film is the aerial-shot NFL travelogue, but hey, it scores, so what's to complain?

Trailers

• The Expendables III--"Lots to digest."
• Get on Up--Chadwick Boseman (Vontae Mack in Draft Day) as the GFoS; I hope, but I don't trust.
• Begin Again--Cheesy-looking take on the music biz, but maybe Mark Ruffalo and Keira Knightley can pull it off.
• When the Game Stands Tall--Not just based on a true story, inspired by the extraordinary true story.
• The Hornet's Nest--Father-and-son photojournalists embedded in Afghanistan.

Oedipus wreaks

Berandal (The raid 2)

Crit

I mean, seriously, holy fucking shit. No longer is The Raid: Redemption my favorite Malaysian martial arts/cop/action flick. But let me just say right now, before you run out to buy your ticket: if over-the-top, cringeworthy (a word not chosen lightly: this is almost certainly the film whose realistic portrayal of broken bones and assorted other physical indignities most often made me groan) violence and extravagant bloodletting make a film a nonstarter for you notwithstanding the mind-blowing choreography of those fight scenes, well, no.

And if you demand a transparent plot, that may be a problem too. I can tell you it's about a crime family whose son is impatient (and unqualified) for his turn, a rival gangster, a rival Japanese crime family, the Chinese godfather who keeps the peace, mostly corrupt cops, and one clean cop working undercover, under the direction of a cop whose cleanliness is an open question. The filmmakers have helpfully made the clean cop easily distinguishable from anyone he might be fighting by giving him closely cropped hair, but the political alliances and rivalries are fungible and often incomprehensible. But really: are you here for the politics?

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the assassins: the scraggly-bearded machete assassin, who fights off henchmen with one fist and two feet, never sullying his blade with the blood of anyone but his target; the beautiful deaf dual-claw hammers assassin, who--well, let's just say that she would probably still be effective, but she wouldn't be nearly as effective, with ball peen hammers; and her brother (I think) the baseball assassin, who does most of his work directly with an aluminum bat, but who can fungo the occasional lethal line drive as well.

All due respect to the master, but this is not your father's Bruce Lee flick.

Trailers

• Deliver Us from Evil--Supernatural creeper with the legitimizing presence of Eric Bana.
• Sin City: A Dame to Die For--Take 2 on the comic book by Frank Miller, who wrote the screenplay and codirected with Robert Rodríguez. Oh, and Powers Boothe (Cy Tolliver--oh, I mean Senator Roark) returns, and Lady Gaga joins the cast.
• The Quiet Ones--Supernatural creeper without the legitimizing presence of Eric Bana.

The kitten was fine

Trainspotting

(1996)

OK, that makes me feel better: if I can stream this, even at 720i rather than the optimal 1080i, I'm probably getting better quality than from the DVD I lent to someone but I don't know who, but whoever it was never returned it.

Damn, this is good--early Danny Boyle, early Ewan McGregor, and brand new Kelly Macdonald, whom I've been watching of late on Boardwalk Empire.

Words, words, words

The Unknown Known

Crit

You know, when Reagan was president, there was a consensus that he was likable. Even people who hated him as much as I did said, "But you have you admit, he's got charm." No, I didn't have to admit it, and I never did.

This guy, though--Donald Rumsfeld, if you've been living in a cave--charms me a little, perhaps because we have a shared affliction: logorrhea. At one point we hear him quote Hamlet, but the quintessential words from the Dane are the ones at the top of this post: late in the film, director Errol Morris shows a literal sea of words, and the camera trickery is just a heavy-handed representation of a metaphor that is inescapable. And I have to admit a connection with a guy who knows he talks too much but is apt to react to that self-awareness by talking about why he talks too much.

A family way

Junebug

(2005)

You can go home again, but whether that's a good idea is another question.

This was not the first time we'd seen Amy Adams--for me, that was Catch Me if You Can--but it was when she burst upon us like an earthmother force of nature, charming us as a character who should have grated like nails on slate. A lot of people, I think, didn't appreciate the film as much as they might have because they were overawed by Adams. As I return to the film, though, she recedes into the middle distance where her character belongs--still the moral center, and still the medium of a great performance, but part of a satisfying whole now, not an attention-grabbing sideshow.

Then again, whom have I spent this whole post talking about?

My heart belongs to Daddy; help yourself to the other bits

Nymphomaniac: Volume I

Crit

Lars, Lars, Lars--if you didn't exist, we'd have to invent you. And where would we start?

For all the positive reviews, I came in skeptical, but, hey, it's pretty damn near great: sad, funny, brutal, thoughtful, though-provoking, one of Von Trier's best. The only man Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg in the present, Stacy Martin, who doesn't resemble Gainsbourg in the least, her adolescent and twenty-something self) has ever loved, or ever wanted to make love to, is her tender, loving father (Christian Slater, who gets just one moment, on his character's death bed, of that old Jack Nicholson look--in this case, lobotomized McMurphy). So the psychology is perhaps cheap and easy, and ably provided by Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), the stranger who befriends Joe, but LvT plays enough smart and amusing games that the easy psych doesn't much matter. But geez, I've seen enough cocks for a while--not that that'll keep me away from volume II if it opens, as expected, next week.

Bande à part

Le Week-End

Crit

Just in case Céline and Jesse don't get around to the age-60 chapter of their story, this can stand in for it. Nick (Jim Broadbent) remarks to Meg (Lindsay Duncan) at one point that it's not possible for one not to love and hate the same person, sometimes within minutes, and that's this beautiful scary film in a nutshell. The leads are perfect as 30-years marrieds who always are together against the world, even when--especially when?--they are also against each other. I know that feeling. Jeff Goldblum steals some scenes by playing Jeff Goldblum as only he can. Between this and The Grand Budapest Hotel, he has made me smile a lot in the past couple of weeks.