THE PHANTOM MENACE

The Phantom Menace
1999
*** (out of 4)

As we begin our discussion of the Star Wars prequels, you may notice a disconnect between the level of criticism I heap on the films and my conclusion that they are actually pretty good. The question at hand is; should they be judged as self contained works or as part of the overall Star Wars universe? If the former, then yes, George Lucas has made three entertaining sci-fi adventures. What they are not, are worthy successors to the original trilogy, which why nitpicking is the order of the day.

Perhaps it was never realistic to expect the prequels to live up to their predecessors after 16 years. Had Lucas followed the example of Peter Hyams, he may have set more realistic expectations. Hyams had the unenviable challenge of directing 2010, the sequel to Stanley Kubrick’s unparalleled masterpiece, 2001: A Space Odyssey. He wisely understood that the task was impossible and any attempt to recreate Kubrick’s genius was doomed to fail. So he changed the game. Using the many of the same characters and settings, Hyams made 2010 an effective space thriller that stood on its own and bore no resemblance to the original.

George Lucas, on the other hand, never stops reminding us that we are back in the Star Wars universe. If fans don’t feel that same thrill of years past, it’s our fault for losing our own sense of childhood wonder. Could it be that it was his own anticipation of this reaction that motivated Lucas to tweak his originals so that they more resembled the updates? If we had lost that sense of wonder, it was miraculously regained a year later when The Lord of the Rings proved that filmgoers still appreciate great fantasy.

All these accusations of jadedness were a result of Star Wars fans everywhere rejecting a creation Lucas was particularly proud of, The Phantom Menace’s odious Jar Jar Binks. Jar Jar was the first fully realized computer generated character in a live action film. It was a technical breakthrough that paved the way for a battle ready Yoda and Lord of the Ring’s unforgettable Gollum.

Unfortunately, Jar Jar was provided with mannerisms so unbelievably stupid that the movie stops dead in its tracks whenever he appears. There was some talk that he was some kind of racist portrayal of a Jamaican stereotype, but I never saw that. What I did see was a character in a Star Wars film shamelessly breaking into Bill Cosby’s old dentist comedy routine (just before the pod-race) and making kindergarten level shit and fart jokes. Lucas’ excuse was that this was the episode for the tots. I couldn’t help but remember the droids and Ewoks from the first trilogy filling that function without insulting the intelligence of the very kids they were trying to appeal to.

Though overshadowed by Jar Jar’s inanity, equally frustrating were the vocal ticks of those Trade Federation aliens meant to convey some kind of bureaucratic threat to our heroes. Here, I found accusations of racial insensitivity spot on, as their accents were third rate Charlie Chan Asian stereotypes. Maybe subtitles are too much to ask for in a self proclaimed children’s movie (though they certainly worked for Jabba the Hut), but at least pay some attention to where your alien dialects are coming from.

I’m less annoyed by young Jake Lloyd’s casting as future Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, in his childhood years. He’s not particularly engaging, but he’s also not given much to do. If he doesn’t match such stellar child actor performances as Henry Thomas in E.T or Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense, its likely that he was cast too young for a part that could have been more involving with an actor a few years older.

If you’re waiting for the “on the other hand” part, here it is. The Phantom Menace was wholly successful in using computer technology to create a rich visual pallet and a beautiful looking film. The sprawling cityscapes of Coruscant (very influenced by Blade Runner) and the royal classicism of Naboo, showed that new computer technology could be used not just as enhancements, but to create whole worlds from scratch. Most impressive was an underwater chase sequence that collected a vivid menagerie of sea monsters and ended much too soon.

Two other set-pieces were just as memorable. The pod-race on Tatooine harkened back to a Star Wars environment we were already familiar with, but with the added bonus of a state-of the-art CG action piece. Cameos by Jawas and Sand People offered welcome bursts of nostalgia. The climatic light saber battle with Darth Maul (an effectively unsettling creation) also did not disappoint, thanks not only to great stunt-work, but also John William’s haunting choral theme, “Duel of the Fates.”

On the performance front, Ewan McGregor as a young Obi-Wan Kenobi had Alec Guinness’ mannerism down pat, which would lend credibility to all the prequels. Liam Neeson has long been typecast in mentor roles and for good reason. His portrayal of Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, offered the same kind of grounding as Harrison Ford provided in the original trilogy.

So we have some quality set pieces and some good performance, but what is sorely missing from The Phantom Menace is a strong overall narrative. So much emphasis is placed on the film’s technical achievements that the story just gets bogged down. The political maneuverings that will pay off in subsequent episodes are never made interesting here and, worse, even the concept of the Force is made mundane by providing a pseudo-science explanation for what should have remained a spiritual phenomenon.

The Phantom Menace ends up doing what it does well, very well, but what it does poorly, it cannot really recover from. As enjoyable as some sequences are, without a solid narrative through-line, it’s not really Star Wars. It’s the kind of movie that fast-forward buttons were created for. Particularly, when any line of dialogue begins with "Meesa."

RETURN OF THE JEDI

Return of the Jedi
1983
**** (out of 4)

Let me begin by making one thing clear. I have no problem with Ewoks. The standard rag on Return of the Jedi is that these cuddly teddy bear creatures represented George Lucas’ initial foray into kiddie pandering. First of all, there’s nothing inherently wrong with cute in a Star Wars film (as opposed to stupid which will be discussed in the next review), especially when combined with the sly humor that came to define the trilogy.

Second, the Ewoks conceptually made sense in the context of this movie and the Star Wars Universe. The Empire was consistently shown to have an overwhelming advantage in the hardware department. Only when the quasi-spiritual elements of the force were introduced did the odds somewhat even up. For non-force enhanced rebels, the Ewoks’ use of their natural forest environment in battle delivered the message that even the most advanced technology could be overcome by pure hearts and fighting spirits. It’s the classic David and Goliath tale.

If all this seems to lean a bit much toward the sentimental, so be it. As the climatic installment of the series, Jedi has earned that right, especially since much of its screen time was occupied by two of the creepiest villains since, well since Darth Vader.

Take Jabba the Hut, a bloated reptile slug thing crossed with a 1930’s gangster boss. He was not only a giant leap forward in the art of puppetry on film, but also joined the ranks of Hollywood’s classic monsters. Holding Han Solo prisoner in carbonite and chained to Princess Leia in a fetching bikini, the atmosphere of Jabba’s lair was sufficiently dark to recapture the mood at the end of Empire, while also recalling the alien cantina sequence from the original Star Wars.

With Darth Vader now established as Luke Skywalker’s father, a new symbol of pure evil was needed. The pasty wrinkled visage of the Emperor was the perfect personification of the dark side of the force. Ian McDiarmid, under loads of makeup, managed the difficult task of convincing us that his Emperor is not only more evil, but more powerful that Vader, who had previously personified those qualities.

Those who complain about Ewoks, seem not to remember that their scenes were inter-cut with the harrowing “Last Temptation of Luke Skywalker” sequence. That this final lightsaber fight was not about the Emperor and Vader trying to kill Luke, but instead focused on turning him to the dark side, significantly raised the dramatic stakes, further enhanced by some of composer, John William’s darkest music.

Star Wars was the original and Empire may be the best, but I think Return of the Jedi has a legitimate claim as the most purely entertaining entry in the series. George Lucas and company had already created a universe and changed the world. The story had already been built to a point that its resonance was assured and its conclusion inevitable. In Jedi, they took the opportunity to play around and have fun with it, offering more creatures, bigger space battles and characters we now know well, relishing in their personality quirks.

Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back were among the finest examples of the adventure film ever to make their way into theaters. As discussed in earlier reviews, that both films could reach those heights was improbable at best. Return of the Jedi should not be penalized for not quite equaling them. It’s a great film in its own right. More importantly, it’s a real Star Wars film that fully captured the spirit of its predecessors and provided a conclusion that did them justice.

This is a good a place as any to shift gears towards those 1997 re-releases of the original trilogy that featured those digitally enhanced scenes meant to clean up dated special effects and provide continuity with the upcoming sequels. At the time, they were pretty exciting, mostly because there hadn’t been any new Star Wars product on the big screen for quite some time, but also because our expectations for the prequels could not have been higher.

Notable additions included more elaborate scenery on Tatooine, a brief first look at the prequel planet of Coruscant and a humorous bit where a few Stormtroopers chasing Han Solo were multiplied. The Ewok song at the end of Jedi, which, I actually kind of liked, was replaced by admittedly more suitable jungle rhythms. There was also a previously deleted scene in Star Wars with Jabba the Hut, played at the time by an actor, but here digitally enhanced with the familiar creature. My only problem with this is that, for those seeing the film for the first time, Jabba’s big reveal in Jedi is undercut.

Most infamous, is the loathed “Greedo shot first” scene, set in the cantina of the original film. Here’s where the Star Wars catchphrase “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” first started cropping up among the fan base. Han Solo is a good guy, but also a smuggler, fugitive and - what did Leia call him? – That’s right, a scoundrel. This was the point at which George Lucas began acting as a revisionist of his original work. A key character lost some edge and a good scene was made just a little weaker.

Now, with the saga complete, these revisions seem even less necessary than in 1997. If, particularly Star Wars’ effects seems a little dated, I find that part of its charm. Given the choice, I would rather revisit the un-enhanced versions. I don’t mind that the “special editions” exist. I do mind that Lucas seems to want them to replace and not just provide an alternative to the originals.

Still, it was 1997 and Star Wars was back. New movies were in production and some of the most beloved corners of our childhood imaginations were about to be explored again. What could possibly go wrong?

THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

The Empire Strikes Back
1980
**** (out of 4)

If Star Wars showed what one man’s vision of a new kind of space opera could accomplish, The Empire Strikes Back was a testament to the power of teamwork and a slap in the face to the Auteur Theory (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auteur_Theory).

Star Wars broke all box office records, but as Empire went into production, George Lucas was not yet a mogul with the clout to dictate full creative control of the sequel without interference. What was then conceived as a nine film saga was dependant on the success of the follow up. In an astonishing confluence of luck and creative energy, a team of such immense talent was assembled, that the quality of the original was not only matched, but surpassed. I join the now consensus view that The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the Star Wars films.

As elaborated on in an earlier review, my appreciation for the original Star Wars knows no bounds, but even the most die hard fan must admit that the dialogue was not George Lucas’ strong suit (and it would sadly only get worse.) This would change, thanks to the hiring of screenwriter, Lawrence Kasdan, who went on to write Raiders of the Lost Ark and Return of the Jedi, along with subsequent directing credits for Body Heat, Silverado and Grand Canyon. As the resume indicates, Kasdan was an enormous talent in his own right and the proof is on the screen in Empire.

The primary beneficiary of this sharper focus on dialogue was Harrison Ford. In Star Wars, Ford’s Han Solo was a basic cowboy type, a worldly smuggler and anti-hero who perfectly contrasted with Mark Hamill’s naïve farm boy. More than any other character, Han Solo was fleshed out in Empire. Allowed to be sarcastic, funny and vulnerable all at the same time, it’s The Empire Strikes Back that made Harrison Ford a superstar (Raiders cemented the deal.)

In Empire, relationships between many characters are redefined by how they interact with Solo. Comic relief bits by Chewbacca, and particularly C-3PO, are funnier because Ford remains grounded in reality and we share his frustration as a grounded human coping with a universe of aliens and mystics. Then there’s the smartly handled romance between Solo and Leia. Ford and Carrie Fisher spar with each other in the best tradition of classic screwball comedies like The Awful Truth. Their chemistry is fully believable and adds to dramatic arch without feeling like a tacked on afterthought.

Continuing to credit Kasdan’s writing, we now turn to another Empire MVP, Frank Oz. Like Darth Vader, Yoda has become so familiar to us that it’s easy to take him for granted. Think though about the audacity of introducing a Muppet into the Star Wars universe. Had Yoda not been so perfectly designed and executed, he would have brought this movie down faster than you can say Jar Jar Binks.

Instead, Frank Oz took his already impressive Muppet repertoire to a higher level which, despite such efforts as The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, has yet to be matched to this day. From his introduction as a trickster to his embodiment of Jedi Master wisdom (and backward talk), Oz gives Yoda such a wide acting range that suspending our disbelief is surprisingly easy.

It’s more difficult to gage exactly how much credit to give director Irvin Kershner because none of his other films are terribly noteworthy. The collaborative nature of Empire and its distinctly darker tone would seem to hint that the Kershner played an important role in shaping the sequel.

As revolutionary as the special effects were in Star Wars, Lucas’ Industrial Light and Magic topped themselves in every way possible. Empire featured three distinct environments – the snow planet of Hoth, Yoda’s swamplands of Dagobah and the Cloud City of the climax. All three are rendered both fantastic and fully believable.

The Empire Strikes Back set the gold standard for visual effects until the dawn of the digital age. Yet, while I’ll gladly recognize that today’s computer generated wonders are more elaborate, they have yet to achieve the realism of Empire’s models and green screens. Most effects are all about spectacle, but the best films use them to create atmosphere.

There’s another little detail about Empire that needs mentioning and might go under the category of spoiler alert if it were not so well known, but - by the way - DARTH VADER IS REVEALED TO BE LUKE SKYWALKER’S FREAKING FATHER!!!! Maybe the shock has worn off over the last 30 years but think back to when this little tidbit was first revealed, especially if you were a kid at the time. I think my 10-year-old head must have exploded. The power of this reveal is why kids today should be introduced to the Star Wars films by order of release, not episode number.

While the secret is now notable for providing the overriding story arch of all six films, at the time, it was a dramatic punch that led to a downbeat ending and a cliffhanger that would leave us hanging for another three years. It also raised the possibility that good characters had the potential to turn dark. Instead of a simple space opera, younger audiences were presented with more adult themes and a story that resonates on an emotional as well as a visceral level.

I’ll never forget the summer of 1980 when my friend Paul and I seemed to spend just about every weekend at the Golf Mill Theater (now an X-Sports gym). We probably saw Empire at least eight times on the big screen. If Star Wars initiated my love of film, Empire confirmed it. As an adult, I’ve seen many acclaimed and classic films, some of which may be better, but few of which would have as strong an effect on me. There would never again be a time in my life where only one film mattered, but in the summer of 1980, that film was The Empire Strikes Back.

STAR WARS

Star Wars
1977
**** (out of 4)

Star Wars was not the first movie I ever saw. If memory serves (and it probably doesn’t) it was possibly Snow White & the Seven Dwarves, Charlotte’s Web, Benji, Snoopy Come Home or some similar children’s film. In any case I was too young to process them as anything more than instant gratification or appreciate them in any lasting way.

No, it was Star Wars that introduced me to the movies. My lifelong love of film is a direct result of George Lucas’ vision and, whatever cinematic sins he has committed since, I’m grateful for that. I was eight when I first saw Star Wars with my father. It was not during its initial 1977 run, but during the 1978 re-release that I saw it in full.

I had already been part of the marketing machine thanks to Kenner and its action figures and board games. Our family even has a silent film splice of the dog-fight sequence that was played on our old home projector for special occasions. By the time I saw Star Wars it was already part of my life as it was for my generation and the culture at large. It may be a nostalgic haze that brings me the conclusion that no movie event in my lifetime has ever reached the phenomenal heights of this one, but I doubt it.

I’m not going to pretend any of the following observations are original. Has any film ever had so much written about it? No, Star Wars is communal memory, but it’s also my memory and if I’m going to write about film, it has to start here.

That Star Wars has become communal memory was by design. George Lucas was famously a protégé of Joseph Campbell, an author and professor who specialized in the study of myths. Campbell’s book “The Hero with a Thousand Faces” put forward the notion that there are really only a small number of basic stories in the human memory and, over the span of time and culture, different generations have found new ways of retelling those stories. These basic myths are innate within us. How else to explain why so many similar tales are found among early peoples who could not have had contact with each other?

One basic myth is the hero’s quest. An innocent is faced with tragedy and seeks to persevere through the assistance of a wise mentor. After suffering defeat, he gathers the courage to defeat his enemies and achieve glory. Yes, this is the story of Luke Skywalker, but it is also the story of King Arthur and countless others. Lucas was unique in that he studied these concepts and sought to incorporate as many hardwired myths as possible in his saga.

What he added was the perspective that a film history background provided. He took the old Flash Gordon / Buck Rogers serials of the thirties with their simple heroics and cliffhangers and added a good does of Akira Kurosawa’s 1958 samurai classic, “The Hidden Fortress.” That film featured a Han Solo-ish samurai rescuing a princess with the help of two comic relief peasants not unlike our favorite droids. Any question of inspiration it literally swiped away as both films use the same swiping editing styles.

Another ingredient was, of course, the special effects. They may seem quaint by today’s standards, but they were revolutionary in 1977. Industrial Light & Magic, Lucas’ special effects team, made such advancements that they have remained ever since, the dominant leaders of their field in the movie industry. The great leap forward in model and matte technology was made almost ten years earlier for Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, but it was George Lucas who saw that spaceships and laser swords could be utilized for escapist entertainment outside the science fiction genre.

Make no mistake. Star Wars was not science fiction. In form, it was far closer to a Western or a Japanese samurai film. It did not take place in the future, but “a long time ago.” (myth again.) This decision emphasized the element I most love about the look of the film, ironically called the used future. If spaceships and robots had always been portrayed as sleek and shiny, in a used future they would be grimy and tend to break down. In a used future no Death Star would be complete without a trash compactor.

This may be why the image most deeply embedded in my mind is that of two droids wandering lost through the desert. It was not pure fantasy that fired my imagination, but the ideas of fantasy and reality colliding. The key was that the desert was real and the droids were provided with engaging personalities. I’m not sure this makes sense, but to my eight-year-old eyes, Star Wars was the most realistic film I had ever seen.

Another quality that made Star Wars special was its willingness not to over explain its universe and allow mysteries to fester in young minds. After all we didn’t know from sequels. Why did Obi-One disappear when seemingly killed by Vader? What was under those Jawa hoodies? Who were all those creatures in the cantina? Finally, what exactly was this “force” all about? What a shame it would have been if they had thrown some pseudo-science term at us to explain why some were strong with it (but that’s a subject for another review.)

Something else Star Wars had was gravitas. We children did not know Alec Guinness’ formidable film history, but it was implied in his performance as the wise old Ben Kenobi. You can’t fake that. John William’s unforgettable score is another example. Simple science fiction used whirling synthesizers, but here nothing short of a full orchestral march will do.

We children knew innately how utterly cool Darth Vader was. We may not have recognized the influence of medieval and samurai armor, but we sensed its primal imagery, just as we sensed the wonder of a farm boy looking up to a sky with two suns.

Forever Changes - Love (Album Review)

FOREVER CHANGES
LOVE
1967

I was playing Love’s Forever Changes album for a friend, describing it as a cornerstone of psychedelic rock, when she asked me a surprising but pertinent question. “What makes this music psychedelic?” I guess I was surprised because, to my ears, it just sounded so trippy, but I was at a loss for a proper definition and could only come up with, “Its rock music made in the late sixties that seems to be influenced by drugs and uses non-traditional instruments for rock ‘n’ roll."

After giving it further thought, I’m sticking with that definition. It may sound odd to limit a genre to its time period, but I can’t think of a truly psychedelic song that did not come out between 1966 and 1968. Sure, you can have contemporary artists mimic that sound and come up with a neo-psychedelia, but it’s just not the real thing.

One reason the music is so identified with its time is that it quickly evolved into progressive rock, which shares many of the same qualities, but is distinctly its own genre. Pink Floyd’s Piper’s at the Gates of Dawn was seminal phychedelia, but by Dark Side of the Moon, the sound had evolved into something more in line with prog rockers like Genesis (Peter Gabriel’s) and Queen than Sgt. Pepper or Surrealistic Pillow.

During the psychedelic period, there were generally two camps. Hard rockin’ garage psychedelic bands like The Electric Prunes and The 13th Floor Elevators tended to have very short careers, but listening to them in retrospect reveals an intense vitality, probably due to their not being around long enough to sound dated.

The more prominent albums can be classified as lush psychedelia, the best examples of which create truly beautiful soundscapes. Pet Sounds, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band and Forever Changes are solidly in this category. Revolver, which was The Beatles first contribution to this genre, had one foot in both camps. The Stones, The Who, The Beach Boys and especially The Beatles all had psychedelic periods, but all moved passed it after incorporating it into their larger style.

Love was the brainchild of African-American singer/songwriter, Arthur Lee, who, through the course of three albums, moved from garage psychedelia (of which their biggest single,“7 & 7 Is” is a great example) to the lush version and a defining moment in the genre that is Forever Changes.

Forever Changes may be the only example of a minimalist psychedelic album. The dominant instrument is always the acoustic guitar, which is brought forward in the mix whether during a straight ahead rocker, a soft ballad or a rich arrangement of strings and horns.

The album’s first song sets the scene for the proceedings. Alone Again Or, which is one of two songs on the album I’d heard previously, begins with a soft acoustic guitar joined by Lee’s folky vocals. A quivery violin is subtly added and than finally a Spanish sounding horn solo really kicks it up a notch before reverting to its softer beginnings. Unlike the Moody Blues, who backed themselves with a whole orchestra, Love never let’s the core band get left behind.

The second track, A House is Not a Motel, begins similarly, but grows into a straight ahead rocker with no flourishes. Andmoreagain (not a typo) is probably the most familiar song on the album and is representative of the beautiful melodic progressions that I believe surpasses Pet Sounds and approaches Sgt. Pepper level of greatness.

A song like Old Man takes its melody in surprisingly non-pop directions both musically and lyrically. “I know the old man would laugh - He spoke of love’s sweeter days - And in his eloquent way - I think he was speaking of you” offers the kind of honest sentimentality only The Kinks normally traffic in. At the same time, titles like The Good Humor Man He See’s Everything like this will be sure you don’t forget its 1967.

Forever Changes’ crowning achievement is its final song, You Set the Scene. Like The Who’s A Quick One, it’s one of the earliest examples of a mini-opera with three district sections. Lyrics about nothing less than the search for meaning to life and death join to such an infectious melody that I’m shocked it’s not better known. Only at the very end of this last song does the acoustic guitar finally disappear into a triumphant sea of horns.

So is it timeless or dated? Like the best psychedelic rock, it’s both. That Arthur Lee was not a household name at the time of his death a few years back may be a reflection of the bands short tenure, but the cult remains and new bands like The Polyphonic Spree and Arcade Fire still show the influence of Forever Changes.

Not So Funny Games

So I guess they’ve gone ahead and remade Funny Games. As it’s supposed to be a faithful, almost identical, remake of the 1997 Austrian film from its original director, it’s not something I’d want to see. I hated the original Funny Games, not because it was a bad movie, but because it was insulting to me, as a viewer. It’s a film that made me mad at its makers, which is a very rare reaction, but one I think is interesting enough to explore here.

What could elicit such a negative response? Again, being a bad movie doesn’t do it. I wasn’t mad at the people who made Battlefield Earth. They were idiots for making it and I was an idiot for watching it. Problem solved. (Funniest Jon Stewart line – “Battlefield Earth was kind of a cross between Star Wars and the smell of ass.”)

I’m also not going to get mad simply by being shown offensive images. The reason John Waters’ Pink Flamingos doesn’t bother me is because I will never see it. How can I be so closed minded, you might ask? Well, it’s because I’ve read about it, and at the end, a drag queen eats dog shit. For real! You see it coming out of the dog’s anus and being scooped into his/her mouth. I love all kinds of movies, but I can go through my whole life without ever seeing someone eating either shit, real or synthetic. This is a rule. If the next Scorsese movie shows shit being eaten, count me out. This does not apply to something that may look like shit, but is, say, a candy bar (heretofore referred to as the Caddyshack exemption.)

No, a movie that makes me mad will more likely be made by a talented filmmaker. All the films below have a degree of talent and creativity involved. They would not be worth discussing otherwise. My question is, to what end is this talent being used? The following reviews contain SPOILERS, but that’s OK, cause you probably don’t want to see them anyway.

Funny Games

A mother, father and young son are tortured and murdered by two psychotic intruders. The end. For most of its running time, Funny Games plays as a conventional thriller. Think Panic Room. The baddies are young punks who view their sadism as a kind of public art.

A little more than halfway through, an interesting thing happens. One of the villains breaks the fourth wall and addresses the audience. When asked why he doesn’t simply kill the family, he answers something to the effect of - "we don’t want to end the movie this soon." We, as an audience, are now implicated as participants in these funny games.

Intriguing, but having brought us in, director Michael Haneke, makes it clear that we are not welcome. We, who had hoped to be put in suspense by a quality thriller, are now subjected to mindless violence. Its not that there’s an unreasonable level of gore, it’s just that a key convention of a good thriller is that the potential victims have a fighting chance.

I’m not against violence on film. Some of my favorite films are violent. I’m not against bleak endings. When earned, they can be very powerful. This is how Funny Games ends: The mother gets hold of a gun and shoots one of the assailants. The other picks up a remote control, rewinds the film we are watching to before she gets the gun and proceeds to slaughter the rest of the family.

The message here seems to be that we, the audience, should be held accountable as a party to this carnage. Didn’t we go to this movie as voyeurs to see some mayhem? Well, this will show us. Haneke has made a film for which the only proper reaction is to never have seen it. I, for one, will react properly for the remake.


Bamboozled

Spike Lee is a director whose films I admire and whose politics I oppose. To oversimplify the dichotomy set up in his best film, Do the Right Thing, he chooses Malcolm X and I choose MLK. He may have, kind of, sort of come out against interracial dating in Jungle Fever and he definitely used anti-Semitic caricatures in Mo’Better Blues, but his artistic skill cannot be denied with such wonderful films as School Daze, The 25th Hour and, of course, Do the Right Thing, which I believe is a masterpiece despite disagreeing with its conclusions.

Then there’s Bamboozled. Lee’s take on the minstrel entertainment personified by such racist stereotypes as Amos & Andy. The film ends with a very effective montage of so many of the real life degrading imaging that have for too long disparaged black culture. It would have been a fine short, had it began and ended there.

Unfortunately, before this mini-documentary, Lee chooses to criticize the offensive minstrels by creating one himself. Damon Waynes plays a sell-out TV executive with the most bizarre vocal inflections. Fellow In Living Color alumnus, Tommy Davidson, is the African-American actor who performs in blackface for a modern day update called “Mantan: The New Millennium Minstrel Show.”

The content of the show is too offensive to describe in detail, but let’s just say the KKK would be proud. I understand what Spike was trying to do. We’re supposed to recoil from the TV material, but his failure is not contrasting the horrid programming with some behind the scenes drama and a sympathetic character or two. It could have harkened back to Network, but instead, the movie itself becomes exactly what it despises.

He could also have followed in the footsteps of Mel Brooks or South Park and taken the material to such an extreme that we’d be brought to understanding through laughter. Unfortunately, Bamboozled is too goofy to be taken seriously as drama and in no way funny enough to be considered a comedy. All we’re left with is a reminder of a painful experience through a direct recreation of that experience.


Storytelling

Todd Solodnz is a director of films about unpleasant people doing unpleasant things to each other and themselves. His debut, Welcome to the Dollhouse, was about a nerdy 13-year-old girl whose only friend is a boy she hopes will follow through on his promise to rape her, although neither seems to understand what that word means. This is Solondz’ most watchable film. His follow-up, Happiness, brings us an Altmanesque array of horrible people we don’t want to know, personified by a friendly child molester.

Storytelling is not one, but two tales of misery. The first subtitled “Fiction” and the second, “Non-Fiction.” Between them no racial, religious or sexual taboo is left unexplored. Take Selma Blair’s college English student in “Fiction” whose boyfriend has cerebral palsy and who proceeds to seduce her African-American English professor. Not that he needs much convincing.

Two things are notable about the sex scene that follows. One is that, because its kinda rough sex, it had to be censored to get an R rating. The director’s solution is to put a GIANT red box over both bodies to hit home the point that this film hasn’t just been censored, it’s been CENSORED. (Points for Solondz.) The other bit you can’t miss is that the professor humiliates his student by forcing her to yell racial slurs that made me think I was back to watching Bamboozled. (Points deducted.)

In “Non-fiction,” Paul Giamatti is a documentary filmmaker whose wants to study the ideal American family. It was not a surprise when all are revealed to be petty, cruel, hypocritical and generally unpleasant (including the kids!) Most notable is the young boy who treats their Hispanic maid as slave labor.

The bonus to Storytelling is that it acts as its own critic. The Giamatti character’s film is criticized for the same sins that Solondz himself is accused of, namely that he hates his characters. In both the film within a film and the movie itself, these accusations are true. Should the director get points because he’s willing to state openly exactly why his film is bad? I’d say no.

Instead watch…

So as not to end on too sour a note, I would like to recommend three films that also tackle unpleasant and controversial issues. They’re not fun, but they will make you ponder some very dark questions. The differences to those reviewed above come down to one thing, respect for the audience.

In the Company of Men – A very disturbing look at misogyny. Most guys know and many women suspect that there is a darker side to sexual power (that’s power, not prowess) than mainstream romances are willing to recognize. Sometimes psychological brutality can look as ugly as the physical.

Bad Lieutenant – Misogyny is only one of Harvey Keitel’s many vices in this look at a drug dealing, perverse police officer. Keitel is both literally and figuratively naked in a performance of devastating sorrow. How this ends up being one of the most religious movies ever made, I will leave you to discover

Manderlay – Lars Von Trier’s sequel to Dogville is part of this American Trilogy (the third has not yet been released.) Von Trier, who has never been the U.S. is openly hostile towards America, but his attacks are precise and thought provoking. Manderlay is a small town where slavery was never abolished. You may think you know where he’s going with this. You don’t.

Favorite Films of 2007

5) THERE WILL BE BLOOD

2007 saw two of the most effective displays of cinematic evil since Hannibal Lecter's debut. First was Javier Bardem's chilling assassin in the Coen Brother's critical favorite, No Country for Old Men. It was an intense and even Oscar worthy performance in a dark thriller with artistic pretensions. The dark thriller was exceptional. The artistic pretensions were not. Bardem's menace was made abstract and not helped by an ending that was not simply ambiguous, but non-existent (a strange trend this year shared by the otherwise great Before the Devil Knows Your Dead.)

So while the evil represented in No Country, ends up in the same vein as Halloween's Michael Myers, There Will Be Blood is a study of a more human evil given cold blooded personification by the equally Oscar worthy Daniel Day Lewis. These two films have been much compared due to their bleakness (and striking visions of the American Western landscape), but for me, There Will Be Blood is the better film. The Coen Brother's used bleakness in a clever and nihilistic way. Paul Thomas Anderson lets his story and characters dictate the tone.

This is quite a departure for Anderson, whose ensemble dramas, Boogie Nights and Magnolia, were clearly influenced by his mentors, Altman and Scorsese (this is meant as a compliment). There Will Be Blood, on the other hand, is a period piece about the early days of oil drilling and focuses on one character, Daniel Day Lewis's complex and gritty prospector, Daniel Plainview. It's not reminiscent of Anderson's previous work and you never question that you're in a desolate oil drenched hellhole in the first years of the 20th century.

This is one hell of a performance from Day Lewis! He plays the personification of greed and selfishness and somehow manages to be both over the top and scarily authentic. While I was impressed by his cartoon villainy in Gangs of New York, here his range reached back towards Robert DeNiro in Scorsese's Taxi Driver, allowing us to see the hate slowly brewing. It is an accomplishment that the emotional violence is rendered just as intense as the physical violence.


4) SWEENEY TODD

The crowd that I saw Sweeney Todd with seemed evenly divided between fans of Sondheim's acclaimed musical and devotees of the works of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp. I belong to the later category. Some audience members were so perplexed when it became apparent that most of the dialogue would be sung that there were a few walk outs. Trailers and promotional materials gave the uninitiated no clue that they were in for a full fledged musical.

I had seen two earlier versions of Sweeney Todd. First, an "in concert" version with Patti LuPone and George Hearn; followed by a grainy video of the original Broadway production. I was not a fan. It was difficult to appreciate Sondheim's score as the songs were not memorable and seemed to bleed into each other without dramatic effect.

Yet I love this new version. Tim Burton has perfected and, frankly improved upon, the gothic style of those old Vincent Price and Hammer horror films. After less interesting forays into the light, (Big Fish / Charlie & the Chocolate Factory) Burton is home in Halloweentown where the line between black comedy and bloody horror is as thin as a razor's edge.

Johnny Depp, as always, creates an unforgettable character in the morose, revenge driven Todd. The treat here is how Helena Bonham Carter matches him step by step. The scene where she imagines them as a family at the beach is a classic because of despite her unbridled optimism, even in her fantasies, Depp's grim pallor never breaks. This sequence alone is worth the ticket price.

I still don't get the Sondheim music though, except that Burton has provided a new context to appreciate it. The songs in this "musical" act in the same way an orchestral score would in a normal movie. When Depp is singing a love song to his razor, it doesn't matter that I can't remember the melody. (Trust me - there are no "Music of the Nights".) What matters is that he's using the songs to further his performance and make his madness even more palpable.

When the score itself takes over and we get a reverse zoom outside the demon barber's window, there we have some real movie magic. Black magic, of course.


3) JUNO

Well into 2008, I must be one of the last movie-buffs to jump on the bandwagon, but true is true and Juno really is a wonderful film. I knew it was the big indie hit of the year and I expected something in the spirit of a better than average crowd pleaser like Little Miss Sunshine. Juno surpasses that and reaches Amelie levels of lovability. That is does so while being laugh out loud funny and with attitude to spare makes it even more of an accomplishment.

While the acting, directing and music are all top notch, it is first time writer and deserved Oscar winner Diablo Cody who shines brightest with cliché-free script featuring the most memorable dialogue this side of Tarantino. A former stripper, Cody is clearly not of the movie industry. We can all guess how Hollywood might treat a pregnant teen, her family and friends, but Cody allows her characters the freedom to act as full blooded people might, not the cutout characters that usually populate teen comedies.

Take Bleeker, the father of Juno’s child. Both a nerd and a jock, he plays shy in a way I haven’t seen before. And it’s funny. Potential adoptive parents played by Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner have their own story arch that again combines truth and laughs. Bateman, in particular, underplays his generational angst just right.

Ellen Page is perfect as Juno. There’s been some criticism that teenagers don’t really talk in the witty dialogue style that dominates the film. I’m sure they don’t, but neither do adults speak as they do in better scripts. The truth is that teens do speak their own language and if its not as smart as Diablo Cody thinks it is, its their loss and Juno’s gain.


2) I'M NOT THERE

There is only one thing I know about Bob Dylan, that he's a storyteller. His storytelling is not limited to his peerless songwriting category, but also reveals itself in interviews and public appearances. Here is a man who refuses to be defined. When reporters, documentarians and Dylanologists attempts to do so, he tells more stories, or, to put it less charitably, he lies. Though it's not always obvious in what way.

There is one thing I know about Todd Haynes' Dylan biopic, I'm Not There. It's that it is not a Dylan biopic. His stories and legends are the canvas Haynes is working with, but, like Citizen Kane, the film is actually about the contradiction of trying to sum up a life in a two hour film. That six actors play Dylan representations is not a gimmick in trying to discover the enigma of Bob Dylan. It is the point of this daring and thought provoking film.

A young African-American boy named Marcus Cark Franklin plays "Woody Guthrie." Though the real Guthrie was well known to be a major influence on Dylan, those looking for realism will note that it is unlikely that Dylan was a freight train riding black kid. It is also highly doubtful that he was swallowed by a whale. These sequences work because I'm Not There is as much about the Bob Dylan myth as the man.

Equally surreal is Richard Gere's appearance as "Billy the Kid" to represent Dylan's current incarnation. In reality, he's still performing and writing vital music, but he's not part of any current musical movement and not the celebrity idol he once was. The Gere sequence shows Dylan as a man comfortable in his own skin, but not of his own time.

One might imagine that he's rather see himself as an aging outlaw than the highly unlikable version portrayed by Heath Ledger as "Robbie Clark," arrogant movie star and failed family man. Christian Bale plays folk singer turned born again revivalist, "Jack Rollins" and Ben Whishaw is "Arthur Rimbaud" elusive interview subject.

The most dynamic performance however belongs to Cate Blanchett who, as "Jude Quinn" has one of the most shocking and memorable entrances in recent film memory. Blanchett erases all questions of gender by embodying the version of Dylan that we think we know best, the 1965 era superstar who revolutionized the folk and rock world by going electric. She also embodies Dylan's caustic orneriness when dealing with the press.

As director, Todd Haynes weaves all these disparate elements into a coherent narrative that takes wonderful advantage of Dylan's song catalog and perfectly mimics the look of its various eras. One need not be a Bob Dylan fan to appreciate the remarkable achievement that is I'm Not There (though you'd get some of the inside references) because, as the title alludes, it's not really about one man, but all of us.


1) BLACK SNAKE MOAN

When I Netflixed Black Snake Moan, I was expecting a sleazy exploitation flick that might offer some cheap laughs and titillation. I was not, I repeat, NOT expecting to witness a great film that would become my top pick of the year. The promotional poster was of a half naked Christina Ricci chained to an ornery old Samuel L. Jackson for pete sake!

The amazing this about this film is that it does, in fact, succeed as cheap exploitation, but it does so much more. First off, it's a filmed blues song. If I can't quite articulate what that means, it's because I've never seen it done before, but all the musical and lyrical elements of those old Robert Johnson, Howlin' Wolf or Muddy Waters records have been dramatized.

Sam Jackson is wonderful as the disillusioned old blues singer. Praising Jackson is redundant considering that he is invariably great in all his roles regardless off the movie surrounding him. He is the most watchable actor on film today and has himself claimed that this is his best acting work (though I still vote for Pulp Fiction.)

What Christina Ricci does, however, will knock your socks off! I've always found it an annoying cliché when actresses are described as "brave" for taking on nudity or overt sexuality (Sorry Halle Berry, you didn't really deserve that Oscar). I have only seen two instances where this description is accurate; Jodi Foster in The Accused and Christina Ricci in Black Snake Moan. She takes on her nymphomaniac hellion with an unexpected fierceness that dominates the film and everything in it.

Even the previously hated Justine Timberlake turns in a fine performance as the boyfriend plagued by panic attacks.

There is a fantastic sequence where Jackson comforts Ricci by singing the title song during the kind of thunderstorm that can only take place in a blues song. By this point, I realized that this little exploitation flick has become a highly moral love story that's alive and pulsing on the screen.