Almodovar gets underneath THE SKIN I LIVE IN

      Pedro Almodovar is a filmmaker that doesn't believe in painting a subtle piece of work. Yes, paint splatters all over the canvas until our eyes can't take it anymore. His signature style involves pop use of bold colors, offhand plot structure, creative camera angles and sexually-charged images. We can understand more about the Spanish filmmaker as a person, than reading a case file. Actually, his films are his personal case file, and they express his sexual intuitions, fantasies, wicked sense of humor, and his undying love for film and theater. His characters are usually individuals who are shunned from normal society, but still, we always empathize. Almodovar, like auteur directors such as Quentin Tarantino and Brian De Palma (only when he writes and directs), is a playful filmmaker. He doesn't write for any particular audience, except for him. Put him in a sandbox, and he'll go all day, amusing himself. However, as long as he's amused, the audience is amused. Real film lovers can appreciate his scintillating concoctions, even if it borders on soap opera. The Skin I live In isn't his most fluid work; It's sort of a mess. Nevertheless, it's a mess that only a great filmmaker can make, and that hardcore Almodovar fans can appreciate. 

     The Skin I live In is a juicy, demented revenge thriller about a mad scientist (Antonio Banderas), whose life obsession is to create the perfect skin for a woman held captive in his home. On a societal level, the protagonist is a well-respected figure, but as usual, there’s a dark secret regarding the characters human nature. Now, this isn’t the entire storyline, but basically, the bulk of the premise. If I indulged any further in the plot, I’d spoil the film experience. The way Pedro Almdovar’s tells a story is like dropping a snake in mouse maze—it’s going to hit many corners, move back and forth, until it finally swallow its prize, but the real enjoyment is watching the sleek, unpredictable movements in the story.
        I’m a huge fan of Pedro Almdovar; he doesn’t hold anything back. In addition, one must admire a filmmaker who both writes and directs all of his work, and most of the time, it’s endlessly inventive. My main concern with this film is that there are too many back-story introductions behind every character. Sometimes, I think the viewers are bombarded with too much side information, and too many melodramatic plot twists, that it loses focus of the central story. As a result, the director’s intention toward the audience is abrasive; there’s a dark desire to convey shocking sexuality and eroticism, with little conviction and motivation.
    The Skin I Live In is a strange mélange of melodrama, thriller, noir, and a touch of horror. His recurrent themes of voyeurism, obsession, transgender, and sexual exploration are present in his latest effort. In addition, his central characters have an obsession for the human anatomy, most notably in Live Flesh (1997) and Talk to Her (2002) Almodovar pays homage to such horror classics as Eyes without a Face (1960) Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and other films that involve body parts or piecing together a human figure. 
    Besides the horror elements, there are influences from some of the greatest suspense classics, including Hitchock's Vertigo (1958) and Michael Powell's Peeping Tom (1960). For example, In Vertigo, Jimmy Stewart's obsession to change Kim Novack's physical characteristics to match a woman who he thinks is dead, is similar to Antonio Bandera's fixation to create the perfect skin on his captive guinea-pig. 
   However, The Skin I live In feels more like a campy melodrama than a horror film, and as fresh as his ideas are, he misses the suspense mark. I can’t say that I wasn’t entertained, because I was captivated by the provocative images. There are scenes of great power that feel like a highly-charged torpedo of conflicting sexual desires. His characters are sickly and deranged, but still, I wanted to see where they would end up in his obscure plotline. Overall, I think it’s worth seeing how far Almodovar pushes the envelope in his latest, kinky creation.

*** (out of four stars)

MARTHA MARCY MAY MARLENE is riveting from start to finish

            The cinematic interpretation of a cult can be dangerous territory. Filmmakers might feel compelled to take a controversial subject matter and veer off into the realm of sensationalism. Martha Marcy May Marlene is a haunting, beautifully shot film about a young runaway who’s lured into a backwoods cult. The writer/director, Sean Durkin, avoids any sensational attitudes toward the concept, bringing an indelible and humanistic approach towards this kind of surrogate family. The location is undisclosed, assuming that our protagonist, Martha, wonderfully played by Elizabeth Olsen, is not even sure where she is. We never see how she was picked-up and brought to the deranged rural community, and when she runs away, her only relevance of distance is that she’s three hours away from where her sister lives. The less we know, the more taunting the experience is.

           The film is essentially about Martha’s post-traumatic experience after fleeing the cult. The rural setting in the boonies is very similar to the infamous “ranch,” lead by Charles Manson in the late 60s. Actually, this film is probably the most realistic and empathetic interpretation of a cult experience, more so than any film about Charles Manson’s wrecked family of drug-induced followers. The writer/director doesn’t paint a family portrait of “evil-followers” per se, but instead, a keen observation of how our lost youth is brainwashed by a deceptively charming, patriarchal leader. First, we must believe, then, we follow.

            The narrative begins where Olsen escapes from the cult and reunites with her older sister and her wealthy husband. Her experience in the cult is told in flashback form; as her sketchy present behaviors become more apparent, the director explores how her past has shaped her paranoid mind frame. I absolutely love it when a film cuts back and forth in time without the use of screen titles and still follow a sensible format. There’s fluidity in the transitions, which reminded me of other films that smartly cut back and forth, from the present to the past, such as the impeccable Texas murder mystery, Lone Star (1996), and the heartbreaking deconstruction of a marriage in Blue Valentine (2010). The talent in these films’ structures lies in the script. The writers are carefully considering the audiences’ intelligence, especially when it comes to chronology. The flashback structure in Martha is cleverly outlined.  The director is saying that no matter how far the central character runs from her past, she can’t escape her haunted memories.

The cultish family is reminiscent of a hippie commune you might have heard about from the late 60s. We've read about Charles Manson and David Koresh, and have seen similar family settings in Easy Rider (1969); the people live off the land, spend their free time playing guitar and singing folk songs, and get by with the bare minimum. In a cult, there’s usually a leader. Indie-fave John Hawkes (Me, You, and Everyone We Know; Winter’s Bone) plays as the conniving patriarchal leader. He’s created a mysterious family full of youths who are brainwashed into believing in his preposterous society. On the surface, we think they are living a life based on pure existentialism, when in reality they are prepped to submit, both in violence and sex.

There are scenes of unhinged power that reveal the central purpose of the subculture.  Director Sean Durkin subtly explores Martha’s psychological damage. I love the look and feel of the film. The minimal approach to filmmaking best suites this complex subject matter. The cinematography is very natural, yet there’s a distinct correlation between light and dark tones in the images. The director wants the audience to observe the tiny details in the frame, and everything is meant to express Martha’s frightened reality. For example, there’s a scene in which Martha is sleeping on the floor in her bedroom. Her body is situated in the foreground. Suddenly, we see urine dampen her pink dress. In the background, a chair is propped against the door knob. This single image reveals so much about the character. Not only do we see that she suffers from nightmares, but according to the background detail of the chair, she’s beyond paranoid. This isn’t the kind of coke-induced paranoia Scorsese depicted in Goodfellas (1990), but the kind where the minute details spell out the protagonist’s present state of mind.

Martha Marcy May Marlene ends on a perfect note. The abrupt cut to black jolts our expectations, and leaves us craving for a clearer resolution. The film ends on a single idea, one that surmises the entire psychosis of the main character; paranoia follows wherever Martha goes, or are they really coming for her?

*** ½ (out of four)

DRIVE is one of the best films of the year

      Ryan Gosling portrays the quiet, yet surprisingly violent lone-wolf. He doesn’t talk much; he doesn’t need to. He only does what’s necessary. He works for everybody, but at the same time, he works for no one. He’s never attached or committed to one thing long enough to put himself in grave danger. He drives, that’s what he does, and he’s good. Damn good.
      Drive contains a super-cool, low-key rhythm. The film’s visual style is very controlled. Here is a director who understands the meaning of gritty suspense. Sometimes, less is more. Drive contains a plotline that could fit any action-type crime thriller, but the overall scintillating and stylish film grammar heightens the genre-like picture to a new and improved level. Drive never attempts to bombard the viewers with an operatic score, loud sound effects, and frantic editing. Hollywood action filmmakers need to take a few tips from director Nicolas Winding Refn.
      Drive opens with a heist, in which Gosling is the getaway driver. The point-of-view never leaves the driver. In a subtle movement of taunt suspense, we watch him wait in silence as his associates run out with the loot. He’s cool, calm and collected, but underneath, we sense this dark rage about him. The absence of sound and the limited perspective increases the intrigue. I think that most Hollywood action directors, for example, Michael Bay (Bad Boys, Transformers), would underestimate the audience, and attack their senses with never-ending police chases, helicopters, and an overwhelming score. This is no Bad Boys (1995). Drive is mainstream mixed with an artsy, European-like flavor. The film is no quick fix, either. The pacing, camerawork, and editing are nicely composited, exuding a near-perfect style, complementing an entertaining story and highly engaging protagonist.
      The story is essentially about the dark unfolding of a merciless character—a la Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver(1976). His portrayal in the beginning is quiet, but the brooding sense of a gasping explosion always lingers in the air. The stuntman driver gets mixed up in a botched-heist, involving stolen mob money. He’s forced in the job by his unintentional attraction for his neighbor, Irene, played by the talented, Carey Mulligan. The chemistry between the two leads is felt more by their body language than the dialogue. Furthermore, I love how scenes of sheer-cool romance are undercut by hardcore violence. Mulligan plays as a mother, taking care of her only child while her husband finishes his prison term. You can tell she’s smitten by Gosling, but both characters have a mutual respect for the conditions of their lives. Neither one decides to intrude, complicating matters, but more importantly, enjoy what they have. Gosling’s intentions are kind and loyal, but once you cross the line, there is no forgiving.
     There were certain instances and details in the film that drew my attention. In one scene, Carey Mulligan is preparing for her date with Ryan Gosling, and before the scene ends, we hear the phone ring in the background. The plot moves into the next scene, where the two leads discuss a crucial phone call in the film. A less intelligent director would probably think that the audience needs to see a shot of Irene picking up the phone, or an excerpt from the actual conversation. I love how sound, alone, can move the story forward, without a whole bunch of explanation in the dialogue. Subtlety and reasoning over the smallest details can make a world of difference. It’s important to question every scene and ask, “Do we need a shot of this, or is it superfluous?”
      Another great moment that I admired is a two shot scene in the apartment between Mulligan and Gosling. The director keeps Mulligan in the light, but we only view Gosling’s reflection in a mirror, in which a shadow covers his face. The artful composition of this shot cleverly expresses the dark side of his human nature.
       My favorite detail in Drive was Ryan Gosling’s costume. In almost every scene he’s dressed in tight jeans that accentuate his long frame, and his signature stuntman driving jacket that has a scorpion etched on his backside. As the story unfolds and our dark hero’s violent tendencies come to the centerfold, his hip, retro-jacket becomes covered in more blood. However, he never takes it off; even when he meets with gangster Albert Brooks in a public restaurant. The driving jacket symbolizes what he’s best at. Sometimes, subtle and idiosyncratic details in the costume can say more about a character than their behaviors. It brings a sort of mythological dimension to the protagonist.
      I love how director Nicolas Winding Refn frames every shot in the film. It’s done with clear precision and artistry. The use of slow-motion effects, combined with the laidback tempo of the electronic soundtrack pays homage to great stylistic directors, such as Sam Peckinpah (The Wild Bunch, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia) and Sergio Leone (The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly). A tight script, enigmatic protagonist, and a strong visual style transcend the film out of the cycle of clichéd, crime pictures. As violent as Drive is, the plot, character development, and visual energy wins the final race.


**** (out of four stars)

Yale's interview with film critic, Philip Wuntch

        One rainy day I went to a movie with a friend. It’s not like I was performing cartwheels over seeing the Nanny Diaries (2007), but I thought, I might be surprised. He loved it, I hated it. No surprise. I defended my opinion to the best of my expertise. Afterward, he looked at me, and said, “If you didn’t like the movie, then why did you see it?”
       He didn’t understand. It’s not about negativity; it’s a personal stand on a film. Hated or loved it, I still gained some insight. My friend took my comments too personal. I was merely critiquing the film. Yes, film critiquing is an art form. From short stories to scripts, I think being a film critic is one of the most rewarding writing experiences. If you’re a sincere film buff like me, then I think it’s important to analyze specific techniques and storytelling concepts in a film; the more you understand, the more knowledge you gain from a filmmaker’s perspective. For me, reviewing films has been intellectually stimulating. I know I don’t get paid, but I have a distinct voice, and I love to share my opinion.
       Growing up as a child I would always read the film reviews. I have this uncanny ability to remember hundreds of write-ups from various film critics. Every Friday morning, the first thing I would do was retrieve the Dallas Morning News. Every section, except for the Guide, was useless to me. I used to love to see what kind of praise or criticism a film received the day it opened. Philip Wuntch was the official film critic for the Dallas Morning News since the mid-seventies. I can still recall his reviews. In addition, I learned a great deal from Roger Ebert, Andrew Sarris, and the legendary Pauline Kael. These film aficionados enlightened my knowledge and fueled my passion. 

      Today, I don’t read other reviews. I might scan the write-up or notice what kind of grade the film received, but I keep my mind fresh. I think it’s better to write without any other influences swarming in my head.       Now, as you know, Medium Rare Cinema has never done an interview before. I had the great opportunity of interviewing film critic and author, Philip Wuntch. The best way to understand the world of journalism is to interview someone who's been in that industry for quite sometime. Now, Wuntch is retired, but that doesn’t mean he stops writing about films. Based on his enthusiasm, I admire his career and his writing style. He’s interviewed stars, directors, writers, and now, I get to interview him. This is the first of many interviews for Medium Rare Cinema (mediumrarecinema.blogspot.com), so a word for the readers: there’s just as much valid and exciting film-talk here, as what you would read in a major publication. Enjoy!

Yale: How did you get your start with the Dallas Morning News? 
Philip: I had worked for the Dallas Times-Herald's amusements department (It was called "amusements" back then) for free while attending SMU. I hoped they would hire me when I graduated in 1967, and they did. I was nightclub and live entertainment critic and did some movie reviewing. In 1969, the Dallas Morning News asked me to join their staff. I reviewed nightclubs, live entertainment and some movies until 1974, when I became full-time film critic. I was the first person in the Dallas media actually to have the title of film critic. I remained film critic of the Dallas Morning News until my retirement in 2006. 
Yale: Was newspaper journalism your primary career goal?
Philip: Always.
Yale: When did you become a film enthusiast? What was the one movie that did it for you?
Philip: I saw my first movie when I was three and one-half years old, and that experience completely overwhelmed me. My parents took me to see "Portrait of Jennie" at the Paramount Theater in Austin in early 1949. I didn't understand everything, but I knew it was a romance between an artist (Joseph Cotten) and a ghost (Jennifer Jones). That intrigued me. And the film's climax was a hurricane, which both fascinated and frightened me. I had never experienced anything like it. I was sold on movies from that day on. I learned to read by reading the movie ads in the paper. 
Yale: What was your most passionate review during your professional career; the one film that inspired you to write and write and write?
Philip: If I wrote about a movie again and again and again, some lame-brained editor probably would have roared, "You've been writing too much about that movie! Write about something else!"
Yale: What film festivals have you attended? Which one was your best experience? 
Philip: I mostly stayed at home and covered the USA Film Festival and parts of the videofest. The early days of the USA Film Festival at the Bob Hope Theater at SMU were great. You could sit at a table in the lobby and have a conversation with Frank Capra and Jean Arthur. Since my retirement in 2006, I've attended the Dallas International Film Festival, which is fabulous, and the Asian Film Festival, which I enjoy very much.
Yale: Tell me about some of your most fascinating interviews…writers, directors, actors, producers, etc.
Philip: I've had good luck with interviews. I got two notoriously bad interview subjects -- Warren Beatty and Richard Gere -- to open up, and I got wonderful interviews from Gregory Peck, Sydney Pollack, Arthur Penn, Steven Spielberg, Clint Eastwood, Dustin Hoffman and Robert Towne. Penn said I got the prize for asking him questions he'd never been asked before. I also got very frank interviews from Jack Nicholson and Natalie Wood. The interviewees I disliked most were Kevin Costner and Faye Dunaway, both incredibly pompous.
Yale: What other newspapers have you written for?
Philip: My high school and college papers, the Highland Park Bagpipe and SMU Campus. Then the Times-Herald and the DMN.
Yale: How many staff writers worked on the movie section of the DMN?
Philip: At one time, we had three writers covering film. I was the official film critic. Russell Smith and later Chris Vognar did the films that I did not have time or did not want to do. Jane Sumner did some reviews and covered the Texas movie production scene.
Yale: Where did you go to school? Can you elaborate on your experience?
Philip: I was told I could no longer write movie reviews for the Highland Park High School newspaper because a group of parents complained that my reviews promoted dirty movies. I was reinstated as movie reviewer after a week. On both the high school paper and the SMU paper, I had a captive audience I really enjoyed writing for.
Yale: Who are some of your icons in the movie industry and why?
Philip: Love Alfred Hitchcock. He had great humor, a great visual style and, while he might have sneered at psychological probing of his work, he understood human nature. William Wyler also understood human nature and cared a great deal about characterization. Also love Howard Hawks. Among contemporary directors, I'm a big fan of Alexander Payne, Paul Thomas Anderson, Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, Joel and Ethan Coen and, for the most part, Steven Spielberg.
Yale: What are your three favorite films of all time?
Philip: It's impossible to narrow it down to three. But I was stunned and amazed by the power of "Bonnie and Clyde" and "Midnight Cowboy." My favorite comedy is Preston Sturges' 1941 "The Lady Eve" with Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda. It's hilarious and romantic. Please don't confuse it with "All About Eve," which most people love but I think is vastly overrated.
Yale: Who is your favorite film director?
Philip: Hitchcock.
Yale: In your opinion, what’s the best decade for cinema?
Philip: The 1960s. And by that I mean the late 1960s through the mid-1970s. Such films as "Bonnie and Clyde," "Midnight Cowboy" and "The Graduate" changed American filmmaking forever. They brilliantly reflected the society of that era although "Bonnie and Clyde" took place 30 years earlier.
Yale: What kinds of dilemmas or pitfalls have you encountered in your profession?
Philip: In the field of journalism, it's tempting for reporters to consider themselves as important as the people they write about. Business writers may dream of being captains of industry, sportswriters may dream of being coaches or star athletes, movie critics may dream of being directors or actors. I always tried to avoid that, and I tried never to talk down to the reader.
Yale: were any of your deadlines stressful?
Philip: Deadlines vary for any journalist. Sometimes there were three weeks between a screening and a deadline. Other times, I had less than one hour to write a review. Covering the Oscars on deadline was always stressful -- but it was a delightful, invigorating kind of stress.
Yale: How do you book interviews? Who sets those up?
Philip: Interviews are almost always set up by studio representatives. However, I have requested certain interviews, and they've usually been receptive.
Yale: If I remember correctly, 1999 was the last year that the Dallas Morning News applied the star system. Since then, it’s been F-A. Which do you prefer, the star system or letter system?
Philip: I definitely prefer the star system. Giving a letter grade to a film seems pompous and pedantic. Of course, some critics ARE pompous and pedantic.
Yale: Growing up as a child, I remember reading several four star reviews, which have stuck in my head for years. These include “Ed Wood” (1994), “Pulp Fiction” (1994), “Lone Star” (1996), “Grace of my Heart” (1996), and I’m not a 100% sure, but I believe “The Brady Bunch Movie” (1995). Did you write any of those?
Philip: I reviewed "Lone Star" and "Ed Wood." I'd still give "Lone Star" four stars but might lower "Ed Wood" to three and a half. Had I reviewed "Pulp Fiction," I would've given it four stars, with three to "Grace of My Heart." I don't remember "The Brady Bunch" review. I believe it opened when I was on leave. I remember it as a modestly enjoyable movie.
Yale: Now, what I definitely recall reading was a four star review of “The Evening Star” (1996), the “Terms of Endearment” sequel. I remember the film was critically panned across the nation, and personally, I thought it was pure sap, but those four stars are embedded in my brain. Any comment?
Philip: I intensely disliked "Evening Star." I thought it was choppy and clumsy, and I never felt "Terms of Endearment" needed a sequel. I wanted to remember those characters as they were. However, Jane Sumner reviewed it and obviously didn't share my feelings, which was fine with me.
Yale: I haven’t had a chance to read your book, “Marty Jurow Seein’ Stars: A Show Biz Odyssey.” Can you talk about your research and writing process?
Philip: I had been friends with Martin Jurow for many years. He was a wonderful person, and I loved him dearly. We would meet every Sunday afternoon and Marty would relate his many memorable experiences. Our research unfortunately was stalled by health problems. I had a heart attack, and Marty had Parkinson's Disease. But we kept plowing on.
Yale: How well-received was your book? How much money did it make? How much did you make?
Philip: Hell, no, Yale. I'm not gonna tell you how much money either I or the book made. But it did great in Dallas, New York and Los Angeles.
Yale: What were some of the important friendships and connections you’ve made throughout your professional career?
Philip: I never sought to make friendships or connections. Didn't want anything to interfere with my objectivity. But Cameron Crowe enjoyed my interview with him so much, he asked me to play a reporter in "Elizabethtown." I had to turn him down.
Yale: What are your thoughts on the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) throughout the decades?
Philip: There's always room for improvement, but it's basically OK with me. I definitely like it better than the old City of Dallas Motion Picture Classification Board, which was an embarrassment to the city. A group of uninformed people would see every movie and rate it suitable or unsuitable for young people and give reasons like sex, violence, perversion or language. They became a national laughing stock when they branded "Paper Moon" not suitable because Tatum O'Neal said, "Daddy, I have to go to the shithouse." Even Johnny Carson made jokes about Dallas and the Classification Board. Former mayor Annette Strauss was one of its driving forces, and it received a lot of prominence prior to its demise, sometime in the late '80s, I think.
Yale: In the world of and ebooks, what are your thoughts on the future of newspaper journalism?
Philip: It's possible that the traditional daily newspaper will remain daily only online and become a weekly publication in print.
Yale: Now that your officially retired, how do you spend your days?
Philip: Just enjoying life with my wife Mimi. She has a dog sitting business that keeps both of us busy. Fortunately we love dogs. Also we love going to movies WE want to see at the times WE want to see them.

The odds are in favor of 50/50

     50/50 is an empathetic comedy about a young, sensible man, Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), who gets cancer and faces the painstaking reality that he might die before his life gets rolling. He is 27, clean-cut, healthy, and a cautious character that is thrown a devastating curveball. As his shock sets in, his confidence and self-esteem is lowered, and his frustration builds to pure angst. Actor Joseph Gordon-Levitt gives a truly tender and endearing performance.
     Adam’s high school buddy, Kyle (Seth Rogan), doesn’t quite know how to react, except to cheer him up as best as possible. I found Rogan’s loud-mouth, geeky macho-like mannerisms to live up to his warm-hearted role in Knocked Up (2007). On occasion, his jocular dialogue overwhelms his presence, but still, he’s in tune with his character. Levitt and Rogan work well together. Their clashing personalities complement the comedic duo.
     I wasn’t quite sure what to expect of 50/50. Sometimes, I think cancer-themed films rely too much on melodrama; the essential purpose is to yank tears from the audience. Instead, 50/50 contains richly defined characters. In the opening scene, we see Adam jogging outside, and when the crosswalk reads “don’t walk,” he complies. The director wants to quickly and efficiently introduce an important dimension of the central character, and that is, he’s very careful.
     After Adam receives his traumatic diagnosis, he agrees to see a 24 year-old therapist, Katherine (Anna Kedrick), and suddenly, he’s uncomfortable. Her office is messy and cluttered, and doesn't agree with Adam's clean sensibilities. Relationships in scripts work well when two characters, who have little common, find a way to relate. While Adam is waiting at the hospital, he befriends three older guys who are also going through chemotherapy. These men might be strange to him, but due to their similar health issues, he’s more relaxed and comfortable than when he’s around his girlfriend, (Bryce Dallas Howard), therapist, or even his caring, yet neurotic mother (Angelica Huston).
     When I realized that Seth Rogan was one of the star attractions, I wasn’t sure which direction the film would go. Are we going to be constantly bombarded by Rogan’s jokes and sarcasm? Well, sometimes his humor runs rampant, but his performance is very genuine. The comic relief is a reminder that it’s not helpful to wallow.

      Joseph Gordon-Levitt rarely falls short of a great performance. As his career shoots for the stars, his choices of character roles are becoming more diverse and challenging. Adam is a character who has difficulties expressing his present emotions. In an empowering scene, Levitt’s underlying feelings finally boil to the surface, and I was reminded of Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces (1970), when he’s alone in his car, ranting and raving in madness. Everything finally comes out, and Adam’s sudden shift in behavior is plausibly portrayed by Levitt. 50/50 is a sure-fire pleasure. The performances are superb, the script is smartly written, and as funny as it is, still, bring your tissue box.

***1/2 (out of four stars)

KILLER ELITE offers nothing new in the action department

   Before the plot gets rolling like a bolder down a steep hill, the audience indulges in a pre-screen title. The couple of sentences are related to covert operations and secret assassins. Show us. Don’t tell us. How do the filmmakers show us that the central characters are part of an elite society of killers? Is it because they’re dressed in slick black, carry heavy artillery, and have dynamite fighting skills? Perhaps so, but I need a better understanding of what a SAS (Special Air Service) man is supposed to really be like, than what I’ve seen in a plethora of action films related to international spies and terrorists.

            Killer Elite is the latest Hollywood action yarn to hit theaters. I found the plot to be too smart for its own good. The film is essentially about an oil sheik that kidnaps an SAS man, played by Robert De Niro, in order to force a retired assassin, played by Jason Statham (Transporter, Crank) to come out of hiding and do one last job. The sheik wants to avenge the people who killed his three sons, but, catch this; those very killers are part of the same SAS group. The setup sounds great; we get a game of cat-and-mouse between assassins part of the same group. Unfortunately, the execution is a cheerless and clichéd mess.

            Killer Elite opens with a dazzling action sequence; bullets spray across the frame and the car explosions create a pillow of smoke over the desert. When a film opens strong, it must continue along the rollercoaster, outdoing previous action pieces. After Jason Statham assassinates his target, he comes face-to-face with an innocent girl caught in the crossfire. The film cuts to a tight shot of her traumatized eyes and sets-up Statham’s motivation for retiring with his wife, a pointless character, in the Australian outback. Oh, and perhaps if you can’t understand why he wants “out” of this secret killing society, don’t worry, we see the same shot of those sad innocent eyes midway through the film. Get my point?

            So, as the plot continues, and the stone-like characters bore me, Statham receives a letter that his mentor, Robert De Niro, is being held prisoner. The next scene, he’s on a plane to the Middle East with the same old crew, doing the same old job, but this time around, is being chased by his own people. Clive Owen is also part of an elite group, and as his men are being killed one by one, he’s on a chase across the globe to take down Jason Statham. At first, I was confused as to who Clive Owen’s character really was. I’m guessing that the writers felt that if he’s dressed in black and talking in a so-called “serious” manner, in an undisclosed office building, then the audience will be able to guess that he’s part of the same SAS group. These visuals did not help. Instead, I had to really pay attention to the dialogue to figure this out.

            Apparently, Killer Elite is based on a true story. I suspect it’s based on true events, but the dangerous stunts and killing scenes were certainly embellished, which is fine in my book. I love action films. I love to be entertained by Hollywood stars and spectacular set-pieces, but if I didn’t care if these characters lived or died, I can’t immerse myself into the story. I understand that it’s an action piece, but if it’s a true story then there should be some social awareness about the greedy complications surrounding the oil industry.  All in all, Killer Elite bored me with international shenanigans.

* * (out of four stars)

Reply to:

THE DEER HUNTER remains a screen classic

            There’s a key scene in Michael Cimino’s Vietnam-era classic, The Deer Hunter (1978), in which Robert De Niro comes face-to-face with his prey; a beautiful, long-horned deer. He’s in perfect aim with his rifle, and in the backdrop are the breathtaking Pennsylvanian mountains. In a moment of psychological confusion and hurt, he shoots the rifle up to the sky. This single action surmises the entire film.

The opening setting consists of a small, working class town in Pennsylvania, built around a steel factory and a Russian Orthodox Cathedral. Working, drinking, bonding, marrying, and deer hunting are highly integrated into the blue-collar social structure. It’s a pure slice of sweet Americana.

            Robert De Niro’s character, Michael, takes pride in the recreation. Deer hunting is a tradition; a sacred bond between man and nature. Notice how Michael (De Niro) refuses to let his longtime friend, Stan (John Cazale) borrow his spare set of boots. He believes that if you’re a serious outdoorsman, then every item should be thoroughly accounted for. However, after bringing home the traumatic baggage of the Vietnam War, “killing,” even a deer, seems morally demeaning. The men’s values are warped after the horrific tour of duty. The Deer Hunter is essentially about the psychological affects the Vietnam War has on a true-blue, All-American, working-class society. The perspective of violence, warfare, service duty, and camaraderie are permanently askew in the bloody aftermath.

            The Deer Hunter is a sweeping epic told in three very distinct parts. 1. The grand wedding and farewell party. 2. The gritty war depiction. 3. Coming home and trying to build back an inkling of simple values, which were lost in the mayhem. What I love about The Deer Hunter is how unafraid it is to let every scene in the first part play out. It’s important to get to know and truly empathize with the characters.  The audience gets a better sense of how far they fell from their original personality, after Vietnam. In the end, we can’t help but care and hope for a better future.

In the first part, the director stages and frames a rich, panoramic wedding reception. In a series of magnificent wide shots, the frame is filled with townsfolk dancing, drinking, eating, fraternizing—it breaths of human connections. The director wants to make sure that you, the viewer, are allowed to inhale every detail of this all-American, tight-knit town. In another important shot, the camera pans and tilts around the Cathedral, emphasizing the Russian Orthodox heritage. In a more up-to-date film, I think the studios would find it necessary to point out the cultural overtones in the dialogue, or relay information using screen titles. Never underestimate your audience. Cinema of the 70s was very different. It was an artistic decade. Filmmakers didn’t need $150 million to create a grand epic, and the studios gave the directors more creative control.

            The Russian roulette scenes in Vietnam are by far the most suspenseful and provocative elements in the film. I found it interesting how the Vietcong would volunteer their own men and bet on a fatal game. I’ve never read or heard about underground games of Russian roulette as part of the war subculture. It could be meant as a historical fantasy—a thought-provoking way of metaphorically expressing the notorious “draft.” The chances of being randomly picked by Lotto Uncle Sam are no different than sliding a single bullet in a six barrel chamber, and praying it’s not going to be the last time. It reminds me of what Jack Nicholson said in the Departed (2006), “When you’re starring at a loaded gun, what’s the difference.”

            Watching a glorious 35 mm print of The Deer Hunter was almost as exhilarating as seeing Apocalypse Now: Redux. Francis Ford Coppola’s vision of war was more potent and imaginative; an almost, psychedelic experience. However, Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter is still a memorable classic; a truly emotional drama.

The 1978 Oscar-winner was showing exclusively at the Texas Theatre in Dallas. Make sure to checkout the movie theater’s website for upcoming screening.

www.thetexastheatre.com

Trash Cinema at the Texas Theatre

         Tuesday Night Trash is a laidback, film-geek venue, exclusively at the Texas Theatre in Dallas. The super-cool, tongue-and-cheek screenings puts the Midnight Movies back in the circuit. Sometimes, the theatre managers get lucky enough to snag a 16mm or 35mm print, but often, it’s a DVD projection. It really doesn’t matter. Catching these retro-schlock films on the big screen is a great pleasure.

            My first experience at Tuesday Night Trash was a screening of The Naked Kiss (1964). Personally, I wouldn’t lowball Samuel Fuller’s masterpiece as “trash,” but it’s definitely out-of-the-norm. After that first presentation, I was hooked. There are so many underbelly cult films I haven’t experienced, and the Texas Theatre has certainly enlightened my repertoire.

            Tuesday Night Trash generally consists of a hip, geek crowd, and some of the films are total cheese-cinema, but you know what, sometimes, you’ll find a diamond in the rough. The venue is about going out with your friends, laugh at the campy atrocities, and find a permanent social outing for Tuesday night.

            This week the Texas Theatre presented a 80s horror-bomb, The Basement (1989), which was a lost Super 8 film that finally got the chance to be somewhat re-mastered. The film is a horror-anthology; a zero-budget rip-off of George A. Romero’s Creepshow (1982). Four characters venture inside the basement of an abandoned house, and are encountered by a grim-reaper-like monster, who tells them about these horrific acts they’ll commit in the future. The four stories in The Basement are obviously influenced by famous indie-horror filmmakers of the 70s and 80s, which include George A. Romero (Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead)  Lucio Fulci (Zombie, The Beyond), and Sam Raimi (Evil Dead, Evil Dead 2).

           The majority of the Super 8 exposure is extremely dark; I felt as though I had to constantly scan from screen-left to screen-right to comprehend any of the action. In addition, the actors look like they belong in an 80’s porno, and the dubbing was so bad it’s almost funny. The director of The Basement pulls an Ed-Wood (the notorious, cross-dressing, sci-fi director of the 50s)—he uses found-footage of an erupting volcano to represent Hell on Earth.

            The point of these kinds of campy, backyard films isn’t to point-out the faults of the story, continuity, and lighting. I try to see how a filmmaker makes something out of nothing. For instance, I try to figure out what kinds of props, locations, and effects the filmmakers had at their disposal. In the case of The Basement, I presumed that they shot in a friend’s backyard for the pool-monster sequence, found locations where they didn’t have to get a permit, and got lucky enough to work with an inventive and humorous special make-up effects artist. Perhaps these inferences aren’t entirely accurate, but at least you can see what I gain from indulging in schlock-horror films from the 80s. Rounding out my point, these guys picked-up a Super 8 camera and said, “Let’s make a movie!” What did you do today?

If you’re into gun-slinging and machete-wielding clowns, then come join THE LAST CIRCUS

           The Last Circus is part horror, part action, part comedy, and all around Spanish grindhouse-celluloid. This show deserves a round of applause for the bold imagination of filmmaker Alex de Iglesia. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun at the movies in a while.

The Last Circus is a mad, twisted tale full of gore, sex, and vengeful killer clowns.

      The film begins in Spain, circa 1937, when the citizens were persecuted by the Republican Army. That’s right—no more freedom, no more circuses, and no more clowning around. The director immerses the viewer into a spectacular and gorgeously shot war sequence in which the Republican Army ransacks a circus show. The look and grittiness of the battle scene is, in a technical sense, reminiscent of Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan (1998). The frame rate of the gruesome, opening shots is split in half, and the images vibrate, as if the camera is attached to a moving power-drill.

            The central hero of The Last Circus, Javier, is an aspiring “sad clown,” continuing the circus-performing legacy in his family. Javier survives the persecution of Franco-ruled Spain in the 30s and 40s, and then moves into the early 70s, during the large, economic growth. The filmmakers create a terrific and mordant, opening credit sequence—a cheeky montage that holds-up to the super-cool, found-footage compilation in the beginning of Natural Born Killers (1994). The early images mix movie monsters with dictators and presidents; cleverly reflecting war persecution and social repression.

        When the film cuts to the present, 1973, the cinematography switches from a cold, smoky-bluish hue, to a vibrant and spritely New Spain. The look of the old world and the new world greatly contrast.  Unfortunately, the historical elements don’t weave very well into the outrageous story, but the point of the film isn’t to provide a realistic, history lesson for the viewer. Sensationalism is the filmmakers’ first priority and the history of Spain merely serves as the backdrop.

In the film we learn that the sad and pitifully jealous clown-hero never had a real childhood. As an adult, he’s emotionally tormented by his demented boss, Sergio (Antonio de la Torre), the lead clown of the circus, and his promiscuous, acrobatic lover, Natalia (Carolina Bang). Consequently, Javier feels obliged to protect the circus whore, and ends-up being beaten to a bloody pulp by his meal ticket, Sergio. The hero of the film is first portrayed as a confused, psychologically scarred, shy clown and then gradually develops into an angry-rollicking-killing machine. In the final act of the film, Javier takes a mad turn for the worse. His clown makeup is comprised of burning a layer of skin off his face with sodium chloride and placing a hot iron against his cheeks. To add to the shocking, comedic elements, the director giddily applies CGI (Computer Graphics Imagery) to some of the exaggerated and action-packed images.

The filmmakers aren’t trying for realism; the special effects and art direction are justly over-the-top. The tongue-and-cheek visual style nicely matches the overtone of the out-of-control plot-line. The Last Circus is definitely all over the place, weirdly mixing humor, gruesomeness, kinky sex, and a rain-storm of bullets, but it’s a show that’s hard to shake off. The Last Circus ran its final show Thursday night at the Texas Theatre in Dallas. However, it will be available on DVD and Blue-Ray in October; don’t forget to check this bad boy out.

*** (out of four stars)

Woody Allen's MIDNIGHT IN PARIS is a sincere pleasure

Midnight in Paris comes off as a sweet love letter to one of Woody Allen’s favorite cities (it doesn’t compete with his portrait of New York). I could imagine his neurotic, creative process. He probably took a quiet stroll along the Parisian street, went into his apartment, hopped in the shower (his thinking sanctuary), and then bam—the idea came to him in a wet flash.

            “Well, ya know, ya, I think, ya, wouldn’t it be a spontaneous, creative move, if-ya-know, I was somehow magically transported into the 1920s and hung out with all of the great literary and artistic heroes of our time in the cultural arts center of the world?”

            Midnight in Paris isn’t Allen’s best film to date, but it’s still an endearing and dreamy venture.  His signature is written all over it. He’s one of the few filmmakers, who both writes and directs all of his work, and it’s very distinctive; no one can make a Woody Allen picture besides the prolific director himself. I’m quite enamored by Allen’s simple, yet beautiful vision of every shooting location—New York, Paris, or London—I feel as though I walked into a classical Hollywood musical set. The camera is usually static and the music is mellow, but there’s a grace to all of his images.

            The film is about a Hollywood screenwriter, Gil (Owen Wilson), who vacations in Paris with his fiancé, Inez, (Rachel McAdams) and her family, hoping to find inspiration for his new novel. During one of Gil’s walks, an old car pulls up and he’s swept away to a party where he’s conversing with Picasso, Cole Porter, F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and Ernest Hemingway. He’s captivated by the nostalgia of the city’s romantic flavor; this unusual fervor clashes with his fiancée, Inez, who prefers to buy over-priced furniture and go dancing, while Gil prefers to take a refreshing stroll at midnight. The book he’s writing is about a man who owns an old, memorabilia shop, full of sentimental history. The scenario in Gil’s story sets-up the exposition for the character’s time-warp into old Paris.

When Gil and his soon-to-be-family are dining at a café, Inez runs into an acquainted couple. This happens a lot in Woody Allen’s films. Friends will run into old friends and new sparks will fly.  When the couples double-date, they passive-aggressively compete with one another—whether it be beauty, intellect, or sex. My favorite competing couple was in Allen’s black-and-white masterpiece, Manhattan (1979), but his latest film, Midnight in Paris, is still a joy to watch. The film contains the classic overlapping dialogue, dining settings, and typical-Woody-neurosis.

The way Woody Allen shoots says a lot about his personality. For example, he prefers to shoot on a cloudy day because it’s easier to control the lighting, and it gives the images a pastel-hue. In addition, he prefers to keep the camera rolling, inertly panning back and forth, which draws more attention to the performances than the camera work.

Most importantly, he shoots at a rapid pace. Woody Allen likes to be done by 6:00 pm, so he can rush to dinner at a reasonable hour. Midnight in Paris was selected as the opener at the Cannes Film Festival. I’m sure the French greatly appreciated this gesture.

*** (out of four stars).

THE GUARD doesn't quite top the indie-crime wave

   The Guard is a hip, low-key, black comedy about two officials, one a local Irish policeman and the other an American FBI agent, who join forces to uncover a large, drug-trafficking operation. The central figure of The Guard is a zany and abhorrent Irish Sergeant, and seems like a character especially tailored for the comic likes of the late Peter Sellers or even Bill Murray. However, I must say, Irish indie-fave, Brendan Gleeson, shines in The Guard; his irreverent behavior is the perfect match for the straight-laced FBI Man, played by Don Cheadle. It’s too bad that I’ve seen this kind of oddball, criminal scenarios in a number of dark comedies, specifically the awesome In Bruges (2008), which was written and directed by Martin Mcdonagh, brother of the director of The Guard, John Michael McDonagh.

            

   The Guard opens strong, but as the clichéd, criminal plot treads along, the energy loses steam. The film opens with the bumbling Sergeant observing a drunk-driving accident along the road. A group of partying teenagers flipped their car and everyone was killed. Instead of taking the drastic situation seriously, Gleeson frisks one of the victims for any “goodies.” The Sergeant recovers a bag of drugs; he disposes of the cocaine and pops a hit of acid in his mouth. The filmmaker inserts an extreme-close-up shot of the smiley-face-acid blot. First-time director, John Michael McDonagh, perfectly establishes the bizarre and dead-pan, humorous tone, but all it really did was cause a craving for more outrageousness.

    The quirky and dim-witted police investigation holds many similarities to Fargo (1996), but unlike the Cohen Brother’s black comedic masterpiece, The Guard’s portrayal of mass corruption and murder in a simple town, doesn’t measure, not even close. I felt as though this sort of criminal-caper comedy came out a decade-and-a-half too late. It would’ve been a bigger hit in the mid-to-late 90s, especially after the post-Pulp Fiction (1994) phase.

    Besides Fargo and In Bruges, I’ve seen this sort of film before—take a look at Guy Ritchie’s English gangster hits, Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) or Snatch (2000). These were all indie gems where the criminals and the cops talked about everything humorous to them, except the plot. As you know, director Guy Ritchie and many other filmmakers in the 90s, were incredibly inspired by the ingenious hybrid of comedy and gruesomeness that was well-established in Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction. The criminals and the bumbling detectives would bicker back and forth and the audience is supposed to laugh, where I merely smirked.

    On a lighter note, I absolutely loved the rural setting—I think the filmmaker mixes different 35mm film stocks, enhancing the beauty and variety of the small Irish backdrop.  I was taken by the charming surroundings—the small local pubs, lushly green hills, and the rocky cliffs clashing against the cool blue sea. After seeing this film and the light-hearted Waking Ned Divine (1998), I’m going to have to make it a plan to visit a small Irish town, where I’d be the only American that stands out. If you closely observe the background, you’ll notice there are only a small handful of characters living in the community; my favorite being an odd English boy who drags his dog along his small pink bicycle. The filmic images in The Guard have a child-like, picture-book quality to the texture-a variation of bright and dim cinematography-and I loved looking at it.

    I think The Guard is worth checking out, perhaps when it comes out on DVD. While you’re at it, follow the film with In Bruges and Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels. Then, you’ll notice the great, humorous whims of all three films, along with the clichéd similarities of the foul-mouthed characters.

 **1/2 (out of four stars)

            

TREE OF LIFE is a cinematic, breath of fresh air

      Auteur director, Terrance Malick, certainly lives up to his reputation as a masterful artist; painting bold and picturesque images, rich in metaphors and thought-provoking in context. What starts out as a genuine observation of a traditional family in the 1950s and early 60s, develops into a spiritual and philosophical understanding of life, and what it means to appreciate life in all of its marvels. These underlying themes and messages are not spelled out onto the screen, but if you’re familiar with Malick’s work,  than you can see how his artsy, image conception leaves the viewer plenty of room to make their own interpretation.

            My first impression of Tree of Life concerns the director’s awareness and appreciation for human growth and development; a spiritual connection with our environment. An innocent boy from a small Texas town grows up to be a man, he then finds his niche in a bustling, modern society, and without any dialogue or a detailed explanation,  the film subtlety expresses a man’s loss of appreciation for life’s organic surroundings. I always thought that Malick's work was primarily about how the industrial revolution tainted our natural landscape, and disturbed a once, peaceful society. Both Badlands (1973) and Days of Heaven (1978) are terrific examples of the filmmaker’s dichotomy between a rural and an industrialized society, and how each environment directly affects civilization.

             The characters in Malick’s films include lovers on the run in Badlands, the farming community in Days of Heaven, and the WW II combat soldiers in the Thin Red Line (1998). However,  “nature” is the most important character in all of his work. Malick and his film crew want the audience to really look and appreciate gods gift to man; rows of giant sunflowers erected high above the soil, waves crashing and rolling above the ocean floor, oak trees towering the sky, and the summer breeze mildly blowing against the weeds.

            Tree of Life spontaneously cuts between the past and the future, and for the most daring and awe-struck sequence, Earth’s beginning of time. The calendar-like images evoke a sense of childhood innocence. Malick looks through the camera as if he’s imagining a child seeing the ocean for the very first time. He embodies a childlike perception; always looking up at the trees, gazing at the other neighborhood families, twirling around the house, and gliding close to the ground.

            The main character is an angry adolescent boy, taking the responsibility of the oldest son. I loved how the film cuts to the boy’s face—there are jarring jump cuts of his pondering expressions. However, the camera isn’t just showing the boy’s face, it captures an adolescent’s implosive emotions, shifting from carefree to frustrated and lost. His father, played by Brad Pitt, plays an earnest and tough-as-nails man, but a great provider for his family. The boy and his father are distant in emotions, yet ironically, we sense the boy turning out to be just like his father. Some might view Brad Pitt’s character as harsh and insensitive. I like to think otherwise. I believe that Brad Pitt is portraying a realistic and common father figure; a fair depiction of the norm of parenting during that generation.

             The film unexpectedly cuts back and forth in time, from the boy to the grown man, played with a quiet sensibility by Sean Penn. The audience can sense his longing for the old suburban landscape he grew up in. He’s lost in a world of tall skyscrapers, nonstop traffic, and business suites. The way Malick captures a modern society is thoughtfully juxtaposed with the pleasant imagery of the 1950s era.

            Tree of Life isn’t a plot-driven drama. The wild juxtaposition of natural images, childhood memories, minimal dialogue, and spontaneous jumps in time seems like the overall narrative is disjointed, but at a closer look, you’ll find that Tree of Life is surprisingly well-structured. There are bold, imaginative sequences that seem like they are part of a completely different movie. Similar to Fellini’s 8 ½ (1963), Tree of Life is a cinematic exploration. I felt as if midway through filming, the director decided to take certain ideas concerning life, death, and the heavens above, and propel his keen, visual aesthetics into uncharted territories.

This is a down-to-earth film with sincere observations and nature-like cinematography, yet there are fantastical scenes that make great use of CGI (Computer Generated Imagery) and sound editing, which shows that Terrance Malick stands next to the great wizards of Hollywood, which include, firstly, Stanley Kubrick, (2001: A Sapce Odyssey) then Steven Spielberg (Close Encounter of the Third Kind), and more recent, Peter Jackson (Lord of the Rings).  Tree of Life contains spectacular and jaw-dropping visuals that compete with the skills of Hollywood's powerhouse players, yet it’s epic in a much different way; a wholly and groundbreaking piece of cinema. It’s the antidote to formulaic, Hollywood blockbusters.
**** (out of four stars)

"Forget it Jake...it's CHINATOWN"

        When I first saw Chinatown (1974) at age 12, I couldn’t grasp the “water” scandal in the story. Sometimes, I need a visualization to fully comprehend a scientific and economic scenario. I like that about Robert Towne’s breakdown of the birth of Los Angeles in 1930s LA, and how the irrigation controlled the future of the city. The film doesn’t spell out every scandal, but instead, leaves the audience more room to think, analyze, and compare the screenplay’s monumental themes of power and corruption. After each viewing, the inner-workings of the water scandal become more clear, and I usually discover a new detail in the frame, which I overlooked in previous viewings.
        With that said, Chinatown is one of most intelligent scripts ever written. The initial conflict between an alleged affair between a high-profile engineer of the city's water supply and a mistress escalates to a fraudulent scandal, but by the end, the most important revelation deals with the characters dynamics, not water.

        Now, as far as my first screening of Chinatown goes, I was blown away by the final scene. Everything comes together perfectly, and even though the story stops at the street, we know what happens to every main character, beyond what was written. Screenwriter Towne and director Polanski present these intriguing characters—everyone is hiding something, everyone has a secret, and everyone is alone. The events that follow in the final seconds of the film spills the central characters true colors; we finally see the corruption come to light. We hear about the corruption running rampant in the city as we follow Jack Nicholson’s investigation, but at the end, corruption, profound and stomach-churning corruption, is finally exposed on-screen.
        This is just as much Polanski’s film as it is Robert Towne’s script. In fact, I have read several books, which detail the conflict between the two artists. The finale contains a sudden death, which reflects Polanski’s own grieving incident; the shocking murder of his pregnant wife, Sharon Tate, in 1969.
        Chinatown is Jack Nicholson’s finest performance, next to Five Easy Pieces (1970). Robert Towne wrote the script with Nicholson in mind, and the sarcastic and biting dialogue couldn’t have fit a better actor. When Jake Gittes (Nicholson) starts his investigation, the camera sticks to his perspective. In one scene, Nicholson is spying on his latest lead, Hollice Mulwray, but when Hollice turns the corner, leaving Gittes sight, the camera stays with Nicholson, quietly building his intrigue. Another great shot is when Nicholson is spying on Mulwray, while blending in a rowboat pond, and as he adjust his camera, Polanski’s film camera moves back and zooms forward, underscoring Nicholson’s point-of-view. However, Polanski never wants the camera to cut to Nicholson’s actual eyes. Nicholson is always in the frame—we see him snoop around, discover details, ask questions, and solve a puzzling mystery, piece-by-piece.

Polanski and Nicholson duke it out on set

        Roman Polanski has an excellent photographic eye. He’s great at creating a distance between the characters and their external environment. Observe how far Nicholson is from the people he’s spying on, and as relentless as his character is, he’s seemingly cautious when he snoops around. The opening shot shows one of Gittes clients perusing sexual pictures of his wife and another man. The first scene is an extreme-close-up of these invasive photographs. It says that Gittes isn’t intrigued by the work he’s done--he knows what the pictures are of, even if they are seen by his client’s point-of-view. However, when Gittes makes his most important discovery, a small pair of broken glasses, the camera remains over his shoulder. It’s not necessarily what he discovers that’s really important, but actually witnessing Nicholson discover an important element in the case.
        Chinatown is classified as a modern-day noir. The film contains similar themes, moods, and characters as in a black-and-white noir from the 1940s, but visually and aurally, the film is Polanski’s original creation. Like many film noirs before Chinatown, the protagonist is alone—his work is his life, there are no kids, no family, no lover; just the urge to solve a mystery. Existentialism—feeling alone, surrounded by corruption, is evident in Chinatown.
        In addition, the 1930s décor and costumes, violence, and disturbing sexual content exude an all-around “noir” feel. The sunny and golden look of the atmosphere might reek of an optimistic setting, but the underlying content in Chinatown, makes Double Indemnity (1941) feel fairly tamed.
.        Chinatown contains one memorable scene after another. When Jack Nicholson slaps Faye Dunaway (Evelyn Mulwray) numerous times across the face, the abrupt violence against an unarmed woman seems bizarrely justified. Throughout the film, Jake Gittes has been deceived, scammed, setup, and framed by a myriad of characters. He’s tried manipulating and snooping, but the truth will spill-out in front of him, one way or another. He wants the truth, and if smacking around his love interest will get that, that’s just what Gittes will do.
        Chinatown is the greatest private-eye noir that I’ve ever seen. It’s a mystery, wrapped in a mystery, wrapped around an even bigger, character-driven mystery. Like an onion, layers of controversy are steadily revealed, until the audience realizes that the most profound revelation has little to do with an unsolved murder or the water supply, but more importantly, the inherent evil, which hides behind a seemingly, respectable society. Pay careful attention to the narrative and how the story is structured, and you’ll realize Robert Towne’s overview of his powerful script, “Chinatown isn’t about a place. It’s about a state of mind.”