"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.”

SUPER is one crude piece of indie-filmmaking

The rebellious content behind Super is so down-‘n’-dirty, you’d think it was conceived while the writer/director was on the toilet. James Gunn’s second feature film attracts an A-list cast. Wouldn't you be slightly curious as to why a little, grotesque fantasy like Super would attract the agents of some of Hollywood’s beloved movie stars, such as Kevin Bacon, Liv Tyler, Ellen Page, and Rainn Wilson?

Filmmaker James Gunn has been labeled as an “auteur” (I forgot where I read that). Not quite, but there is a distinct flavor to both Slither and Super; they both are over-the-top in the gore department and still, laugh-out-loud hilarious.  For my money, Slither is a more clever, low-budget, cult experience, compared to Super, but all in all, both are naughty dark comedies, worthy of repeated viewings.

 Writer/director James Gunn creates an anti-super hero, who’s a bit off-putting, but Rainn Wilson is very likable, and his portrayal as Frank is very dry and funny. His intentions aren’t necessarily to fight crime, but to rescue his wife, played by Liv Tyler, from falling into a downward spiral in the hands of Kevin Bacon’s character; a flashy and slick heroin dealer.  Frank is a character who doesn’t know much about super heroes. He gets his ideas from a Christian channel, which airs a cheaply tailored and offensive, daytime super-hero sitcom, and his crimson costume, full of awkward straps and buttons, mimics the show’s grungy, home-made concoctions.

 Frank comes across a 20-something girl, who’s a well-informed comic book geek, played with a manic fervor by the extremely talented, Ellen Page (Juno and Inception). At this point of the film, I couldn’t hold-back my laughter. Ellen Page’s character is the largest walking contradiction I’ve seen at the movies in a long time. She comes off as so sweet, cool, and charming, but the reality of her character is absolutely insane. You can tell that Ellen Page and the rest of the cast are having a blast transforming their parts to cater to James Gunn’s vile imagination. However, despite a series of dark, gruesome, and funny sequences, all of the characters lack a humanistic dimension. The concept itself has more depth than the individual characters. I think Liv Tyler has the most realistic portrayal; she’s truly the only individual who changes after confronting the lowest possible scenario imaginable for a dope whore. The rest of the characters are more into their groovy dialogue and shocking behaviors, rather than tapping into a realistic, psychological dynamic. 

 I wouldn't be surprised if James Gunn was thinking of Taxi Driver (1976) when he wrote the hero. Similar to Scorsese’s beloved masterpiece, Super is sort of about celebrating bloodied violence, and taking a mentally disturb nut-ball and commending his murderous impulse. This was certainly true for Robert DeNiro’s captivating and surreal perspective of a genuine madman, but I think there’s very little psychological depth en route for a provocative discussion, especially concerning the crimson crusader in Super. Despite some of the film’s goofiness, which unfortunately softens the edge, Super is a balls-to-the-walls, take-no-punches, exercise in crudeness, and I was very curious as to which direction the film would take after the abrupt shifts of random gore and cheap orgasms.

           

*** (out of four stars)