Dirty Harry


Watch this movie and see Harry, a personification not of Good but of Justice, a figure routinely linked in the visuals to God not to justify Harry's acts but to place them in perspective, torture a suspect to discover crucial information: the whereabouts of a missing girl buried alive. Time is of the essence, and Harry does what is necessary to obtain the information. See the camera pull up into the heavens, and ask yourself whether Harry's act needs to be justified at all. What kind of corrupt immoral universe places the rights of a monster over the life of an innocent young girl? The recurring religous motifs become mocking, sadistic even. No one is watching but us in that long shot. In the absence of God, Harry's actions are increasingly alienated from the corrupt and profoundly human "justice" system. Harry himself is cast out, a relic of moral certainty. See him cast away his badge in an act of nihilistic despair of uncommon emotional power.

Watch again and realize Harry believed the girl was already dead.

The Passion of the Christ

The Jesus myth (and I don't mean to imply anything with regard to historical fact with that term, I never liked the idea that myths aren't true, as if that matters) is a remarkable depiction of one of the essential human conflicts: that between body and soul; our mortal, frail bodies and our knowledge of that mortality. To go to one's death willingly is a victory of the spirit over death.

The idea that Christ was fully man as well as fully god is surely in some ways a reflection of our need to face mortality, and our desperate desire to overcome it. Gibson's film is as intense a depiction of that conflict as I have ever seen, not due to any particular artistry on Gibson's part, but more as a testament to the unmatched empathetic power of cinema. His Christ is of this world as well as in it, and I think this reflects a pretty mature Catholic understanding of the scriptures on Gibson's part. All in all, the film seems to me a meditation on the body and blood of Christ, a filmic depiction of the eucharist.

Jesus was, for me, almost a non-presence in the iflm. As I noted above, it's more his physical presence than his personality, or even his love for mankind that sticks in the mind. The jewish actress that plays Mary, on the other hand, gives one of the greatest depictions of feminine and motherly love since, well...ever. I was strongly moved emotionally by the film, but for the most part only when Gibson focuses his camera with unique intensity, and with what seemed to me passionate adoration, on Mary's beautiful face full of motherly compassion. It's that image that all suffering looks to for comfort, and for the longing embrace of the pieta.

Anti-semitism? I don't know. Isn't the story inherently anti-semitic? I didn't feel that this movie went beyond that, but I also don't know what to look for. Considering that movie is similar in tone to medieval passion plays I think perhaps the anti-semitism was remarkably subdued!!

I feel many, many non-believers will be shocked by this movie. It is uncomfortable to confront that kind of intensity when you don't feel it yourself. I've always been fascinated by and respectful of that sort of thing. One thing I fear is that many people get off on the sadism, they will hear a mantra, "all for me, all for me" rather than, what I think is just as appropriate, "all caused by me, all caused by me." That paradox is also perhaps at the heart of the matter, but then I am starting to get a bit beyond just the movie.

Is it great art? No, I don't think so. Gibson lacks that special inspiration, and I feel that perhaps his intensity of devotion to his faith can find no other expression than this bludgeoning, punishing film. There was no moment of transcendence. (Maybe they should screen Bresson's A Man Escaped right after for a depiction of humanity transcending mortal bounds.) Nevertheless, it's a remarkable document.

Underworld

Rather obvious Freudian plot: daughter must kill father in order to embrace new lover. The film actually rounds this out with some interesting details. The vampire side of things, to which our heroine belongs, is portrayed as rather weak and ineffectual (with the notable exception of papa vampire) with shades of incestual corruption, "the bloodline must be kept pure!" Werewolves not really the good guys though, as the new couple is forced to create in themselves something new, a uniting of the bloodlines. All rather portentous, but reasonably enjoyable. Beckinsdale is gorgeous, and her leather catsuit (possibly a homage to the silent classic Les Vampires?) is probably the most memorable thing about the movie.

I noticed while looking for pictures for The Return of the King that the scene in the book where Eowyn slays the Witch King has inspired some rather good and iconic art. This picture in particular is interesting because it self-consciously mimics an old style of representation. I think the key contrast in to emphasize when depicting this scene is the brightness of Eowyn's hair versus the darkness of the Witch King. This picture does a wonderful job of that, with Ewoyn the subject of celestial light while the Witch King almost recedes into the darkness of the clouds.

The Believer

There is probably a tendency to dismiss the fascist and racist rantings of the film as complete madness. And of course they are, but I think what the film does so well is address the roots of that madness, the "nothingness without end" as the film puts it. As a true story of a jewish man compelled to become a nazi the movie does not try to explain the unexplainable, but instead it presents how the pain and confusion of a senseless world can drive people to extraordinary amounts of self-denial.

Down With Love

What a wonderful movie! After the middling reviews and box office (I can't even remember why I rented it), I was completely taken by surprise by this gorgeous, funny, and sublimely entertaining film. Too much to disentangle here (and part of me thinks teasing out the political and feminist point of view of the film is a waste of time--much of the meaning and pleasure derives from the simultaneously meeting and flouting of expectations, often at the same time, with regard to gender and genre. Get it?) I haven't really seen enough of the Doris Day--Rock Hudson films it is dealing with, but I am familiar with that general aesthetic. The foregrounding (and then some) of the sexual subtext of those films provides most of the humor, but it cuts both ways: when the two leads flirt over the phone a split screen effect puts them in various sexual positions, yet that joke reveals the deeper joke that the phone conversation, and implicity the conversational repartee so ever-present in older films, is a form of sparring not unlike sex itself, with concomitant pleasures. Enough of that. Simply put, this movie makes postmodernism fun again.

Finally, what's up with the absolutely brilliant art in the background all the time? Is it the real thing or set design? I want it! (And really finally, this experience has made me promise myself to never do a top ten again. This film would have easily made the top 3, if not higher.)

City of God

Odd that the best picture I could find was perhaps the only lighthearted moment of the entire film. Nevertheless, I disagree with the charge that the film is amoral or actively immoral, if only because the revenge that is set up at the beginning of the film never materializes. One of the more curious moments of the film shows the protagonist noticing and then abandoning a chance to avenge his brother. The point is obviously that he only escapes the slum through transcending slum values, and his photography (or witnessing--a parallel act to making a film about it) suggests that he is the one who pays attention, who sees the pointless cycle of violence and revenge for what it is. (But is there any convincing reason presented for his "goodness?") It's appropriate then that near the end he captures on film the true roots of the problem. Having Lil'Ze avoid the apocalyptic fate we desire for him is an effective way of making just that moral point. We aren't given the satisfaction. (Knockout Ned's story is in some ways the bizarro version of the protagonist's--once he goes for revenge, and getting our hopes up for a comeuppance, he falls into a near-equivalence with Lil'Ze. His corruption is already absolute the moment he decides on revenge.)

The style is the real point here though--but for all it's wizardry and high energy storytelling some of it felt a bit tired. Just some though. For the most part I though it was wonderful, and I wonder whether a more traditional style would make this already dark film too depressing. The final shot explores the real roots of gangster violence and nihilism better than any Scorcese film I can think of.

Morvern Callar

I find it a bit odd that this movie is so praised for it's soundtrack when almost every song (with the notable exception of the last scene) is cut off right before it gets going. Maybe this has something to do with the music as "his music"--that is, Morvern's boyfriend who is dead by suicide. As such it seems like a message from beyond the grave, more substantial than the rather pedestrian suicide note she discovers. Key early scene (as shown above) shows Morvern literally lying with the dead, and I suspect in some ways the film charts her journey from life to death, isolated and mundane experience to triumphant self-abandonment.

The slow, almost terminal, style of the film is often hypnotic (as intended) and almost as often plain boring (not intended). Morvern is absolutely unreadable (intended, I think). She has crossed over, and in particular the shot of her turning away from us and walking towards a graveyard seems to suggest that whatever knowledge she has is impossible to translate into words. Near the end, there is a long shot of Morvern in a phonebooth, and the effect is curiously like she is in an upright coffin. I kind of wished for some Grand Statement about death or mortality, but then what's there to say?

The Road Warrior

The problem with modern action movies is not a lack of character development, emotion, or seriousness; it's a lack of imagination. This becomes abundantly clear in The Road Warrior when you notice that the bad guys drive around with helpless dead and near dead victims strapped to the hoods of their cars. I'm not sure why, but does it matter? The sheer "motiveless malignance" brings a smile to my face, as does the determination of this film to stay as basic as possible. The fact that the boy is named "boy" and the dog is named "dog" gives a good idea of the content of the film, but, at just over 90 minutes, that threadbare content is seized with such zeal and imagination I can't help but add my voice to the masses in proclaiming it a masterpiece. The director George Miller obviously has some sort of fascination for the image of the open road speeding by, and luckily so do I. The relentless kineticism of the movie puts the bloated explosion-fests that it undoubtedly inspired to shame, and, most importantly, it contains perhaps the largest real on-screen explosion I have ever seen!

I could expound upon the little details of the film all day, but in particular I was pleasantly surprised to remember that here is the origin of that wonderful phrase "The Ayatollah of Rock-and-Rolla."