Lincoln (2012)

Lincoln (2012), dir. Steven Spielberg

***1/2

Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln, though I have no doubt as to the high aspirations behind it, comes off as some pretty perfunctory filmmaking.  But that should come as no surprise, as Spielberg’s directorial talents have never really lent themselves to serious subject matter.  The hallmark films of Spielberg’s career—Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, E.T., Raiders of the Lost Ark—if there is any commonality between them, it is that they all possess a child-like sense of wonder, plus they are just plain fun to watch.  Whenever Spielberg, throughout his illustrious career felt compelled to diverge toward what he must have perceived as loftier filmmaking, the end result comes up flat.  He’s been able to effectively fool a lot of people otherwise by hiding behind sensitive material.  Be it the various aspects of WWII he’s covered, or slavery, all of those films have lacked the keen sense of wonder and adventure that he built his career upon.  When he foregoes the use of this innate talent, what we are often left with is characterless filmmaking.  It’s lamentable to add that even his more recent attempts at the style of films he used to excel at, such as Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull or Tintin have also been disappointments.  It seems as though all youthful exuberance has been sapped from the man whose ego is legendary in Hollywood.

      Lincoln is not in any way a disappointment.  But at the same time, it isn’t a milestone picture in any sense.  Set in 1865, toward the conclusion of the Civil War, the film chronicles the events that led to Abraham Lincoln pushing through what many consider the crown of his achievements, the Thirteenth Amendment, which effectively banned slavery in the United States.  The film presents the bowdlerized version of the Civil War taught in our public schools, in which the issue of slavery was the sole cause of the war.  Pushing political correctness aside, the film does offer a highly detailed view into how our country’s legislative process functions, with much consideration to the agendas of the two major political parties, and the necessary voting margins one must achieve to pass a piece of legislation through.  While the process itself is not all that complicated, the personal and political agendas implicit are what adds zest to the whole mechanism.  With so many people directly involved, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed at the sheer number of characters in this film, especially since none are given their proper due.  While the acting is terrific all around, we are really only given superficial glimpses of these people—Lincoln included. 

      Abraham Lincoln is a personage of such historical significance that the difficulty of having him portrayed in film is that he may come off as a caricature, rather than a living, breathing person.  Daniel Day-Lewis is a marvelous actor, but I feel he may have been miscast.  He certainly looks the part, and is more than capable of exhibiting the kind of passion one would expect from a man of Lincoln’s mettle, but during the picture I was always aware that what I was seeing was Daniel Day-Lewis’s impersonation of Lincoln when I would have liked to have seen a more convincing depiction.  The voice of Lincoln has always puzzled me.  There has always been a distinct, yet stereotypical voice attached to Abraham Lincoln.  Be it the animatronic Abraham Lincoln at Disneyland, or the Abraham Lincoln from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure the voice has remained a constant.  Given that no audio recordings of Lincoln exist, his voice must have been passed down aurally by people who had heard it and were capable of emulating it.  There is something about Daniel Day-Lewis’s version of the voice that is unsettling.  It may be that it is pitched too high, or perhaps Day-Lewis had some difficulty emulating an American accent (few British actors can do this convincingly), but it’s a bit off, and given the amount of dialogue he has it becomes irksome after a while.

     This is a really a picture about an event in history and not about the man, Abraham Lincoln.  There are a few poignant scenes in which Lincoln relays the personal importance of having the Thirteenth Amendment passed, but little insight is provided as to what led him to hold these convictions other than his own interpretation of the words “all men are created equal”.  The film however does present some very odd and fascinating insights into what the relationship between Abraham Lincoln and his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln (Sally Field) was, and the result is quite shocking at times.  At one point Abe tells her he should have had her admitted to a mad house.  Spats like these beg the question of what kind of a husband Lincoln actually was, especially since most people view him simply as “the man who ended slavery”, or “the guy on the five dollar bill.”

     Lincoln is well written and finely acted, but the direction is uninspired.  I felt, as I have felt many times in the past, that Spielberg is just running through the motions.  I’m almost certain he didn’t approach it that way, but the workman-like construction of this film left me feeling somewhat detached when I should have felt profound emotion for one of our nation’s greatest presidents. 

     

Django Unchained (2012)

Django Unchained (2012), dir. Quentin Tarantino

**1/2

Prior to seeing Django Unchained I happened to catch Quentin Tarantino’s appearance on Charlie Rose’s program promoting the picture.  I’ve seen all of Tarantino’s previous appearances on that show, all of which were quite enjoyable, but was quite taken aback at this latest interview.  It was one hour of shameless self-adoration.  Tarantino has always been confident in his abilities, but what really separated this interview from the ones he had given Rose in the past was the degree to which he seems to perceive the public cares about his philosophies on film, his work ethic as both writer and director, and his personal cinematic tastes.  Judging from his quasi-scripted elucidations, he probably considers his level of influence to be at the industry’s zenith.  I have no doubt that there is a large assemblage of followers that sincerely do hang on his every word, but judging further the manner in which he carried himself on the program, he felt that clique to be all encompassing.  Admittedly, I too am a great admirer of his, but I found him very immodest in that interview, and immodesty is rarely considered to be an admirable trait.  Charlie Rose was partially to blame for leading him along that analytical track, in which all minutiae surrounding the production of Django was thoroughly explored ad nauseum.  I began to worry that all of this eye roll-inducing self-indulgence may have rubbed off from the film itself, for I had high hopes for Django.  I decided at that time to suspend judgment and wait for the film to speak for itself.

         Quentin Tarantino, since abandoning the crime genre, in which his first three masterful films fell into (Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and Jackie Brown), has since engulfed himself a genre which may be entirely his own, that of ‘fantasy revenge’ films. The Kill Bill films were the first of these, followed by 2007’s Death Proof, and more the recent Inglourious Basterds.  Basterds and Django possess the further distinction of being somewhat historically based, and I mean that in the loosest possible terminology.  To watch both of these films, one is required to disregard everything one has learned about these eras in history and to simply accept them as vehicles for entertainment.  I found that a reasonable prerequisite, as long as they were indeed entertaining.  Inglourious Basterds, set during WWII, is a delightful piece of whimsy that grants a small group of Jewish mercenaries the opportunity to take revenge upon their Nazi oppressors.  For Django Unchained, Tarantino has chosen yet another persecuted group from history; this time African-American slaves in the years directly preceding the Civil War.  Why Quentin Tarantino, seeing that he is neither Jewish nor Black, felt compelled to play champion to these two oppressed peoples is beyond me.  Given that he is part Cherokee, it seems more fitting for him to have devised a fantasy revenge picture in which the native tribes of the Americas expel the European colonists.  Perhaps that could be an idea for his next project.

       Django Unchained opens with a literal bang.  Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz), a dentist turned bounty hunter, whose self confidence seems to match only Tarantino himself, frees (through the most theatrical means) a slave named Django who is his only lead in identifying a group of lawless brothers with a price on their heads.  After doing away with the brothers and collecting the bounty, Schultz teams up with Django and agrees, out of a sense of responsibility he says, to help Django track down his wife, Broomhilda [sic], whom he was separated when they were sold to new owners.  Waltz, who was the scene-stealing Nazi detective in Basterds, again plays a highly capable German polyglot—a role that Tarantino may end up typecasting for him.  Tarantino’s hubris seems to manifest itself within the character played by Waltz.  He’s highly articulate, with a scripted sense for delivery, and is master of every sticky situation he finds himself in.  Django on the other hand is soft-spoken and reserved (at least toward the beginning), but despite being a slave can ride a horse effortlessly and handle a firearm with Billy the Kid-like accuracy.  Together they make an unlikely team, but an interesting foil for the film’s surly villain: plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), captor of Broomhilda.

        Up until the arrival of Schultz and Django at ‘Candie Land’ (the name of Candie’s plantation) the film is quite enjoyable.  Not up to Tarantino’s usual high standard, but a lot of fun in many ways.  However, once the blood bath of fantasy revenge begins everything falls out of alignment as we are subjected to some of the most gratuitous massacres most likely ever filmed.  It was at this point I was reminded of a comment Tarantino made on Charlie Rose about the TV mini-series, Roots.  He expressed great disdain at the last episode where Chicken George (a slave) refuses the opportunity to whip one of the most hatefully racist characters on the series (played by Lloyd Bridges).  Making the claim that America’s thirst for blood went unquenched, he added that Django would not have that problem.  Well, he was right.  But to warrant such a thirst, one would have to conjure up figures far more personal than that of racial bigots from nearly two centuries ago.  A thirst like that would require the combined forces of sadistic school bullies, abusive stepparents, sexually-predatory clergymen, and conniving co-workers to justify the utter madness that is the last forty minutes of this picture. 

         Quentin Tarantino has been criticized for the violence in his films going all the way back to his first film, Reservoir Dogs.  Those criticisms were never duly justified as he himself rightly pointed out that the bulk of the violence happens off camera.  This, I felt was a much better way to deal with the violent aspects of his films.  Implications of violence leave much more to the imagination of the viewer, in turn allowing them to control the effectiveness of which.  By subjecting the viewer to explicit, exaggerated violence and gore, one can distance the viewer from the picture, unless he or she fetishes it.  Those with a healthy appetite for blood and guts will relish this film.  I personally do not shy away from violence when it is presented in a way contextually congruous to the story.  In Django however, the level of violence is entirely incongruous, and exaggerated to fulfill a fetishist’s appetite.

        Django Unchained is an entertaining picture all right, but by the final act the film begins to suffer from becoming too entertaining, if that at all makes sense.  There are many funny moments laden throughout.  Many people may make reference to the scene with the KKK members complaining about the poorly slit eyeholes in their masks.  True, it was funny, but the gag went on far too long and began to tug at udders where the milk had already run dry.  By far the funniest lines in the film come from Samuel L. Jackson as Stephen, head servant to Calvin Candie.  He’s deliciously foul-mouthed, and has enjoyed his long-lived status at Candie Land for so long that even he harbors racist tendencies toward his own people.  It’s Jackson’s best role in years, and he is the true scene-stealer in this film, not Waltz.

      One of the more surprising, yet disappointing aspects of the film is the lack of biting dialogue that has become a Tarantino staple.  Scenes in this film are often structured in a manner to place more emphasis on the dialogue, which is neither fresh nor memorable.  A particularly annoying convention Tarantino uses is to have tense confrontations between characters interrupted to showcase side-dialogue, often with a passive party.  It comes off as arrogant as disrupts the flow of the picture.  The film’s grand monologue, if it can be said to have one, would be Leonardo DiCaprio’s spiel on the phrenology of African slaves.  When compared to Tarantino’s past great monologues, such as Samuel L. Jackson’s one about the shepherd from Pulp Fiction, and David Carradine’s one about Superman from Kill Bill, Volume II, this monologue is a more than a few rungs below those.  And some of his characterizations are inconsistent.  Dr. Schultz in particular, who I refuse to believe was as vain as he was portrayed in the scene that triggered the blood bath at the end.  All prior depictions of his character suggested him to be too calculating and interested in self-preservation to be as reckless as he was in that particular scene.  As for the character of Django himself, I never found him endearing enough to generate any sympathy for, or to want to root for him in the end.  The same goes for Broomhilda.  Of all of the characters in the film, shockingly the hero and heroine were the most superficial and cardboard.  This of course greatly detracted from the film’s climax.    

    After viewing the film, the fears generated from the Charlie Rose interview were unfortunately realized. Django Unchained overall is a fiercely arrogant and self-indulgent picture.  I realize that any film based on a person’s inner fantasies would have to be self-indulgent at its core, but what exacerbates the level indulgence is the apparent need to share it with others with the confidence that that particular fantasy may be universal.  I think all of us, at one time or another, have fantasized about taking the most extreme and contrived revenge upon our tormentors, but personally I shudder at the thought of other people having access to those passing fancies of mine.

     Django Unchained is a small blemish on an otherwise flawless directing career.  Quentin Tarantino has proved himself in the past two decades to be one of the most visionary directors working.  I might add that I would have to rank Pulp Fiction as one of top ten best films ever produced.  I’ve always felt that with that film, which occurred so early on in his career, he set the bar too high for himself.  He may never be able to top it, but I sincerely hope that he regains his footing after Django.

The Master (2012)

The Master (2012), dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

***1/2

Somehow while watching Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film, The Master, I got to thinking about the composer Arnold Schoenberg.  It was Schoenberg’s Five Pieces for Orchestra, op. 16 (1909) specifically which came to mind.  It is a work that utilizes an orchestra of Mahlerian proportions with every instrument functioning as it would in a late Romantic symphony or tone poem, only that the notes seems all wrong, and there is a meandering quality to the music that leaves the listener stricken with a sense of bewilderment.  But what a trip it is.  However, by the end of the piece you are left with the unsettling sensation that what you just have heard has either gone over your head, or hadn’t at all and it simply is what it is.  The Master left me feeling a similar sensation.  For nearly two and a half hours I was deeply engrossed.  Here is a film so visually rich, so well paced, and so well performed, that when about halfway through I realized would go nowhere (much like PTA’s other films) I ceased to care about its obvious shortcomings.  I was in it simply for the ride.  Paul Thomas Anderson, like Arnold Schoenberg, has mastered the technical aspects of his craft.  Where the vagaries in Schoenberg’s work are pretty well accounted for—here was a man who felt burdened by the limits of tonal music and sought release through Expressionism—Paul Thomas Anderson’s lack of conveyance seems to be more the result of a personal defect of some kind, rooted in existential nihilism*.  Or, perhaps there is some message that simply does go over everyone’s head.  Either way, there’s still a lot of worth in his work.

      The Master is set in the early 1950s and centers on the relationship between a maladjusted WWII naval veteran, named Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) and the eccentric Lancaster Dodd, whom they call ‘The Master’ (Philip Seymour Hoffman).  Dodd is the leader of a fledgling cult known as “The Cause”.  Ostensibly inspired by L. Ron Hubbard and the church of Scientology, “The Cause” seems to have firmer roots in Buddhism, in which reincarnation is one of its fundamental beliefs, and the direct exploration of one’s self is the key to unlocking life’s secrets.  From our first glimpse of Freddie Quell it is somehow made apparent that he is a hopeless cause.  Perhaps it’s that dumb grin of his, but gradually as we are introduced to both his unhealthy sexual preoccupation and his addiction to his own brand of chemically infused alcoholic cocktails, it’s clear there’s little that can be done for him.

    One of the focal methods developed by Dodd is a series of intense questioning centered on past trauma called ‘processing’.  It is these scenes that are the most well written and meticulously acted in the film.  Through Freddie’s processing we learn of his incestuous relationship with his aunt, and of the subject of his own personal turmoil—the unrealized love with a young girl which war tore him away from.  Freddie is a truly troubled sort.  The ‘potions’ he’s addicted to probably kill off brain cells in troves, and he has unpredictable violent tendencies.  His devotion to ‘The Master’ and ‘The Cause’ appears to be a manifestation of ennui rather being spawned from a desire to get well.  In fact, Freddie provides little evidence that he believes there is anything wrong with himself in the first place.  Lancaster Dodd is keen to help him, but as the leader of the cult is equally as keen to help any prospective convert.  He does take a natural liking to Freddie, but by the end of the film comes to believe, just as his own family had deduced, that Freddie is truly a lost cause.

      I don’t if it was intentional, but in this film Anderson’s repeated aversion to any firm kind of resolution does take some effect here.  From one interpretation the film could serve as a parable to religion itself, as religion can be viewed as a grand entity offering wondrous payback, albeit with the answers never being provided to the living.  Freddie Quell is never given the answer to whatever it was he invested all of his time and effort towards, and we the viewer of the film are left without any clear message, aside from the possible interpretation I’ve just postulated.

    Despite its shortcomings, The Master remains to be a work of bravura filmmaking.  Shot in glorious 65mm film, the images are beautiful and crystal clear, and free of the pixilation and artificial glossiness that plagues digital film.  Like There Will Be Blood before it, Anderson has a talent for finding the right people to recreate period looks.  The sets, props, and costumes are perfect to a tee, and the actors are made up to truly look as though they come from another era.  Joaquin Phoenix is nearly unrecognizable (for a moment I thought he was Hank Azaria), but this is also a testament to his superb acting as he breathes life into the role of Freddie Quell.  In terms of consistency, there are few actors that can match Philip Seymour Hoffman (John Malkovich is one).  He is such a pleasure to watch, and absolutely fearless when it comes to assuming a character.  Also, the music by Jonny Greenwood of Radiohead is very befitting and adds a certain punch to the film. 

     Anderson, as he has repeatedly done in the past, fails to deliver on all of the elements necessary for a really cogent picture.  Given the scope of his films, a clearly conveyed message of some kind would be the icing on the cake.  But, if ‘things are what they are’ is the only kind of message we are ever to receive from him I suppose there is little we can do but accept it.  Thankfully the packaging is excellent. 

*See blog entry, Paul Thomas Anderson: One Shy Step From Greatness by Ethan van Winkle (October 12, 2012)           

 

Argo (2012)

Argo (2012), dir. Ben Affleck

***

Is Ben Affleck an auteur in the making, or a ready-made provocateur?  The directorial style he assumed for Argo is far too referential to ever achieve auteur status; the film’s distortion of history, however and subtle antagonistic nature may have already earned him the notoriety of the latter label.

      I can admit to having nearly been fooled into perceiving what kind of film Argo actually is.  For those not in the know, Argo is a historical drama chronicling the exfiltration of six American diplomats following the 1979 takeover of the US embassy in Tehran by Iranian revolutionaries.  “Argo” is the name of the dummy Hollywood sci-fi film project that was used as a front for the covert exfiltration of the six diplomats, who narrowly escaped the raid at the embassy and were then secretly harbored by the Canadian ambassador to Iran.  At first I was charmed by the film’s meticulous art direction.  I find that 1970s and ‘80s period films are some of the most difficult to make convincing.  Argo gets it just right, from the wardrobe selection to the props, down to the film’s grainy appearance (a film camera was used, thankfully, and not a ghastly digital one).  They even used a circa 1970s Warner Brothers logo preceding the opening credits—how’s that for authenticity?  One cannot help but appreciate the keen eye for detail put into the production of this film.  Once the initial enchantment wore off however, I began to ask myself certain questions.  One, why did they select this story to adapt to film?  As far as clandestine governmental operations go, this one isn’t wholly exciting, hence the conspicuous ‘Hollywood’ touches here and there to add excitement and suspense, when in the reality of the story there was none.  Two, why are the Iranians presented to us in such a bad light?  In Argo’s brief introduction in which Iran’s recent history is summarized, we are told of how Western forces deposed the nationally elected leader responsible for nationalizing Iran’s oil refineries, stripping them away from British and US holders, and in turn imposing upon the Iranian people their own hand-picked Shah, an opulent and garish, yet cruel leader.  Anyone with basic cognition should be able to understand the Iranians’ hostility, especially after the well-known atrocities that ensued the deposition.  In Argo there is no effort made to sympathize with the Iranians’ plight.  Rather, they are treated much in the same way as they are in the current media—a fanatical, barbarous mob of anti-Americans, the ‘enemy’ in another word.  Given the current tensions with Iran it seems very antagonistic to produce a film of this sort, especially with war drums beating in both Tel Aviv and Washington.  It was the answer to those questions I asked myself that made me realize that Argo, behind the lavish production and superb acting is in essence a propaganda film.

      I have no problem with propaganda films, after-the-fact, that is.  Hitchcock’s Lifeboat and Sergei Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky are both excellent examples of propaganda filmmaking that is also good filmmaking.  Argo too will fall into that category, when it becomes less incendiary (though I fear it wasn’t viewed as being incendiary enough upon its release).  And there are other incendiary features to this film in addition to the anti-Iran undertones.  I’ve already been subjected to the furor of my Canadian friends who have informed me of the flagrant mitigation of Canadian involvement in the whole “Argo” operation.  In reality, the sci-fi film caper was almost entirely a Canadian conception, and not a CIA one as shown in Argo.

      Politics aside, I can still assign Argo a ‘good’ rating.  From a technical standpoint it is very well made.  And it boasts some very fine acting besides (Alan Arkin in particular, though he seems to be getting typecast as a grouchy old man these days).  Is Argo good enough to have won best picture at the Academy Awards?  I don’t think so, and that worries me given the anti-Iran sentiments that are rife in Hollywood.  So with that I can say enjoy Argo for what it is, but do so with a conscientious mind.