Change Your Image
bevjohn
Reviews
Oscar and Lucinda (1997)
This film's mix of irony, humor and tragedy leads to frustration and impatience for the viewer.
I hate to sound like a Philistine, but although I have enjoyed many an indy film that was slow and deep and unusual, I found 'Oscar and Lucinda' such a mish-mash of events, characters and crazy actions that I eventually was left simply shaking my head and wondering what on earth could happen next, while not really caring any more.
I hated Ralph Fiennes as Oscar, wanting to jump into the film and cut his hair or give him a new hat and wardrobe. He plays a kind of holy fool, a sweet man overwhelmed by his own skinny limbs and awkward movements and tendency to have strange, non-epileptic fits. I appreciate the chances Fiennes takes here in playing such a character, but I'm afraid I prefer him as a romantic lead. Watching him in this role was as painful as it would be to watch, say, Brad Pitt play Lenny in "Of Mice and Men"--rather frustrating, and seemingly a waste of talent and good looks.
Lucinda (Cate Blanchette) is a more sympathetic character, a tomboy shortening her skirts for greater freedom in an era of female repression. Still, why on earth would a business woman like Lucinda back the idea of making and transporting a solid glass church for some outback town in Australia, especially after several of her advisers point out that the congregation would surely be burned by the sun through the panes? Apparently, love of Oscar has blinded her to all reality. Or else it is her desperation to gamble that drives her do so despite all reason in this case.
And the gambling! We know that respectable Christians at that time disapproved of gambling; and even today, gambling is perceived of as a dangerous addiction. Yet it still seems strange to see the social stigma Oscar and Lucinda face for their obsession. If these two characters kept losing, say, the rent money or food for their families, the social approbation might be more understandable. But they both win all the time. Besides, neither has a family, Lucinda is already rich, and Oscar gives his winnings to charity, so who is hurt by their betting? Only themselves, it would seem, and only because of Victorian religious mores, which appear to view gambling as some kind of horrid act like murder. In fact, Oscar gets away with murder, but he can't seem to escape being punished for his gambling habit.
This is part of the irony and humor of the film, and irony can be by its nature, very frustrating, especially when tragedy lurks so close at hand at all times. It reminded me of a Thomas Hardy novel, filled as it was with frustrating happenstance and bad choices.
The trip across Australia by the men taking the pieces of the glass church to its destination,seems to be so quick and apparently easy (with only one scene of a wagon mired temporarily by mud, for example, and no incidents of threats from the aboriginals) that we never really get the feeling that this is a very dangerous journey, especially comparing it to movies showing wagon trains crossing America around the same time, with the pioneers constantly in danger of attack by angry Indians. And yet we know that this must have been a rough journey; Gillian Amderson simply doesn't take the time to show us the difficulties.
Yes, the scenery is beautiful, but not amazingly so--or at least, not for anyone who has seen the Lord of the Rings trilogy, shot in New Zealand. To a Canadian, this looks more like British Columbia than Australia, pretty but tame. In other words, viewers are not going to be so thrilled by the scenery that they will forgive the film's strange pace and frustrating character development.
Only in the last few minutes do we get a satisfying sense of the film coming together. By then, it's a little too late.
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The New World (2005)
First contact with 'aliens'--whether they are native Americans or the English--can be a shock.
In this stunningly filmed movie, we see the naturals (as the British settlers call them) before we see the sailing ships-- like three large, strange birds settled on wooden nests-- sail into Chesapeake Bay. Even before they have seen the ships and been stunned by that sight, the natives are as silent as if they are part of a tribe of mutes. We feel fear on their part. Little do they know who and what fate is sailing into their peaceful kingdom---but we know. We already know the history, sort of.
As played by Colin Farrell, John Smith, the hero, looks so excessively hairy and dirty in contrast to the almost hairless Indians that he seems the one who is primitive, a throw-back to some Cro-Magnon, perhaps. All right, we think; he's just made a trip across the ocean; they must all be a mess. Yet we can't help noticing that Christopher Plummer looks reasonably neat and well-groomed as the President of the Virginia Company, right from the moment he steps off the ship.
Farrell doesn't clean up on shore, either. He shows no sign of the kind of energy or intelligence that would suggest him capable of such disobedience as mutiny. He has no swagger, no spirit. As well, he looks so morose, even after he is spared from hanging, that his heavy eyebrows threaten to consume the entire film.
In voice-overs he says that he will let this new world be a new beginning for him, but he never looks hopeful. And when he speaks, it is in an interior monologue that sounds taken from his later journals, and is so mumbled that we can hardly hear what he says. Surely this role has been terribly miscast.. Later, when Christian Bale appears later as one of the second batch of English settlers, looking clean and handsome, and smiling tenderly at Pocahantas, should we really be wondering what she could have possibly seen in Smith? Or why Bale wasn't the one cast as Smith?
As played by Native American Q'Orianka Killich, Pocahantas strikes us as quite wonderful, a still, gentle and yet playful child of nature. Her face, which we see a lot of in this slow, meditative film, can look like something carved by the Incas when she is pensive, yet can look completely North American when she smiles and laughs in play. Her gestures are graceful, and her dignity gives new meaning to the phrase 'noble savage'.
Smith's infatuation with her is understandable, but as played by Farrell, it's as if he has gone from morose to lovesick with no suggestion that he has other moods, or any other personality. We see a few minutes in which he teaches her a few words of English, but that lesson is initiated by her, and he hardly seems to have enough concentration to take part in it. Nor does he seem at all interested in learning her language. It is a shock, not soon after, then, to hear her speak perfect English, and see him supposedly understanding what her father has to say to him. When did they have time to learn verbs, much less full sentences, of each other's languages? All they've been doing is drifting around looking at each other.
When he's not with her, Farrell/Smith keeps the same lovesick expression, even upon returning to the primitive Jamestown, which seems all the more primitive after our seeing the simple but well settled Indian camp. He does little to help the starving men: doesn't suggest that they might fish in the river, or hunt in the forest full of game. Nothing has been planted, or hunted. We wonder: were the English really this unprepared to make a settlement? Why?
The film's dialog doesn't tell us any more than that the men sent along on this expedition weren't 'very good.' And meanwhile, Smith, who been described by the President of the Company as a natural leader, just looks away from the mess with an expression that suggests he has a bad case of gas.No doubt he's supposed to be disgusted by the contrast between the Indian's ingenuity in survival and his own compatriot's, but he just looks as if he's thinking of his new Indian friend. More dialog is needed here; the script has failed both the actors and us.
The film still succeeds as a still, meditative piece, reminiscent of both 'Elvira Madigan' and 'Dances With Wolves'. The score here is beautiful, with haunting use of the prelude to Wagner's 'Rhinegold' to suggest the rich beauty of this world into which the settlers are sailing.
All in all, the film is so slow and gentle that it casts its spell over us, a spell that lasts for several hours after the credits have rolled. And yet I'll bet many viewers will run home and Google both Pocahantas and John Smith to learn the truth about their relationship: was it chaste or not? And they may also want to try to determine why on earth Farrell was chosen for this part. He, and the slow pace of this film will, I think, make it one a film that does not thrive by word of mouth advertisement.
King Arthur (2004)
No magic, no romance, no pretty costumes, no legend, no satisfaction.
If you love the movie "Excalibur'", despite its lame special effects, because of the magical moments in it---like the scene where Excalibur rises from the lake, held by a woman's hand, or later, when it is thrown back into the lake at Arthur's death and a hand rises to catch it, hold it, then sink back into the lake in one swift, heart-wrenching gesture--then trust me:don't go to see the new "King Arthur" film. This film has none of 'Excalibur's' magic, so you'll be bitterly disappointed.
If you like the old 'Fifties film 'Knights of the Round Table' with Ava Gardner ,as Guinevere, showing what it used to mean to be a 'lady'-- gracious and sweet-voiced, restraining herself from any act of adultery even as she pines for a Lancelot who even marries another to avoid dishonoring his vows as a knight, you will be unhappy with Kiera Knightley as Guinevere. She has a dirty face throughout, even after a sponge bath, and while it's an interesting idea to make her a spunky Pict woman warrior (like Boudica, a Celtic warrior queen in the same era), there is no suggestion that she loves Lancelot. There is no pining, no sense of loving him while being loyal to Arthur, no stolen kisses, no refraining from kisses, no romance at all. For all the emotion she shows, she could just be checking out his armor when she looks at him.
If you enjoyed 'Camelot' for its music and for the many beautiful costumes that Vanessa Redgrave wore, you will be unhappy with the dark green-gray-black colors of "K.A.", the skimpy, filthy rags of Guinevere, the terribly unmusical sound track, and the poor sound quality, which makes it hard to even tell who's who among Arthur's fellow Roman knights, or know what they're saying with their lower class British accents.
And the legend itself has been demythologized into a series of skirmishes with Romans and Picts (called Woads here, although I always thought that was the paint they put on their faces), loud and clashing, without a touch of chivalry or magic, with the famous sword in the stone (for example) as something as practical as a headstone on a grave, not as a challenge to knights who want to be the next king, or as a sign that Arthur is the Chosen One. The entire premise that the people Arthur and his knights stem from were captured from somewhere like the steppes of Russia is never explained, despite a few words at the start of the film, and the name of this people doesn't ring any bells. It's also not clear, at least on one viewing of the film, why these people end up in Britain (then a Roman outpost), either. And why has the whole story been set at Hadrian's Wall, farther north than is usually considered Arthur's country, usually thought to be around Glastonbury in south-western England, or in Cornwall?( I don't know where it was filmed, but it looks chillier and damper than even parts of 'Excalibur', which was filmed in Ireland, but which at least has lots of lush green, plus blossoms that magically awaken (thanks to very bad special effects, but who cares?)on the Waste Land when Arthur and his knights ride out to confront his evil bastard son, Mordred.)
(By the way, according to archaeological evidence shown on the History Channel, the fort at Hadrian's Wall had Roman baths as well as decent quarters for those in charge. You'd never know this from this film, where Arthur and his knights start out dirty and don't even stop to wash or change before meals and meetings. This is the grunge version of the tales. I was longing to see them lounging in one of the Romans' best inventions, if they had to be living at a Roman outpost, but no. The director seemed determined to make them as grubby as possible--a grunge approach to the story. Worst of all, Merlin looks like he should be begging in some ugly urban center, there is no Morgan La Fay, and anything like Camelot is hard to imagine. In fact, there are none of the legendary figures and places. What's left? Nothing that gives much satisfaction, I'm afraid.
The film is unlovable and unlovely. With no magic, no romance, no pretty costumes and no legend, and a forgettable soundtrack, and with the chilly, plain Clive Owen as Arthur, 'King Arthur' has little to move the heart or thrill the spirit. In fact, Arthur's attempt to free the natives Britons and tell them that they are inherently free (a complete anachronism) seems more an echo of the Iraq War than anything else, but even that fails to stir one's blood.
Hable con ella (2002)
Almodovar's exploration of loneliness and intimacy
This is a film that many will not forget easily, but will leave the theater thinking about. It is also a film, I think, about loneliness and intimacy, and the way different people deal with those emotions and issues.
The film's plot is enhanced and even partially explained by the dance sequences and the silent film excerpt found in it, beginning with the first dance sequence in which two women in slips, their faces expressing pain, soulfully dance with eyes shut in what appears to be a cafeteria empty of all customers but one--a man who keeps rushing to move chairs out of their way to keep them from falling over them. This becomes a metaphor, I think, for the relationship of Benigno, the male nurse, and Alicia, a coma victim he cares for in a private clinic, since he is constantly helping her, making life go on for her. However, it also suggests Marco's relationship with Lydia, a bullfighter in a coma, perhaps even more so since he is pitifully inept in trying to help her.
As for the silent film, let me simply say that it may be both an inspiration to Benigno in the plot, and an explanation for his subsequent behavior to us.
Considering the passivity of the two coma victims, and the fact that rape occurs (off stage), this film is, remarkably, not misogynistic. Never did I feel that Almodovar was saying how much easier it was to deal with women when they were doll-like figures who don't speak, as compared to vital, unpredictable, normal women. Instead, odd as it was, it suggested a level of intimacy and care that conversation would somehow spoil. I felt sympathy for both men, and a desire to see the aptly named Benigno somehow realize his dream of uniting with Alicia. I also sympathized with Marco's inability to relate to Lydia.
The only complaint I have is that the song at the heart of the film, sung to an small audience of fans by someone who must be a well-loved Spanish folk singer, was not subtitled. Considering that it causes Marco to weep, it would have been wonderful to know what the song was about.