Ratatouille

I have no idea why the title is spelled this way, but…. just kidding. Bliss! A wonderful film–funny, engaging, smart, moving; the kind of kids’ movie you long to see (after so many hyperactive or tawdry maudlin blurs), where the intelligence shimmers behind every detail, where the film demands (or, better, assumes) a little bit of intelligence from its audience. But better yet: this is one of the best, most lovely pieces of cinema I’ve seen this year.

Near the opening the clan of rats scurry en masse away from a farmhouse and its shotgun-wielding, bespectacled granny. In ramshackle boats, rats spilling off the edges, each rat carefully defined to her or his own particular brand of bedraggled, they shiver, as raindrops pelt the dark-slate surface of the water all around them. There’s so much visual delight in this film–on top of the pleasures of narrative and score–that I think any of us would love it.

SiCKO

i have no idea why the title is spelled the way it is, but this is a damn fine movie. unlike bowling for columbine and fahrenheit 911, it’s nicely organized and focused, so you don’t have to spend precious mental energy figuring out how we got to Z from X and Y. the first part is devastating. the most devastating part is that you know everything about it. you have heard the stories, you know people who have gone through that, you know that, but for your nice university job if you are lucky enough to have one, you would be going through that too. you know all of this because it is your waking nightmare. you live under the constant threat that it might, that it will one day happen to you. Continue reading SiCKO

laurent cantet’s time out (2001)

a few words on time out, which i just saw. it covers some of the same ground as caché, in that it addresses the pervasive discomfort of the first world’s ruling class. just like in caché, the protagonist is a middle aged man haunted by secrets, which he works strenuously at keeping from his family and in particular from his wife. also like in caché, the wife is “innocent,” not part of the husband’s secret life, outside the circle of his tormenting ghosts. unlike the binoche character, she doesn’t express this outsider status with relentless and frustrated questioning, but, rather, with long silences and wrenching looks. the silences between these people who clearly have so much they should be talking about saturate the movie and are perhaps its most disturbing feature. at the end, when vincent runs from home, the wife’s voice on the cellphone feels for a moment like a relief: finally they’ll talk! but no. vincent is out of auditory range and, in any case, muriel is once again making soothing noises without addressing any of the issues that are torturing vincent and their marriage.
Continue reading laurent cantet’s time out (2001)

Sam Fuller

I hate to shift gears, particularly since the thread on Xala is terrific, but I watched Sam Fuller’s The Big Red One last night and I was mightily impressed. I had seen this film long ago, on network television I think. Maybe it was USA or something, because I don’t recall much being deleted. But I couldn’t resist revisiting the film since it’s been “reconstructed”–that is to say, some 45 minutes have been restored. My recollection of the theatrical version is too dim to make any comments about the differences between it and the “reconstructed” version (for anyone who is interested in that, watch the bonus DVD, which has “before and after” scene comparisons). So let me instead just sing praises. Continue reading Sam Fuller

Takashi Miike’s Imprint

Holy crap. So this was commissioned for Showtime’s Masters of Horror, about which I’ve had some complaints, and then it was too much for them–and it was never aired. Set sometime in late-19th-century Japan, on an island brothel, it structurally resembles a classic ghost story of the period: embedded narratives, as a man on a quest is told ever-worse versions of a story by a deformed prostitute. And many of the elements of the story seem classical, as well: long-lost loves, embattled young child, secret twins. But beyond this familiar structure and resonant plot details, the short film contains truly unsettling, discomforting, uncanny images–bodies, babies, brutality, a very grim fairy tale that seemed unlike most anything I’d ever seen before. The story would emerge in one way that bothered me, then it’d be retold and I’d be surprised and a bit horrified by its revision, and again, and again, until I was startled, often nauseated, utterly engrossed (in every sense of that word).

Great stuff. No one but me may actually enjoy this kind of stuff, but I do recommend it. Shot with Miike’s trademark combination of stomach-churning gore and sound to accompany, intermingled with some absolutely beautiful images (e.g., a poled boat laden with customers just off shore, the red lanterns on land dimly visible in a line just over the men’s heads). Miike is the Fellini of horror–this is a very bad dream, and very good horror.

Longford

A quick recommendation for an HBO film that some may have already seen: the titular character (played by the amazing Jim Broadbent) is a somewhat fuddled real-life Lord who took up lost causes, and gets involved with the case for forgiveness and perhaps parole for the female half of a notorious child-murdering duo. Myra Hindley (the equally amazing Samantha Morton) may be truly seeking redemption, may be manipulating the old man — and the film grabs us with that tension. But what resonates even more extensively is the grip of the moral question behind the ‘truth’ of her redemption: does everyone deserve redemption, regardless of their motives? Continue reading Longford

Joe Dante

I’m a fan. I’m not sure any of Dante’s movies completely, totally crystallize — they’re almost all burdened with strange mismatches of tone and the constraints of either too small a budget or too much studio interference . . . and yet I think his films are glorious, the kinds of things that managed to tiptoe along the line between the sincerely low-budget exploitational and the smartly self-referentially genre-invigorating. The Howling veers from its first twenty minutes’ feel of tawdry sex-drenched horror, turning a serial killer flick into a werewolf movie, but then it heads into the woods and becomes homage, parody, recreation of classic horror films in a cheesy 1970s world, complete with John Carradine, Slim Pickens, a terrifying transformation scene, and stray jokes about Thomas Wolfe. (John Sayles, who wrote this script and Dante’s prior estimable Jaws rip-off Piranha, plays a morgue attendant.) Continue reading Joe Dante

Hank’s!

“Zing Boom Ta-ra-rel. Join in a glass of good cheer.” Welcome to Hank’s Bar at the Hotel Stillwell. Hank first tapped the kegs in 1954. Since then, his bar has become a bed rock haven for downtown’s barfly jambalaya. Henry “Hank” Holzer (R.I.P 1998), born 1908 in Greenwich Village, NYC, opened Hank’s after retiring from a lauded career as a professional prizefighter. Apparently, Hank gathered inspiration for his bar from the classic Noir ficiton of Damon Runyon and Raymond Chandler. He came out West looking for adventure, and, by all accounts, was a stand up guy who took to memorizing his patrons’ names, faces, and favorite drinks. Hank sold the bar in 1970 in order to look after his ailing wife, but returned in 1984 to run the bar until his death in 1998 at the age of 88. He’s said to have credited his longevity to drinking Screwdrivers and not smoking tobacco. Go figure. Hank’s Bar delivers on all fronts: nostalgia, seediness, odd customers, strong drinks, charming bartenders, wall to wall eye candy, live fish, popcorn, and a healthy prescription of low light.

Full story and photos here.

Hank's!