Movie Review #59

The Aviator (2004)
Directed by Martin Scorsese
Written by John Logan

Rating: 7.75/10.00 or *** 1/2

Ambition is always a "baggage" personality trait, meaning that someone's drive is usually accompanied by something hidden, something that inhibits personal progress. That something could be an impossible goal, unsupportive friends and family, or personal problems. In the case of Howard Hughes, one could make an argument for any three of the reasons, but no one can dispute the most important of these was his personal troubles. Howard Hughes had a twinkle in his eye and a cloud over his head. His zealousness to succeed was his medication, but it would not be enough. Howard Hughes was doomed to solidarity, a life spent in one room repeating words over and over again, afraid to touch anything because of the suffering it might bring.

Martin Scorsese's The Aviator is a series of Howard Hughes's vignettes, from his formidably rich beginnings to his somber end with society. Scorsese presents a biography the way it should be. Unbiased and unrestrained. This is Scorsese's best effort since the vastly underrated Bringing out the Dead. But he hasn't quite come back to the greatness he once possessed.

The film begins with an energy few films ever reach. We see sweeping scenes of Hughes's efforts to make his late 1920s film Hell's Angels, an expensive but profitable effort. When he asks L. B. Mayer (Stanley DeSantis) for two cameras to film one of his most important scenes, Mayer laughs him off saying that 24 is certainly enough. Not for Hughes. Hughes was never satisfied, and everyone silently laughed at him for it. But Hughes seemed to be right about most things; he continued to acquire money and launch even more dangerous and seemingly impossible projects. From motion pictures to aviation, Hughes was at the forefront of discovery, and Scorsese presents this part of his life with amazing captivation. The film almost explodes with energy; the time hardly seems to go by and yet an hour has quickly passed.

This first hour is blessed with Cate Blanchett's pitch perfect portrayal of Katharine Hepburn. Blanchett elegantly and efficiently portrays the actress with a restrained grace. Her nuances are Hepburn's; her voice is nearly equivalent. Blanchett plays Hepburn with energy, compassion, and appropriate complexity. Although Hepburn eventually leaves Hughes, she never loses the fondness she has for him. Hughes returns the favor. These scenes are touching, graceful, magnificent. Blanchett's performance deservedly won her an Academy Award; she gives the film such an unbelievable amount of weight. When Blanchett's screen time all but ends, it creates a huge void in the film that never quite gets filled.

The film slowly becomes sinister in its second and third acts. The shadows are already present in the first hour, but they are subtle and for the most part insignificant. But the pain of Hughes's obsessive compulsive disorder is only beginning. In a pivotal scene, Hughes enters a bathroom to wash up. But he can't seem to quite do it. A guy asks Hughes to give him a towel. Hughes refuses. The guy walks around him, quietly mumbling his anger. Meanwhile, Hughes scrubs and scrubs. The guy leaves. Hughes starts to bleed from the incessant scrubbing. He stops and walks to the door, but he can't touch the handle. He can't get out of the bathroom until someone opens the door. At long last, someone does, and he darts out without touching anything. This is a brilliant scene, a clear foreshadow of his later solidarity. Hughes has all the power in the world except he cannot open a door.

The film suffers from the loss of Blanchett. Leonardo DiCaprio gives a good effort as Hughes; indeed, his performance is more assured than his previous Scorsese effort (Gangs of New York). But, he is nowhere close to perfect. Several of his scenes seem a bit overacted while others seem remarkably timid. His uneven performance becomes especially clear when sharing scenes with Kate Beckinsale (as Ava Gardner) and Kelli Garner (Faith Domergue). In fairness, this is due somewhat to the writing/editing, as the Gardner and Domergue sequences are vastly incomplete. These scenes should have been expanded or removed entirely. In fairness, Beckinsale and especially Garner give respectable efforts given their tragically short screen time.

Meanwhile, I think there is a little too much emphasis on the Spruce Goose scandal. Alan Alda gives a half-hearted performance as the greedy senator Ralph Owen Brewster, in cahoots with Pan-Am executive Juan Trippe (Alec Baldwin). Although the senate hearing scenes were generally effective, they seemed at times too long and too melodramatic. Alda's performance also took a lot away from these scenes, almost to the point of making Brewster a caricature of sorts. On the other end of the spectrum, Baldwin gives a credible performance as Trippe.

Other strong support comes from the underrated John C. Reilly as Hughes's social representative, the Ed McMahon of his life so to speak, Noah Dietrich. Whenever Hughes had an impossible financial demand, Dietrich somehow pulled through. Other cameos from Jude Law, Willem Dafoe, and Edward Herrmann are especially memorable.

There are tremendous sequences in The Aviator. There is a brilliant sequence involving a near plane crash and an even better one involving an actual plane crash. Several of the Hollywood scenes feel almost as if you are there right with them. Scorsese never had trouble portraying an era (Refer to The Age of Innocence or Raging Bull, e.g.), and he again masterfully recreates another one here. There is a delightful scene with Hepburn and Hughes in a plane ride above Los Angeles. Another great scene involves a meeting with MPAA honchos, when a meteorology professor instructs the men about the constructs of actresses' bosoms.

The film is haunted by its own construct in a way. It has such an energetic first hour that the second and third hours seem like a let-down at times. Indeed, this is a necessary progression, but it does hamper the film's effectiveness at times. Some of the storylines (e.g., the female relationships after Hepburn's) seemed to be cut too thin and at times were distracting. Although DiCaprio does fairly well in the film, I grew a little tired of his performance by the end. Overall, however, The Aviator is an impressive effort, showing me that Scorsese hasn't completely lost his touch.

By the end of the film, Hughes is shown as a desperate recluse, afraid to enter society. There is an extended sequence showing Hughes wallowing in a room, naked, watching movie after movie, for days and days. The scene is amazingly effective, unbelievably tragic. One can scarcely forget the first hour of the film, with Hughes so full of life. It seemed that nothing and no one could stop him. And really no one could. No one but himself.

Ask the Critic

I've received 81 e-mails in the past two weeks. More than I expected. I won't answer nearly all of your questions, though I will try to answer all of them via e-mail. My intent this week is to answer some of the more common questions. Let's begin!

What do you find to be the primary reasons for the slump in this summer's box office take-in?
--Two things: poor quality films and a generally unpleasant movie-going experience. Actually, this summer has seen a relative lack of sequels, which is nice. Two relatively decent films have come out (Revenge of the Sith and Batman Begins), which is about on par with most summers. But honestly, I think the summer blockbuster has reached its peak. People are starting to tire of the same-old, same-old. Why spend 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 bucks at a theater to see something you've seen hundreds of times before? Why go to see cell phone lights, hazy projector screens, and splotches popping up time and time again? Why go to hear the muted speakers or "Fur Elise" via cell phone?

Along with that, I think the power of the DVD market is hurting the theater market. Personally, I prefer to watch a DVD with a few friends of mine than to go to the theater. The movie experience is more personal and just as technically rich and entertaining to me. And renting DVDs is cheaper for a more pleasant experience. Movie theaters had better start caving to some of the demands of today's movie-going audience, such as strict enforcement of silent cell phones and elimination of commercials before the film.

I saw War of the Worlds this week. The previews lasted 21 minutes and 30 seconds. The movie was to start at 8 pm and did not start until 8:28 pm (Yes, the previews started late). This is absolutely intolerable. I did, however, go to a theater that refuses to show commercials. Instead, they show extended interviews and previews of up-and-coming film projects and TV shows, and every time I go to the theater something different is shown. At least that's useful advertising. But it does not negate the fact that it took half an hour to get the movie started.

A night with TCM or a DVD is infinitely preferable right now. And that's concerning.

Can you explain your rating system? For example, why do you have two sets of ratings? What makes a three-star movie versus a three-and-a-half star movie?
--The star system is simple:

**** -- Incredible film. An absolute must-see. Masterpiece.
*** 1/2 -- Great movie. A must-see for fans of the particular genre/director/actors. Some flaws that prevent the film from mastery, but usually small and not distracting from the overall enjoyment of the film.
*** -- Recommended. A good movie, but some flaws distract from the overall purpose/intent/enjoyment of the film.
** 1/2 -- Some good moments, but the bad outweighs the good. Not recommended. Could also be a movie that is maddening, something that angers me due to its plot construction, acting, direction, etc. The film makes me feel something, but not necessarily in a good way.
** -- A film riddled with flaws or one that fails its purpose in nearly all of its respects. Has some but few good moments -- a mediocre product.
* 1/2 -- This is best explained by example. A comedy that evokes one laugh; an action picture that evokes one adrenaline rush.
* -- A film that completely fails in its purpose. A throw-away. Deserves an inundation of squashed tomatoes.
0 or 1/2 star -- A complete disaster. Something that pains me to watch or that evokes no feeling whatsoever out of me. Feeling nothing from watching a film is the worst possible reaction.

The 0.25 rating system gives a clearer definition of where I think a film stands. Should be used to compare with other films of its genre and (to a lesser extent) overall.

Your reviews of late have become a little more negative than your original bunch. Do moods sway your reviews?
--This was the most common question in the past two weeks. 16 of you e-mailed me this. Do moods sway my reviews? Absolutely. But, since most of you know me personally, you'll be sure to know that I'm not a very moody person, so moods sway my reviews very rarely. More often a swing of negative reviews just happens to mean I watch a series of lesser quality films or I watched films I otherwise would not have watched. More likely the former versus the latter. You can be assured, however, that several of my upcoming reviews will be positive. I only have one movie in the next eight that will be below three stars.

Do you read other critics' reviews? If so, who is similar/different in movie taste?
--Another common question. I read lots of other critics' reviews; I always read Roger Ebert and Owen Glieberman. I typically (but definitely not always) agree with Ebert and disagree with Glieberman. To a lesser extent, I typically read the New York Times and the Washington Post. I typically stay away from Los Angeles. I catch an occasional Berardinelli review, but his reviews are becoming too cynical for my taste (I know, hard to believe).

More often, I read reviews by film and not by critic. Rotten Tomatoes is a good site for that.

What are your plans for the guest critic section? Can I send in a review?
--It will be run on alternate Wednesdays starting next week. Anyone can send in a review. I prefer your reviews to be similar in length to mine; I likely will not put up a one-paragraph review. I have four people who've submitted reviews so far; often, I will co-write their reviews. The film Platoon is one such picture, which will be written by three of my movie club friends (and myself).

I will read over your review, but I likely will not change it in any way (grammatical errors and all). Your review is your review. However, I have the right to choose whether I will submit it or not. E-mail me your reviews; I'll be glad to read them!

Are there plans to personalize your website?
--Yes. The blog is nice, but the website will be too big before long for the blog to be useful. Probably won't get to this until next year some time, so live with it for now.

Your interest in classic movies is obvious. Why such a look at them recently?
--TCM, my friends. Turner Classic Movies. Widescreen, no commercials. The best channel on television. My movie club watches 2 or 3 movies on TCM per week.

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In two weeks, I hope to answer some questions about specific reviews I've given. Thanks for submitting your questions. Keep on e-mailing!

Movie Review #58

The Unsaid (2001)
Directed by Tom McLoughlin
Screenplay by Miguel Tejada-Flores and Scott Williams
Story by Christopher Murphey

Rating: 5.75/10.00 or ** 1/2

The Unsaid is a little known film about a father, a son, and someone who reminds the father of his son. The father is Michael Hunter (Andy Garcia), the son is Kyle (Trevor Blumas), and the quasi-son is Thomas Caffey (Vincent Kartheiser). Michael is a psychiatrist who cannot deal with his own sufferings, Kyle will not talk about his, and Vincent does not appear to have any. The title seems fitting enough. Secrets are buried underneath silence, and they appear only with drastic action. It's the classic "boiling point" story. Each character does not speak about their troubles; rather, they explode with vicious ferocity. Depending on the individual, they either harm themselves or harm other people. The premise is interesting (if not a little overdone), but the final product is not.

This review will be inundated with spoilers, so you are forewarned. The film begins with Michael's family living a seemingly normal life. Kyle is peculiarly quiet and sad. Kyle's sister Shelly (Linda Cardellini) has a big high school performance upcoming and is nervous. Their mother Penny (Chelsea Field) is, well, their mother. And Michael is somewhat stern but means well. Michael tries to get Kyle to open up, but he remains in melancholy silence. Kyle does not want to go to his sister's program that night. He wants to stay home, stay away from everyone.

Shelly stops by his room and tries to talk him into going. It would mean a lot to her, but Kyle refuses. He does, however, give her a gentle nudge and a wish for good luck. So the family leaves sans Kyle, and Shelly is a hit. Her singing solo is a real crowd-pleaser; meanwhile, we see Kyle by himself at home. With rain pounding on the pavement, Kyle steps outside and walks toward his garage. He proceeds to gas himself to death in one of the family's vehicles. The rest of the family comes home, too late to save him.

A few years pass. Michael is now fully bearded (clean-shaven before); he and Penny have separated. Shelly and Michael are also in strained relations. Michael has given up counseling patients; he instead writes book and gives an occasional guest lecture. It is at a guest lecture where we first see Barbara Wagner (Teri Polo). Barbara presents a case to Michael, about a boy who is about to be freed into the world after a childhood living under the watchful eyes of doctors and psychiatrists. His name is Tommy; while younger, he came home one night to see that his mother was savagely murdered. His father was the attacker. Barbara wants to make sure Tommy is safe for his upcoming release, from society and from himself.

Michael is hesitant; he has clearly not recovered since his son's suicide. But he agrees to meet with the boy. There are indeed similarities between Tommy and Kyle, and Michael is obviously drawn to Tommy because of it. He meets with him again and again, in a way redeeming himself for the loss of his son. His beard comes off, almost like a re-awakening.

It is clear Tommy is withholding information about his mother; he does not want to talk about the issue. With time, we see the true agony he is suffering through his vicious acts toward other people. He kills a girl for coming onto him; other such violent acts are prevalent in similar situations. However, he does take a liking to, yes, you guessed it. Shelly Hunter. Tommy is aware of Shelly's relation to Michael, but Michael is not aware the two of them are together. Tommy and Shelly one night go back to the Hunters' old house, and Shelly tells Tommy the story of Kyle's death. Tommy uses this as defense against Michael in later sessions.

But Michael keeps going, driven by his desire to come to terms with his son's death. Michael goes to the penitentiary where Tommy's father is imprisoned. He is matter-of-fact, emotionless, but somewhat regretful. He tells Michael the story of the murder of his wife, due to the rage he possessed after witnessing her infidelity. The story seems reasonable enough, but it is clear that he is also hiding something. Michael returns a second time. And Michael does the talking this time; he tells Mr. Caffey (played by Sam Bottoms) the story behind Kyle's death--the real reason Kyle killed himself. Mr. Caffey then shares a revelation of his own, and Michael becomes immediately alarmed.

Meanwhile, the investigation around the death of the girl Tommy killed comes too close to Tommy, and he splits. After a brutal scene between Tommy and Barbara, Tommy goes to Shelly's house to pick her up. Shelly wants to be with him, and they go. Michael is close behind, and he finally catches up with him. Thus, the final scene where Tommy threatens Shelly's life to keep Michael away...

This is a lot of explanation and plot description, but it is necessary to make the points I am about to present. Why can I not recommend this film? What's wrong with the basic construct? Several things...

The first is that the plot in and of itself is treading old territory. There is nothing new, the twists and turns don't even provide an ounce of adrenaline rush (There is no doubting the "thriller" intent of the film, but it fails miserably). Could you not see where I was going in my plot description before you even read it all? I don't see how you couldn't.

The second is the film's inevitable and manipulative ending. Michael has to save Tommy, and he appears to do so. He talks him out of killing Shelly; Tommy gives up the gun. But then Tommy hears a train, and he darts off in an attempt to run into it. Tommy then stops seconds before the train runs into him. Michael "in the nick of time" pulls him off the tracks. Michael couldn't just talk him out of shooting people--not to mention his only other child...no, he had to save his life too.

The third is the true reason for Tommy's violent behavior (which I won't iterate, although if you read closely my review, you should have no problem guessing what the reason is). It was presented as if it would be surprising to the viewer when it most clearly is not due to the not-so-subtle hints we were given throughout the film's first 90 minutes. Thus, the ending seems melodramatically anticlimactic. Should we feel bad for Tommy's horrid youth? Certainly. Should we be surprised by this "revelation"? Certainly not.

The fourth is the film's final scene, which is undoubtedly predictable beyond dispute and maddening as can be. Michael has saved Tommy, and they bond in a way that Michael and Kyle bonded years before. See, I think we're supposed to be glad for them, happy that Tommy is alive and well. But I think we also forget that he murdered an innocent girl. It's as if the girl's murder is not important. Sure, Tommy is in prison, but he's found his personal freedom. But at what cost to society? Tommy had to endure a great deal as a kid, but he's alive. The girl is not. Why shouldn't we mourn her death?

Well, that answer is simple. She's a prop, an instrument of plot manipulation, an object to provoke the audience--to intentionally produce a particular audience reaction. We shouldn't feel bad for her because she has little screen time. We should feel bad for Tommy because we know him--he has a lot of screen time. It is this blatant manipulation that I find disappointing, if not somewhat alarming.

Movie Review #57

Batman Begins (2005)
Directed by Christopher Nolan
Screenplay by Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer
Story by David S. Goyer
Based on the characters created by Bob Kane

Rating: 6.75/10.00 or ***

Batman Begins is probably the most critically acclaimed blockbuster of the summer. Not even Spielberg's film has captivated the world of movie critics more than the Caped Crusader and his dark and sinister Gotham City. There is no doubting why the film is so highly acclaimed. Director Christopher Nolan (Following; Memento; Insomnia) adds elements to Batman Begins that few other directors of superhero films have included: character development, impressive actors, intriguing villains, and interesting plot twists. But there are two things that keep this film from greatness, and both of them are glaring problems. The first is Katie Holmes, and the second is the film's lack of energy.

Christian Bale plays Bruce Wayne and his superhero alter-ego, "the Bat-Man", as he is called by one of the film's more sinister villains (Dr. Crane, played by Cillian Murphy). Bale indeed gives the comic book superhero a fitting representation. He's quiet, somewhat restrained, in silent agony. Bale gives Bruce Wayne a complexity unequaled by any superhero action film (Tobey Maguire should be taking notes). I especially enjoyed his early scenes, as the mystery behind the character is at the core of this part of the film. Bale makes Wayne appear tormented, with good and evil both boiling just under the surface.

As a child of a wealthy family and enterprise, Wayne is born into the life of high society and endless corruption. And the corruption is taking its toll. Gotham City is becoming apathetic toward crime; indeed, criminals thrive in the dark and mysterious city. One day, Bruce's parents are mugged in a cul-de-sac, and he watches the heartless murder of both of them. Bruce never recovered; he grows up combing the streets, fighting with no-goods in the trash cans of the world. Wayne has a heart with no purpose, a mission with no goal.

Enter the mysterious Ducard (Liam Neeson), a cold and powerful man who trains Bruce to fight back against the world. In his review, James Berardinelli compared several of Ducard's lines to Sith lords in the Star Wars saga. There is no denying the similarity. The line, "Your anger gives you great power," is a blatant reference. Nevertheless, the scenes are intriguing and successfully presented. Wayne's transformation, though a bit fast for my taste, seems realistic.

Ducard is a member of the League of Shadows, a mysterious group whose mission seems to be to bring back stability to the world, and his goal is for Wayne to join. But one of the instructions he is given by the leaders of the organization does not suit him well; he instead leaves the League of Shadows in what turns out to be the best action sequence of the film. The scene is well structured, somewhat startling, and wonderfully choreographed. Film editor Lee Smith should be commended here.

Wayne returns to Gotham City with a mission (with a goal) on his mind. He wants to revive Gotham City to greatness, to expel the criminals that have beseiged the metropolis. Nolan appropriately gives Gotham City a rugged, dark look...almost noir-like in presentation and certainly sinister in tone. The city looks and feels as bad as it is.

We are then introduced to the supporting cast, including trusted servant Alfred (Michael Caine), Gotham City's nicest cop Jim Gordon (Gary Oldham), a tough district attorney and longtime friend Rachel (Katie Holmes), and a behind-the-scenes gadget guru scientist Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman). We are also introduced to the bad boys of the film, including the Scarecrow psychiatrist Dr. Crane (Cillian Murphy) and the city's leading gangster with strong ties to the powers-that-were Carmine Falcone (Tom Wilkinson).

The supporting cast is (for the most part) phenomenal. Leading the pack are the always-impressive Caine and the supremely vicious Murphy. Freeman and Neeson are solid, and Oldham is convincing. Wilkinson seems uncomfortable in the role at times, but his performance is not distracting. It is the emotionless, static Katie Holmes that drains the talent from this film. The love interest of Bruce Wayne (more or less), Dawes is the "what-you-see-is-what-you-get" tough female of the movie. Except Holmes gives the character no complexity, no feeling. Part of this has to be blamed on the writing, which was excessively weak in this arena. However, she is badly outacted by Bale and other supporting cast. Sad to say, it was hard to be against Dr. Crane when he nearly kills the strong, independent DA.

The rest of the plot I will not describe since the film is relatively new. Besides, the plot is actually standard fare from here. Some of the details are interesting, but I am not about to spoil those scenes. What I will say, though, is that the film becomes uninterestingly predictable by about an hour into it. The surprising twists and turns have ceased by the time the Batman costume is worn; the film, sadly, gets down to business. The journey was much more interesting than the consummation.

What haunts the film's final hour is an undeniable lack of energy. It's almost as if the film is aware of itself, as if the film is disappointed it has reached this point. Batman Begins had such a great first hour that the final hour feels more like a sigh than a gasp. Superhero films have treaded this territory countless times; I actually wanted more backstory than costume action. Indeed, my wish was for the film to end as Bruce Wayne put on the suit for the first time. Now that would have been a superhero film for the ages. The stunts are far less interesting than the person performing them.

Compared to other superhero films, this one is generally superior. But I can't help but feel a little disappointed. In fact, part of me wants to go rent the motion picture Following and see where Nolan's talents really reside. Yes, that sounds like a good idea...

Movie Review #56

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)
Written and Directed by Steven Spielberg

Rating: 8.25/10.00 or *** 1/2

In a world of Plan Nine from Outer Space, The Day the Earth Stood Still, and War of the Worlds (both old and new), a film like Close Encounters of the Third Kind seems impossible. What the film It Came from Outer Space hints at Close Encounters daringly satisfies us with. A government interested in our well being, concerned about contacting outer space beings. Extraterrestrials interested in greeting us and not in exterminating us. This is the true dream of life elsewhere in the universe. Close Encounters of the Third Kind is the cinematic realization of that dream, and what a realization it is.

In 1977, science fiction took America by storm. Fresh off the amazing success of a movie telling a tale in a galaxy far, far away, Close Encounters was the next logical step. If science fiction can be successful in a different galaxy, it can be successful here too.

Spielberg used this success to his fullest advantage. With an excellent cast and a terrific premise, he made one of the most wondrous films to hit the screens. The film stars Richard Dreyfuss as Roy, an electrician with a childlike heart. In many ways, he is as childlike as his own kids. He makes a fervent effort to see the film Pinocchio with his family; he likes to play games with them. His wife Ronnie (Teri Garr) is much more serious, concerned with the family's welfare and with his husband's lack of concern in general.

One night Roy has a close encounter. In a night full of power outages across the state of Indiana, a myserious ship appears above his truck in the middle of nowhere. Lights fill the air, his truck violenty vibrates, and railroad track signals inexplicably turn on and off. Roy then attempts to follow the ship (now ships) around. Soon he is obsessed with his encounter. He constantly sees a strange shape that he begins to sculpt in numerous ways. Ronnie becomes more and more upset as Roy's obsession clearly takes over his life. Roy loses his job, and after a string of strange and somewhat disturbing events, Ronnie takes the children and leaves.

Close Encounters also stars Melinda Dillon as Jillian, a mother of a small boy named Barry (Cary Guffey). Barry also exhibits strange behavior, behavior similar to Roy's. He sees the same strange shape; he frequently plays a string of five notes over and over again on his xylophone. One night Barry is abducted. Jillian stops everything to find her son. In the process, she begins to see the same shape and hear the same five notes.

The strange shape is Devil's Tower in Wyoming. When both come to realize it, they race to Wyoming and happen to run into each other. They join together in an effort to reach the top of Devil's Tower.

The third main character of the film is named Lacombe and is played by the great director Francois Truffaut. Lacombe is a scientist working for the United Nations. He investigates a series of strange events that appear to be occurring all over the world. A ship mysteriously reappears in the middle of a desert, for example. Soon Lacombe hears those same five notes through more strange goings-on in opposite ends of the world. The final piece of the puzzle? There is evidence to suggest that the latitude/longitude coordinates of Devil's Tower will be the place of "contact". The American government then decides to force the evacuation of the area surrounding Devil's Tower, not out of keeping the secrets of alien contact but out of preservation of stability. The government sets up shop to contact the aliens, and Lacombe is there to witness the event.

It is important to note the brilliance of Spielberg's presentation up to this point. He makes three wise decisions in his plot development. His first decision is to keep any hint of the aliens' intent at contacting Earth from the audience. This leads to a somewhat suspenseful first two-thirds of the film, most notably during Barry's abduction and Roy's close encounter. His second decision is to keep romance out of the picture. Roy and Jillian could have been written as lovers in the heat of the moment, but Spielberg does not mess with this unnecessary contrivance. His third decision is to keep the characters essentially apart until the last act. The focal point of the movie is the moment of true contact at Devil's Mountain, and Spielberg cleverly draws each character to that point in separate ways. It makes for a more dimensional, complex picture.

Spielberg also adds the impressive feeling of chaos throughout the film. Note how several of the scenes are almost overwhelmed by background noise. Take the scenes involving Roy, Ronnie, and the children. Often when a primary discussion is involved (generally between Roy and Ronnie), the children are screaming in the background or the television is blaring. Several scenes involving the international string of strange events are surrounded by confused, aimless people amidst a din of incomprehensibility. The noise surrounding the main action gives the film a raw sense of suspense; it charges the film with an energy that is both pleasing and disturbing. The director's choice here is admirable.

The final act is a monumental achievement in filmmaking. The space ships as witnessed briefly earlier in the film arrive at Devil's Tower. Suddenly, they disappear to clear the way for the glorious mother ship. What follows is a terrific sequence involving color and music. The intent is communication; the aliens are simply greeting us.

I can't help but think of that sequence as a sly homage to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Stanley Kubrick uses color and music in an extended sequence as well, and I think some of the similarities between the two scenes are more than mere coincidences. No matter. Both scenes are tremendous and necessary. Interestingly, the climax of Close Encounters of the Third Kind contains no dialogue but is riddled with communication. It is a stroke of genius; it is quite simply beautiful.

Part of the magic of Close Encounters of the Third Kind is the film's musical score, composed and conducted by the great John Williams. This work is strikingly different than his at-that-time recent Star Wars score. While Star Wars was very Earth-like, operatic, and conventional, Close Encounters was frequently dissonant and mysterious. Only at the end does Williams bring the music to soaring, tonal heights, appropriately so. And no one can ever forget those five notes after watching the film.

Close Encounters does contain somewhat troubling sequences, most notably Roy's inexplicable behavior before creating his Devil's Tower sculpture. This was included in the original film, excluded in the film's special edition, included again, excluded again...the scene is silly and unnecessary. Other scenes do last a bit long, especially in the first half hour of the film. Spielberg seems to find the right pace when the ships first appear, and he never looks back.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind is a tremendous achievement, one of Spielberg's best films. Another's criticism of the film comes to mind. A friend of mine once told me that you could turn the lights on and off in your bedroom and listen to John Williams's score and get the same amount out of it as watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Indeed so. But he failed to see that doing both of those things can spark the imagination.

Movie Review #55

It Came from Outer Space (1953)
Directed by Jack Arnold
Screenplay by Harry Essex
Story by Ray Bradbury

Rating: 6.50/10.00 or ***

It Came from Outer Space appears to confirm the theme in my mission to watch most of the "classics" in American cinema. Films that were at one time applauded for their originality now seem much more fit for museums than theater screens. Jack Arnold's science fiction flick was probably disturbing, engrossing, and thought-provoking in the days of McCarthyism and the Cold War. Today it seems out of place, tired, and simplistic. But, much like my praise for Hitchcock's early films, I have to admire Arnold for going out and doing a film like this. It took some guts and at least a little bit of imagination in a time when it was scary to do so.

The plot of the film is as simple as a Full House episode. John Putnam (Richard Carlson) and fiancee Ellen Fields (Barbara Rush) witness what appears to be a meteor crash land into the desert only a short distance away from their rural Arizona home. Putnam, who can be described as the always-right, always-idealist scientist, is the first to inspect the site of the collision. What was once thought to be a meteor begins to suspiciously look like an alien ship. The aliens themselves appear to be large eyes. When Putnam goes back to Fields and the helicopter pilot who helped bring Putnam to the sight, he tells the story. Putnam is meant with hesitant disbelief. Ellen's reaction is somewhat precious; she sort of gives him the "Of course I believe you" speech with the associated roll of the eye.

Ellen cautions Putnam to not tell the townspeople, or else he would become the joke of the region. But Putnam can't help himself, especially with such nonbelieving individuals. And indeed he does become the town joke, with a headline in a paper reading, "Star Gazer Sees Martians". However, evidence continues to grow that there are indeed aliens on the Earth. Soon, townsfolk begin to disappear and suddenly reappear as emotionless, monotone creatures with impressive instinctual survival skills.

Led by a pessimistic sheriff, the town refuses to believe Putnam's theory. But with Ellen's disappearance, even the sheriff is forced to believe. However, his places his blame on Putnam. The sheriff is Matt Warren (Charles Drake), who is a close friend of Ellen's. He worries about Ellen due to Putnam's strange theories. Although his worry seems to have at least some merit, Warren is most certainly a stereotypical antagonist. We aren't supposed to like him, so of course he continuously confronts Putnam for seemingly unsubstantiated reasons.

No matter. Putnam seeks out the aliens after Ellen's kidnapping. So does Warren, but he's out for blood. And he brings a posse along with him. Yes, the race is indeed on. Putnam finds the aliens first. In one of the better scenes of the film, Putnam confronts the aliens via Ellen, who has been transformed much like the other kidnapped townspeople into a one-tone, one-face alien. Rush provides just the right touch to the scene to not make you laugh but, in fact, to make you a little uncomfortable.

The alien tells Putnam that they mean no harm. They are simply trying to rebuild their ship and leave the planet. But, if the sheriff and the other townspeople arrive and harm them, they will have no choice but to destroy them and (drum roll) the planet.

Ok, so the plot is pretty conventional, right? Except that this plot was not at all conventional in the 1950s. Aliens with originally peaceful intentions? That was unheard of. And the storyline of the human intolerance to alien invasion has an eerie similarity to McCarthyism. It Came from Outer Space seems to be a lecture on the human instinct to destroy what we don't know. In 1953, certainly, no one could doubt the comparison. And Jack Arnold has to be at least commended for speaking out, in this strange way, against the political path America seemed to be travelling.

The problem with the film, besides its often melodramatic, staccato dialogue and supplemental statued acting (not really a problem since one often leads to the other, and sci-fi films were always known for this), is that it contradicts itself in the most basic way. I was worried about the conversation between Ellen the Alien and Putnam. When Ellen threatened to keep the sheriff and his posse away, I was alarmed. And then, yes, the aliens threatened violence. Ok, that's fine. Survivalist instinct would deem that violence may be appropriate. But on the whole Earth? Isn't that (cough) overkill?

So the basic premise the film had used, that aliens were not necessarily violent, was utterly destroyed in that one scene. We'll be nice, as long as you are. And if you aren't, we'll kill all of you. Ha, ha! So really, It Came from Outer Space only teased us with the new premise. It did not pull through untainted.

Small steps, though. I guess that's something.

Guest Review #1

Memories of Murder (2005)
Directed by Bong Joon-ho
Written by Bong Joon-ho and Kim Kwang-rim
Starring Song Kang-ho, Kim Kyung-sang, and Kim Roe-ha

Rating: 8.5/10.0, or *** 1/2

The time is 1986, and the despotic regime of Chun Doo-hwan had dominated South Korea for five years; one day, the body of a woman was discovered in the city of Hwaseong, bound, gagged, raped, and strangled to death. And then another. And then another. Apparently the work of Korea’s first serial killer, the real-life slayings were never solved. These murders, and the explosive political context in which they took place, form the basis of Memories of Murder, the astonishing new thriller by director Bong Joon-ho.

If you see only one South Korean import this year, chances are that it won’t be Memories of Murder. Attention from American film critics has gravitated towards Park Chan-wook, the flashy melodramatist behind the revenge picture Oldboy, after Quentin Tarantino’s Cannes jury awarded his film the prestigious Palme D’Or. This is of course assuming that you are able to see any Korean films at all, a dubious proposition for readers living outside of a few select metropolitan areas scattered across the country. But this film is worth a little special effort (read: Netflix) to find.

Almost as soon as the movie starts, it’s clear that the main characters are in trouble; in one early scene, Detective Park (Song Kang-ho) finds himself unable to keep children away from the corpse of a local woman, and then watches in horror as a farmer drives his tractor over a crucial footprint. Soon enough, Detective Seo (Kim Sang-kyung), a by-the-book investigator, is dispatched from Seoul to bring a little professionalism to the investigation. Park is impulsive and reckless, but he and Seo gradually come to respect each other.

So far, so generic, no? And if need be, you could approach this film as simply a solid, entertaining police procedural and leave it at that. Director Bong, whose prior experience is limited to the romantic comedy Barking Dogs Never Bite, proves to be a natural at the thriller form, mixing almost unbearable tension with moments of dark comedy. (Modern Korean cinema is replete with sadistic humor, and this is no exception; one running joke is how easily Detective Park can beat a false confession out of an innocent person.) The performances he elicits from his actors, especially relative newcomer Kim Sang-kyung, are similarly impressive.

But for those who are interested, Memories has hidden depths. Detectives Park and Seo are primarily interested in establishing a narrative about the murders, an impulse that is both rooted in human nature and necessary to maintain social control over a restive population. The desperation with which they offer and reject theories (the killer has no pubic hair; or he only goes out after listening to a particular song, on a particular night; or he only attacks women wearing bright red clothing) is rooted in their position as the unwilling enforcers of an unpopular and failing regime.

In this, Memories of Murder is similar to the graphic novel From Hell, Alan Moore’s sprawling examination of Victorian moral decay through the lens of the Jack-the-Ripper murders. Channeling Moore, Bong suggests that the ultimate truth about the Hwaseong murders may not just be unknown but unknowable. Any story we tell about them will inherently be artificial and, on some level, false, and enlightenment depends on our ability to accept tragedies without being able to understand them.

This is pretty heady stuff for a serial-killer movie. While Bong indulges the occasional plot contrivance (the death of a lead witness is both arbitrary and entirely predictable) or ham-handed foregrounding (Seo’s faith in the system is demonstrated by the refrain “Documents never lie;” rest assured—he said sarcastically—that nothing challenges this particular maxim), he has more political insight than a dozen well-meaning documentaries or message movies. Memories of Murder is one of the most provocative and unsettling films to be released so far this year.

Editor's Note: This review was written by Daniel Linehan.