135. Selma

Song - Pride (In the Name of Love) (U2)

Movie: Selma (Ava DuVernay, 2014)

There may be no better evidence of institutional racism in Hollywood than the the fact that it took until 2014 for a major film about Martin Luther King to get made. Even taking his importance aside, his life has more obvious cinematic potential than, say, Shakespeare's or Mozart's. Marches, big speeches, tactical manouvers, large gatherings and peaceful resistance to violence are things that are much easier to dynamically visualise and dramatise than writing a book or composing. Ava DuVernay obviously understands this and is very smart to mostly focus Selma on marches, big speeches, large gatherings, tactical manouvers and peaceful resistance to violence. And so this is a superior biopic that is at its weakest when it veers away from those things, such as during the scenes between MLK (David Oyelowo) and his wife Coretta. Aside from one scene between her and Malcolm X, Coretta is mostly portrayed as the kind of suffering wife of great men under pressure we've seen in countless of films and strangely enough the rest of the women don't fare much better. Diane Nash is presented as a "female agitator", but barely does any agitating. We mostly see her in the background while others make big plans. 

To be fair, there is a good reason why Nash and other relevant interesting figures close to King don't quite stand out here. The film wants to show that the Civil Rights Movement was so successful, because it was a collective movement filled with individuals who were willing to sacrifice for the common good - Selma focuses on their attempts to end voting restrictions for black people. DuVernay goes to great lengths to emphasise that even Martin Luther King himself is not bigger than the movement, that he is not more special than the other activists and that he is a fallible human being with doubts. King is even missing in action (as he was in reality) in the most famous and (justly) celebrated scene of the film; the first march to the Edmund Pettus Bridge, a fantastically directed and edited action sequence, slowly ratcheting up tension and revealing the full danger of the situation until it all blows up. It's also one of the most slyly subversive sequences in the film. One of the ways in which DuVernay builds tension, is by letting a white New York Times journalist narrate the events on the bridge on the phone to his editor. He is clearly a good, decent 'liberal', on the side of the protesters, but while they put their bodies on the line, ending up lost and hurt in the chaos, he watches from far away and narrates the events as if he is an objective observer watching a stage show. It's a much more uncomfortable sight than the somewhat caricaturist portrayal of George Wallace, the racist governor of Alabama.

Selma could have probably had more similarly uncomfortable moments, but it sometimes seems that DuVernay holds back and that she knows exactly how far she can go before upsetting the higher powers - this is I think even more obvious in her Netflix miniseries When They See Us. Yet, that is not to say that this film panders to a romanticized version of King and the Civil Rights Movement. For every success it shows, it emphasises how much more work needs to be done. The film starts with King receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, and while giving his speech the film cuts to young black girls descending the stairs in a church, when suddenly a bomb (by the KKK; the scene depicts the real bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama) goes off, killing them all. And, when at the end of the film Lyndon Johnson signs the Voting Rights Act, the film doesn't leave you with any illussions that racism has now ended. The act is not passed because Johnson and co had a change of heart regarding racism. There are no benevolent white saviors here and all the racist characters at the beginning of the film are equally racist at the end of the film. It's just that racism has become somewhat less profitable, because of a series of smart, tactical moves made by King and his allies. 

Finally, it's worth getting back to the point about 'agitator' Diane Nash. She is here played by Tessa Thompson. Other characters are played by Andre Holland,  Lakeith Stanfield, and Colman Domingo and Stephan James (both of them spectacularly good in If Beale Street Could Talk). While it is admirable to emphasise the collectivity of the Civil Rights Movement, there are ways to do that which would put a bigger spotlight on this unbelievable collection of great actors. 

134. The Panic in Needle Park

Song - Kronenburg Park (Frank Boeijen)

Movie: The Panic in Needle Park (Jerry Schatzberg, 1971)

There is a moment early on in The Panic in Needle Park, when I thought this was on its way to becoming one of my favorite films. Helen (Kitty Winn) has just been released from the hospital following complications from an abortion. Outside she is met by Bobby, played by Al Pacino as a youthfully naive rascal, a motor-mouthed petty thief whose tough guy pose masks his gentleness and insecurities. She knows that he lies, steals, uses drugs and doesn't have a permanent place to live, but she finds him cool, funny and interesting and falls for him. From the opening scenes with the callous guy who impregnated her, it is clear that these are the kinds of men she is attracted to. She is also presented as an independent confident woman who knows what she wants and knows how to handle such relationships and their potential consequences. And Bobby seems better than her ex. When after few days of living together, with her still recovering from het visit to the hospital, she tells him it's OK to have sex now, he looks at her, sees that she is not ready, and decides to wait. The camera stays in close-up on Pacino's face during his contemplations and it's clear that this is not a dilemma he usually has. His desire struggles with his newly found love for Helen. We get the feeling that he's been with many women before, but that this time things feel different. And so he decides to wait.

It was at that point that I fell in love with the film and thought it was going to be a great romantic drama between two youngsters who are smart, good and confident, but not as smart, good and confident as they think they are, or need to be, to survive hustling on the streets of New York. Yet, what it ends up being is a harsh drama about (heroin) addiction and how it hurts and devastates lives. In fact, Schatzberg does his best do stop the film from becoming a romantic drama. He always keeps the characters at just enough of a remove to never let you swoon over them, never turns them into sentimentalised tragic heroes. You are supposed to think of them as a bunch of drug users who ruin their lives, not as doomed lovers. The film at times plays almost like a fly-on the wall semi-documentary of the drugs scene in 70's New York, with long scenes in which we see how drug users prepare their high, close ups of needles going in arms, and a strange, almost silent, scene in which Pacino observes how cocaine is produced by the poorest of New Yorkers working in grim basements. Meanwhile, the police knows exactly what's going on, but can't produce any evidence. 

What makes this approach truly work is that while Bobby and Helen are not 'glorified' as romantic heroes, they are also not judged, The film objectively presents their irresponsible behavior and their downward spiral without blaming them (or anyone else) for it. It also doesn't preach, patronise or condescend, but instead always finds a way to highlight their humanity. Sometimes even with humor. When Helen has to turn to prostitution to buy drugs, she ends up in bed with a young kid for whom it's his first time. We only see the aftermath with the boy trying to act as an experienced lover; it's one of the funniest scenes of its kind I've seen, without it breaking the atmosphere of the film. 

It's easy to see how this film helped Al Pacino turn into a star (and btw if they ever decide to make a snooker epic they should use some of that Irishman de-aging technology to make Pacino play Ronnie O'Sullivan. Not only does he look like him here, he also shares many of his tics, gestures and temperament). What is harder to see is how it didn't turn Kitty Winn into a star. The film really belongs to her, playing the kind of character women rarely get to play. You could argue that Pacino is a 'homme fatale' here, whose charisma turns an intelligent, emancipated woman to the 'dark side'. Yet while she is clearly the victim, she is never victimised, The film gives her agency to make her own decisions, and perhaps emphasises that a bit too much, straining to make the point that a woman making a conscious independent choice to self-destruct is making a feminist choice. Through her nuanced, subtle performance, Winn both enforces and negates that idea. All of this eventually leads to a fantastic, surprising and melancholic final scene, that reminded me in spirit of the ending of Five Easy Pieces (released one year before this), despite the fact that it reaches the opposite conclusion. Finally, having seen this, The Last Thing He Wanted (a more interesting film than Rotten Tomatoes would make you believe) and the Netflix documentary on her life, I am very curious to explore more of Joan Didion's work.  

133. M

Song - Jeanny (Falco)

Movie: M (Fritz Lang, 1931)

Filmmakers are like the rest of us. Whenever they get a new toy they like to play with it and show it around as much as possible. Which is why most color films from the '40's and 50's are much more colorful than most contemporary movies. M has become famous for providing the blueprint for noirs and police investigation thrillers, but it is also Fritz Lang's first sound film. I only realised that after watching the film and reading up on it. It is incredible how seamlessly sound is incorporated in the film's aesthetic and how it is always used in the service of the story. With the exception of one somewhat contrived scene - in which we see a bunch of oddly framed policeman listening to someone out of the shot telling them something - Lang never lets the sound take center stage. Aside from a couple of silent sequences, sound here is used pretty much in the same way as it is in 'modern' movies. 

While the use of sound is impressive, perhaps even more so is how Lang solves problems that do betray that M stems from the early days of cinema. A creaky long take, in which the camera glides through a beggars' establishment and then goes up the first floor, intends to give us the mood of the place and show how the mafia connects to the beggars. It achieves that, but what the shot truly illuminates is how uncomfortable it was to set up such complex shots at that time. It's not a surprise that for most of the rest of the film Lang refrains from such complexity and either keeps the camera still or lets it gently pan to the left or right. Yet he never makes the film feel static, because he constantly plays with lights and shadows, has people moving in and out of the frame, and crosscuts between two different spaces in which the action takes part. There is a wonderful short sequence in which a mafia boss has a discussion with his 'colleagues', when in the middle of his monologue Lang cuts to the police station where the police commissioner 'finishes' the mafia boss' sentence (and even his arm movement) in his own speech to the cops. 

That sequence touches on another interesting aspect of the film: Lang's cynicism. It's easy to say this in hindsight, but watching this film you don't get the feeling that Lang was terribly surprised by the Nazi's rise to power. He presents a society easily swayed by populist mobs, where there is mistrust both among and between the higher and lower classes, and where civil institutions have lost authority and competence. The film shows how in the hunt for a child murderer, the mafia is always one step ahead of the police, largely because the mafia has a better understanding of, and connection to, the life on the streets. They are eventually not only the ones who catch the murderer, but also the ones who give him a (somewhat fair!) trial. It barely seems to matter that at the end of the film the killer does find himself in a 'real' courtroom. The seats where the judges are supposed to sit are empty. Once they arrive, claiming they will preside "in the name of the people" Lang cuts to grieving mothers for whom the trial is an afterthought. "It won't bring our children back." And on that note, the film ends. 

132. Purple Rain

Song - Purple Rain (Prince)

Movie: Purple Rain (Albert Magnoli, 1984)

YouTube personalities are not necessarily obnoxious! For proof, see the twins filming themselves listening to classic songs they hear for the first time. They went viral a couple of weeks ago, after Phil Collins' unexpected drum solo in In the Air Tonight blew their mind. Since, they've come under the attention of the artists they respond to. Annie Lennox, for example, was overjoyed after seeing their delighted reaction to Sweet Dreams. They deserve their 15 minutes of fame. Unlike many other 'internet stars' they seem genuine in their enthusiasm and they have a genuine ear for music, allowing them to explain in not entirely amateurish ways why the song works for them the way it does. I would not be surprised if for some impressionable teen they turn out to be a gateway drug to music criticism. I, who most decidedly do not have a good ear for music, have always liked In the Air Tonight, but only after watching their viral video did I realise why the drum solo in that song is so special, beyond just being awesome. Similarly, I only realised after Prince' death that he was a truly towering figure in music. And while I was familiar with songs like Darling Nikki, Purple Rain and When Doves Cry, hearing them in this film, I felt like the two viral brothers did when Phil Collins did his thing.  

I used to see Prince as a bit of an attention-seeking clown who tried and failed to upstage Michael Jackson. And Purple Rain, I thought, was a fun song that was also heavily overblown kitsch. What this film makes clear is that I was not really wrong about the second part. Purple Rain is overblown kitsch, but it is overblown kitsch at its absolute best, created by a ridiculously talented and charismatic rock artist with an utterly unique sensibility, one who finds real emotion in overblown kitsch. You also gotta admire Prince' (and the film's) confidence in the power of Purple Rain. Throughout the film we are teased with the first couple of (instrumental) notes of the song. it's not only set up to be the absolute highlight of the film, it's what the entire film builds up to, the reason for its existence. It must deliver and does. The Purple Rain performance is one of the best music sequences I've seen in film, in part because Magnoli mostly stays on Prince. He just lets him perform, only occasionally cutting away to the utterly enthralled audience. The sequence works as a standalone rock performance (it is the song's official videoclip), as an expression of The Kid's (Prince' character) emotions and as a satisfying ending to the film's story and The Kid's character arc. (Not that there is much of a story or a character arc. Those things are just an excuse to string the spectacularly filmed performances together.)

And yet, as great as Purple Rain is, it may be upstaged here by Darling Nikki. It's the kind of unabashed celebration of casual meaningless sex, and of lust, that is rare in American media/art. American movies and music know that sex sells, but they also know that "Republicans buy sneakers too." And so they try to contrive situations that can justify showing sex, while also contriving that the sex they show fits within acceptable parameters. Darling Nikki, the song, doesn't care about that at all. Darling Nikki, the sequence in this film, cares even less. It's about sex for the sake of sex, simply because it's fun and enjoyable (equally so, for both men and women). And its sole intent is to get you in the mood for it, because that too is fun and enjoyable. That makes it subversive in itself, but what makes it even more so, is that the film doesn't make a big fuss about the scene. It's not given any special treatment, it's not being foreshadowed, or lingered on for much more than necessary. Nor is it (explicitly) used to pander to a progressive political sensibility, or to dunk on conservatives. It's just a scene that happens to be part of the film and helps drive the narrative and the characterisations forward, as normal as a scene in a horror film intended to scare you or a scene in a comedy intended to make you laugh.  

131. Philadelphia

Song - Streets of Philadelphia (Bruce Springsteen)

Movie: Philadelphia (Jonathan Demme, 1993)

I had not seen this film since high school. Back then I was an idiot who was on the side of Charles Wheeler. I thought Andrew was rightly fired as he didn't perform well and felt like the film's argument, that he was being fired for the wrong reason, namely him being a gay man with HIV, amounted to being a strawman. The end result was right after all. As I grew older and got to know more about gay and labor rights, I occasionally remembered with embarrassment how I felt about this film. Luckily I also got to know more about narrative and film grammar, and after seeing Philadelphia now, I can very well see where my initial reaction came from. Tom Hanks' entire character arc here basically consists of getting AIDS and dying.

Andrew is diagnosed with AIDS after about three scenes. At that point, we've hardly seen anything of his professional life, we haven't gotten to know him as a character, and know barely anything of his social or inner life. We won't get to know him much better throughout the rest of the film. It is especially odd to show Andrew at the hospital surrounded by doctors preparing to test him for HIV, and to then cut to one month later when he asks Joe Miller (Denzel Washington) to represent him in court, because he is being fired for having HIV. For some reason we are not shown Andrew's immediate reaction to his diagnosis. Nor do we see the reactions of his partner, friends and family. These should have been the key scenes in the film.

Furthermore, while the film unambiguously argues that Andrew is right and should win his case, weirdly a lot of it is presented from the point of view of Wheeler and his associates. Andrew claims to be an excellent lawyer, but we never see him do excellent law work. Andrew claims his illness didn't stop him from being a well-functioning lawyer, the Wheelers say it did and the film only shows how the illness hinders Andrew's work. Similarly, Charles says that Andrew made a mistake and we do see him make a mistake. And the early scene in which Andrew is made a senior associate, communicates exactly what Wheeler argues at the witness stand, namely that Andrew should be incredibly grateful for this promotion at this particular law firm. It is presented as a major, almost too good to be true, opportunity for him that he shouldn't squander, which is also how Hanks portrays it. Aside from all this, during its early scenes the film is almost hilariously didactic. Whole scenes play out with such unnatural dialogue, contrived to give the audience a lesson about AIDS. Finally, if you are feeling uncharitable you wouldn't be entirely wrong to argue that this is a film in which a white American teaches a black man (Denzel Washington has much more explicitly homophobic dialogue than any of the associates at the law firm being sued) about tolerance and a Latino man about dying gracefully. It is no surprise Antonio Banderas is terrible here. His only function is to be afraid and be comforted by Hanks. 

And yet, despite all this, I actually quite liked the film. This may be partly influenced by discovering Stop Making Sense during quarantine, but I'll probably never watch a Jonathan Demme film anymore without being biased in his favor. Nonetheless, his humanism, even if sometimes clumsily depicted, really does shine through. The film feels delighted and overjoyed by its own existence. You get the sense that everyone working on it felt to be in the middle of a great historical moment. The hope that things are about to get better shines through in every shot. And importantly, the film sees itself as a symbol of that hope, not as a cause of it. This is not a self-important film that believes it will make the world a better place, but one that believes its existence is possible, because the world is becoming a better place. And its opening credits are brilliant; set against Bruce Springsteen's great song, they show various neighborhoods of the city and the people working and living there. In doing so, they universalize Andrew's plight, making clear that this is not a story about some special 'gay' person, but about an ordinary Philadelphian with hopes and dreams like every other Philadelphian. They reminded me of Dog Day Afternoon's credits, set to Elton John's Amoreena. It would make sense if that was the intent. 

It is also worth noting how glorious it is to see Denzel Washington and Tom Hanks in these early roles. Though they are still great actors, they have become such household figures you sometimes forget how surprising  and charismatic they can be, and with how much ease they can play challenging parts. Hanks portrays a man dying of AIDS with more life and energy than most actors playing men at the height of their vitality. And Washington is so natural playing both the humanist and the homophobic aspects of his showoff lawyer, you realise how much of a loss it is that he is more an more being typecast in mediocre action movies, only elevated by his presence. Finally, through Washington's character the film also illuminates its most relevant insight; that racism and homophobia should not be seen separate from each other, but are intertwined. 

130. Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Song - I Want to Break Free (Queen)

Movie: Hedwig and the Angry Inch (John Cameron Mitchell, 2001)

When Sgt. Luther Robinson leaves Hedwig, raised in East Berlin, on 9 november 1989, their one-year anniversary, she can only cheer herself up by singing 'Wig in a Box' in her trailer. It's the best song in the film, with simple, effective lyrics about imagining different identities for yourself. Halfway through the performance, 1989 Hedwig is joined by her contemporary band members, the trailer is transformed into a makeshift stage, and there is a random brief karaoke interlude inviting the audience to sing along. It's the kind of joyous magical realism, without regard for conventional narrative structures or temporal/spatial logic, that John Cameron Mitchell strives for throughout the entire film. He only truly achieves it during this sequence, and to a lesser extent during the song in which we find out what the angry inch alludes to. Nonetheless, even when Mitchell doesn't quite achieve what he wants, the film remains compelling, charming and committed to following its own whims and rules. Few directors would think of  the 'Sugar Daddy' sequence, including cinema's most erotically charged closeup of HARIBO.

Mitchell is clearly a better writer/director than he is an actor/performer. He is out of his element and uncomfortable acting, and while that, at times, fits the character he is playing, Hedwig is also supposed to be loose and charismatic, at least when she is singing. Mitchell can't convey that, and for the same reasons moments of sincerity don't quite play as they should. Consequently, Hedwig comes off as much more jokey character than intended. You do sometimes wonder whether Mitchell takes Hedwig's story truly seriously, and to what extent she is an ironic device. I actually did like this slippery aspect of the film, just like the fact that it is left ambiguous to what extent Hedwig really identifies as a woman, how she sees her gender, and how the audience is supposed to see her gender. 

A very long time ago I discussed Mitchell's Rabbit Hole on this blog. I called it a rare progressive Hollywood film because it dared to suggest that atheism is a perfectly valid way of dealing with grief, without dismissing that a believe in God can also be equally valid. Interestingly, despite its subject matter, Hedwig and the Angry Inch is much more sympathetic towards God and religion than Rabbit Hole. It is very much interested in exploring how religious stories can validate non-traditional sexual and gender identities. One of the funniest scenes in the film comes when the religiously brought up Tommy Gnosis (Michael Pitt) justifies having sex with Hedwig through an analysis of the story of Adama and Eve. The Origin of Love, the main song of the film, can be seen in the same vein, though that also exemplifies the biggest problem of the film. A lot of the songs, including The Origin of Love are didactic and expository. Often we are shown an aspect of Hedwig's life and then hear a song that explains to us a second time what we just saw, or how to interpret it. Still, the film is so playfully directed, and has such fun hopping between different times and introducing different characters, that you can't help but like it.

129. Cleopatra

Song - Ruthless Queen (Kayak)

Movie: Cleopatra (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1963)

Like Apocalypse Now, Cleopatra is famous for its ridiculously troubled production history. Moreover, this too is a film that is as much meant to be an historical epic about Cleopatra, as well as a showcase for Hollywood's ability to get such epics of the ground no matter what. Unfortunately, unlike Apocalypse Now, Cleopatra is not good. Coppola may have used the Vietnam War as a vessel to highlight his own genius and importance, it was still obvious that he actually cared and thought about the war, and was genuinely interested in it. The curious thing about this film is that it is barely interested in Cleopatra, and even less in the country she ruled over. Cleopatra here is above all a vessel to explore the lives and characters of Julius Caesar and Mark Antony. They are very much the main characters of the film; we see them in scenes that have nothing to do with Cleopatra. We barely see her in any scenes that have nothing to do with them.

This is not by definition an uninteresting approach and it is not by definition a sexist approach. Exploring the effects (great) people have on others around them, and on the society they live in can be much more illuminating than simply telling the story of their lives (it can also be a corrective to the forced individualism American films of its ilk like to espouse, but that's a topic for another time). But this film is also barely interested in the society its characters live in. It takes a greatest hits approach to the lives of Caesar and Antony, and with the exception of some early scenes it does not care at all to give any depth or look critically at the historic period it depicts. I already liked Titanic a lot, but this film gives me a newfound appreciation for it. Obviously the epic romance is the heart of that film and the main reason for its success, but the epic romance is very much helped by the film's genuine interest in how class differences shaped its historic period.

Richard Burton, Rex Harrison and Elizabeth Taylor don't get any such help, but they do make the most of the material they are given. Early on in the film, when it still looks like it's going to be good, there are a couple of really good dialogue scenes between Caesar and Cleopatra, where both rulers are shown as sharp minds able to outwit each other and change their strategic position with a couple of well chosen words. Harrison and Taylor are never better than in those scenes, playing confident and cautious at the same time, knowing that even losing a little bit of ground can have major consequences. Eventually they fall in love, forcing Taylor to play the supporting wife for a large period of the film, while Harrison gets to be stately. I haven't seen much of both actors, but you get the feeling they can do that in their sleep.

Taylor wakes up after Caesar's death and her romance with Mark Antony, playing Cleopatra as someone who genuinely loves Antony, but who also feels superior to him. But she's overshadowed by Richard Burton (somehow Harrison got an Oscar nomination, Burton not) who gives a genuinely impressive performance as a man who cannot get out of Caesar's shadow, who sees himself as an embarrassment and a coward, but still believes he deserves more than he gets. He feels too proud to beg Cleopatra for het love, but also feels that her loving him is his greatest achievement, the only way he can ever follow Caesar's footsteps. It's a nuanced and empathetic portrait of an utterly pathetic character.

In the end though, even these great actors drown in the film's grandeur. The Oscars have sometimes been criticized for confusing best acting or best editing, with 'most' acting/editing. This film's Oscar for Best Art-Direction can also be seen in that way. Scenes are so overstuffed with pillars, terraces, railings, walls and all kinds of other 'classically' designed constructions that they often feel completely out of place. And the film's obsessive focus on making sure that the audience is aware of these constructions sometimes leads to ridiculous cuts and camera placements. But I suppose that if you let your narrator inform us of two crucial battle scenes - without showing us any of them - you have to find other ways of showing where the money went.