255. Cats

Song - Memory (Barbra Streisand)

Movie: Cats (Tom Hooper, 2019)

Definitely not one of the worst films ever made, which is a bit of a dissapointment. I was secretly hoping for a spectacularly unique misfire, but it's just a bunch of actors in CGI cat costumes on CGI sets twirling to random mediocre musical theatre. The CGI sets make London look drab and anonymous, but that's what you get from the average contemporay effects-driven Hollywood blockbuster, whose CGI robs all locations from any sort of character. The CGI 'costumes' are mostly dumb, as rather than making the characters look and behave like actual cats, they make them look and behave like humans badly pretending to be cats. Interestingly, the cat-like features of a character seem inversely proportional to the fame of their actors; Judi Dench, Ian McKellen, Taylor Swift and Idris Elba look much more like themselves than the other 'cats'. That's better for Swift and Elba, the only people in the film who perform with some spunk and personality and manage to evoke something else than wide-eyed reverence, than it is for McKellen and Dench. They are no great singers and also too old to waste their acting talents like this; there are fewer sights in contemporary film sadder than a skittish (barely disguised) McKellen licking milk from a plate, but the scenes of Dench sprawled out on a sofa like a smutty cat come close. Dench recently showed that at the age of 89 she is still capable of reciting Shakespeare sonnets on the spot. Here she brings the same gravity to lines like "So first your memory I'll jog, and say a cat is not a dog".

I had little clue of what Cats was about before seeing this, and was surprised that it's sort of the silliest riff on Greek mythology imaginable. There is a railway cat, a theater cat, a magician cat,  a cat of the underworld, a fat cat, all taking part in a singing competition, judged by Old Deuteronomy (Judi Dench) who will decide which cat gets to ascend to cat heaven. Each cat sings a song about itself, showcasing its particular characteristics and traits, how it is more mythical than humans imagine and how it affects the human world in ways that we take for granted. Unsurprisingly, a quick (this is definitely a rabbit hole I don't want to disappear in) Google search shows that there is a lot of Cats fan fiction being created, and you can easily imagine that a more cynical version of Andrew Lloyd Webber would have created a whole Cats universe out of his smash hit. Him not doing that does make the whole thing somewhat more interesting, turning this essentially into an origin story without follow up. It's transparently ridiculous nonsense that doesn't strain to find any higher meaning, social commentary or deep subtext, yet is performed with gravely earnest seriousness. If we can see the art in lighthearted comedy about dark subjects, then surely the opposite could, when done well, also have some value?

I would have liked it more if the songs were a bit better, but they are quite monotonous (as is the dancing). Most of them start off in a different genre, but are quickly theatrified in much the same way, with the addition of instruments and singing voices that seem to serve no further purpose oither than to add fat to the song. The audience is never allowed to feel that they are not getting enough music for their money, and so the songs also go on for much longer than needed, absolutely wearing out their welcome. Taylor Swift doesn't need any more praise these days, but 'Beautiful Ghosts', the one song she has written for the movie, is miles better than any of the orginal songs written by Webber, including Memory, sung here by Jennifer Hudson. She is a great singer who probably would have been better off following Barbra Streisand's lead and just sing the song outside the context of Cats. Streisand's performance is more evocative as it connects to actual human feelings, rather than trying to make us care about a cat we barely know.  

254. On Golden Pond

Song - Liefde Van Later (Herman van Veen)

Movie: On Golden Pond (Mark Rydell, 1981)

'Granddad jokes' are a different category from the well-established 'dad jokes'. They are nastier, more sophisticated and communicate different things about their maker. In On Golden Pond, Henry Fonda provides a good study of the phenomenon. Fonda plays Norman Thayer, a long retired professor suffering from heart palpitations, memory loss and a troubled relationship with his daughter Chelsea (Jane Fonda). Norman spends the majoirty of his time making jokes at the expense of himself and everyone around him. These jokes are most of the time not easy one-liners that flow naturally out of a conversation. Rather, he works for them, moving the conversation away into somewhat absurd contexts of his own making that allow him to be more cutting, darker, crueler, and indeed, funnier, than he otherwise would have been. These remarks/jokes serve obviously as a distraction from his, not unreasonable, fear that this may be his last summer in his beloved summer cottage by the lake, but Fonda also presents these jokes as proof of life, and as a contrast to his frailty. It's through them that he most succesfully can show to both his family and himself that he is more than just a dying man.

On Golden Pond is much less sentimental than I expected, based on both its outline/reputation and its opening scenes. After a seemingly neverending montage of tranquility at the lake side the first scenes between Fonda and Katherine Hepburn (playing his wife Ethel) fully reveal On Golden Pond's origins as a play. The early dialogue either outright states out the themes of the film or literalises too much the subtext of ordinary conversations between elderly couples. "Listen to me, mister. You're my knight in shining armour. Don't you forget it. You're gonna get back up on that horse and I'm gonna be right behind you holding on tight and away we're gonna go, go, go."  has apparently come to be seen as one of the classic bits of dialogue in American cinema, but as every line has a similar overwrought energy, it loses some of its power. I am a fan of florid stlyised dialogue, but felt this is a bit too lofty in this context. It's not unentertaining however. I didn't grow up with Fonda and Hepburn, but they are legendary actors for a reason and always at least compelling to watch. In fact, the "knight in shining armor" line results from a great moment where Fonda turns from a hardened crank into a vulnerable sick man in a split second. 

The film gets (a lot) better quickly when Chelsea and her new boyfriend Bill (Dabney Coleman) arrive together with his son from a previous marriage Billy (Doug McKeon). The dialogue becomes more natural once Fonda and Hepburn have more people to interact with and especially once Bill and Chelsea go to Europe leaving the kid with the grannies. Even though the scenes between Coleman and the Fonda's are the funniest in the film (he is a bit of an anxious klutz who tries to pretend he has it all together, while being completely overwhelmed by the family, including his girlfriend - you get the sense that Chelsea tried to find someone who is temperamentally and dispositionally as far removed from her dad as possible), the heart of the film is the growing relationship between Billy and Norman. Even though the film is an unabashed celebration of Hepburn and Fonda (and made for their generation), it never adopts a 'kids these days' attitude in part because it sess Norman and Billy as kindred spirits whose unfiltered language serves as a way of making sense of their place in the world. 

253. Scandal

Song - Daar Gaat Ze (Clouseau)

Movie: Scandal (Michael Caton-Jones, 1989)

Oh, if it wasn't for those damn Jamaican jazz musicians! It's one thing they fall in love with our women, but why do they need to make such a fuss when they are rejected? Is there any need for guns? Don't you long for the good old days when we had such fun passing women around like high class sex objects? As proper Englishmen, we did this in discretion of course and we always ensured they had a good time. Thanks to us they escaped from their miserable lives in the country and mingled with the greatest politicians, artists, actors, diplomats, spies, businessmen and all the other fancy folks of the London upper class. And now here you are, calling us ponces. What have we done to deserve that?! 

In 1963, the British Conservative Secrertary of State for War John Profumo (played here by Ian McKellen) resigned after the reveal of an improper affair with Christine Keeler (Joanne Whalley), one of many women essentially groomed by 'osteopath' Stephen Ward (John Hurt, who is becoming one of my favorite actors and is giving here a pretty fantastic performance as a man whose sincere gentleness and perversity live side by side) to 'entertain' his wealthy clients, giving him even more access to power and wealth. In telling this story the film identifies with the Conservative establishment, and while it doesn't quite endorse its views and use of its 'showgirls' it regrets more that the good times ended than that they happened. Wasn't there a way to ensure that the fun could continue withour breaking moral codes? What if the Jamaicans never fired that gun at Stephen Ward's door? And what if those journalists weren't so snooty?

It's safe to say that a film about the Profumo affair made today would be a lot different than this one. I am not entirely sure this hypothetical film would be as thorny and insightful (or as fun and sexy) as Scandal. Before it turns into a fairly standard courthouse drama, the first half of the film is basically 'Tory Boogie Nights', consisting pretty much entirely of a series of set pieces at different glamourous, and glitzy events (plus an orgy) where beautiful young women, headlined by Joanne Whalley and Bridget Fonda, perform flirtatiously for the pleasure of rich British men who ogle, touch and ocassionally fuck them. Most of these rich British men are (Conservative) politicians in power who seemingly spend the majority of their time figuring out how they can obtain and get away with illicit acts of sexual pleasure. It's more damning of them than almost any didactic editorialising expose would be. Moreover, the relationship between Christine and Stephen is genuinely interesting, as is the film's refusal to present Christine as a straightforward victim.  

Still, a contemporary remake of Scandal could be a worthwile endeavour. The film posits that for the most part Christine genuinely had agency over her decisions, that she genuinely loved Stephen (without ever sleeping with him!) and that in some cases she even had power over the men she entertained/slept with. It's probably true that in many progressive circles these days, this would be too easily dismissed as a wish fulfillment fantasy on behalf of the filmmakers. (Progressive) film writers have rightly been raling against the idea of damsels in distress who can only be saved by more powerful people taking benevolent actions on their behalf, but this idea has not yet reached many progressive politicans and activits it seems. Acknowledging that people can overcome and thrive within structures that disadvantage them is no reason to stop the fight against these structures. However, by wishing these structures away. Scandal tells an incomplete story. You can't pat yourself on the back for giving working class girls access to a better life if your policies contribute to their poverty, you can't bemoan sexual puritanism if you espouse traditional family values in all walks of life, and you can't blame anyone for a scandal if you created the conditions for the scandal in the first place. 

252. Paris, Texas

Song - The Long And Winding Road (The Beatles)

Movie: Paris, Texas (Wim Wenders, 1984)

Wim Wenders' newest movie Perfect Days follows the daily routines of Hirayama (Koji Yakusho), a Tokyo public toiler cleaner. He takes great pride in the seemingly thankless job, and finds plenty of joy outside of it, devoting time to take pictures of the city's trees, read Faulkner and Higshmith and sing along to his cassette tapes of Patti Smith and Lou Reed. We learn little of his life beyond that, though we get a brief glimpse of his estranged relationship with his sister, a woman who wears expensive suits and has her own driver. She is definitely not devoting parts of her days to soak in The Velvet Underground, but does have a daughter called Niko. It's a wonderful detail, especially after seeing Paris, Texas, which is in part about how the same childhood influences can move two siblings in two completely different directions. The film spends plenty of time on highly romanticised American highways and their roadside restaurants and motels, getting to Terlingua, Houston, the Mojave desert and Los Angeles. It never reaches Paris, Texas, but the idea of it drives everything forward. 

Travis (Harry Dean Stanton) and Walt (Dean Stockwell)'s father met their mother in Paris, Texas. When introducing her, he liked to note that she came from Paris, without adding more details, presenting her as a 'fancy woman'. However, she was just 'plain' and found it deeply unpleasant having to pretend, even for a bit, to be something she was not, making her relationship with her husband much more difficult. It's fairly obvious why Travis tells this story to his son. He is just back from three years of mysterious solitude in the desert, trying to make sense of his life and his destructed marriage with Jane (Nastassja Kinski), who he idealised so much he lost track of reality. Following Travis' dissapearance Walt took his son in and raised him as his own. Walt is a well-adjusted man, but he is married to an actual French woman and works as a designer of highway billboards, selling fancier lives to drivers between Texas and California.

The film itself might as well be a billboard for the American Southwest. Wenders and the Dutch cinematogropher Robby Muller film everything with highly expressive, somtimes unnatural colors and lighting, giving a special air of cool, slightly melancholic distinctiveness to every location. Near the end there is a (famous) shot of Stanton standing in front of a hotel in Houston. He is enveloped by green streetlight, contrasted by the sunset in the background causing the sky to transition between blue and red. The hotel itself is mostly in the dark, with only a couple of lit rooms. The Italian neorealists would probably balk at this shot, but it's no science fiction either. This always remains a real place and even if it is never again captured as beautifully as it is here, you get the sense that it could be, under certain circumstances, or if you know how to look at it. This is true for many of the scenes and I like that you can look at this approach from different angles. Are Muller and Wenders naive Europeans who have fallen under the same spell as Walt and Travis, looking for fanciness where there is none? Or are they counteracting their father, showing you don't to need to look for Europe, or escape in romantic fantasy to find beauty in the plainness of daily life? The latter is very obviously the point of Perfect Days, and that lack of ambiguity is one of the reasons why that film, despite its pleasures, can't hold a candle to Paris, Texas. 

Another reason is Paris, Texas' conclusion, which has rightly earned its place in film history. Finding out that Jane works at a peep show, Travis becomes her client 'confessing' their story to her. You could probably develop a whole film class on shot composition just from the various ways in which Wenders frames the two people on either side of the glass, but his most effective shot is a simple close up of Kinski, as she listens to Stanton telling his story and slowly starts to understand who her client really is. Wenders holds the shot for a long time, almost literally putting us in her shoes, evoking how it is both exhilirating and upsetting to hear a long forgotten voice without seeing the face behind it. From Travis' monologue (and Jane's subsequent response) we get a good idea of why their marriage never had a chance. Neither Jane nor Travis knew how to handle their big love for each other, and even less so the difficulties they faced as a result of that, leading to jealousy, irrationality and eventually abuse, mostly from Travis' side. The film doesn't condemn either of them for what happened, but it forces you to consider your emotional reaction to all of it. You can end the film having sympathy for Travis, or disdain, or something in between, but your response will depend on how you feel about certain specific things that you need to take into consideration and that will always complicate your thoughts. The major flaw of Perfect Days is that it consciously avoids this, letting the audience completely off the hook. The film vaguely hints of a tragedy/misfortune in Hirayama's life, but he remains a blank slate on whom you can project your own feelings and emotions and always feel good about it. 

251. Being John Malkovich

Song .- Binnen (Marco Borsato)

Movie: Being John Malkovich (Spike Jonze, 1999)

In these supposedly enlightened times nobody has yet made a mainstream screwball comedy about a husband and wife cheating on each other with the same person. In some respects, that would probably be truer to the spirit of Frasier than the current reboot, but until someone reactivates the writers room of "The Ski Lodge", we'll have to make do with Being John Malkovich. When Craig Schwartz (John Cusack) discovers the portal to the actor's head, he notes that this opens up all kinds of philosophical questions, about the nature of self and the existence of souls. "Am I me? Is Malkovich Malkovich?" Craig, Maxine (Catherine Keener) and Lotte (Cameron Diaz) quickly lose interest in those questions, instead exploring how they can use Malkovich to live out their absurd (mostly sexual) fantasies. I have liked everything I've seen from Charlie Kaufman, but I do find it a bit unfortunate that he has become more self-consciously intellectual since Being John Malkovich.  His latter movies are not only more serious-minded explorations of the workings of the mind, but also strain a bit to be seen as such, even if I do find Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind his best work. 

The witty, intelligent inventiveness of Being John Malkovich stands out in part because it doesn't overplay its weirdness. Floor 7 1/2 is in every way recognisable as an ordinary corporate floor; its denizens dress in standard business-casual and perform their tasks with a professional demeanor. It's just that everyone has to walk around with their head cocked because the ceilings have been lowered. The introduction explaining the history of the floor is funny and absurd, but also works as a satire of business culture. It's essentially a propaganda video that sugarcoats cost-cutting measures disregarding wokers' safety with cutesy quirkyness, highlighting how special one must feel to work in this environment. And even when the real fun starts, with Craig discovering the portal, that is depicted without too much fuss and with minimal special effects. You crawl through a muddy hole in the wall until you are suddenly sucked in and end up looking at the world through the eyes of John Malkovich. After 15 minutes you leave the man by falling out of the sky near the New Jersey Turnpike. It does get more complicated if it's Malkovich himself going through the portal or if someone is trying to be John Malkovich when another person is already in the actor. The former leads to the most (justifiably, not-to-be-spoiled under any circumstance) famous scene of the film, and the latter to a fantastically surreal chase sequence through Malkovich's unconscious that plays like a dry run for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 

While the film goes to some cynical and dark places, and has a final scene worthy of a great Polanski horror movie, I also find it immensly charming and likable. Much of that is on John Malkovich, who plays 'himself' without any hint of vanity and is ridiculosly good in callibrating his performance based on who's in him. His interpretative dance aside, he does this with a lot of subtlety, grounding the film in its own reality and providing a sort of baseline for how nuts it can get without flying of the rails. It's strange that he didn't get an Oscar nomination for it. Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman deserved theirs, but this was their first feature and their giddiness in making it is so palpable it's easy to imagine them losing control over it with more unhinged performances/characters (everything involving Orson Bean is the weakest part of the film). That slightly juvenile giddiness also works in the film's favor though. All of Kaufman's films invite themselves to be seen as (at least somewhat) auto-biographical and Craig is his dumbest, least flattering alter ego. Most Kaufman characters face existential dread because they are sensitive souls too aware of the world's vast irrationality and unknowability. Craig's issues are more basic and more internal. When puppetteering he is too clever for his own good, and in the rest of his life he is a control freak too horny for his own good. If he was slightly more self-aware, he might have been able to make a film (or at least a puppet show!) like Being John Malkovich.  

250. Marie Antoinette

Song - Killer Queen (Queen)

Movie: Marie Antoinette (Sofia Coppola, 2006)

Quite remarkable how patiently this movie reveals its true colors. Much of the opening consists of Marie Antoinette (Kirsten Dunst) going through the neccessary rituals before her wedding to Louis XVI (Jason Schwartzman). At every step she is greeted by aristocrats with oddly-shaped pompous faces in heavy make up. The audience is not there to honor the new queen, but to control her, to make sure that at no point she deviates from the protocol. Marie never does, but Dunst always highlights her discomfort with the whole thing, portraying her with a youthfully naive rebelliousness and vulnerability, as if she has come straight of the set of one of her contemporary teen comedies. Schwartzman's ridiculosly funny performance - he plays Louis as a limp wimp coming straight from the set of Wes Anderson's most awkward film - creates even more sympathy for the young princess. Boh actors do a great job of highlighting how little all these rituals matter. The king and queen's first dance at their wedding may well be the most literal depiction of "going through the motions" ever put on film. And Coppola is so meticulous in showcasing the hollow ridiculousness of all this, that she has somehow even made the horses gallop in line with her vision. One of the funniest scenes is a simple shot of horse carriages moving across the Gardens of Versailles. 

The film continues mercilessly tearing through Versailles after the wedding, presenting the court as a hotbed of gossip where everyone is just keeping appearances. Marie is one of the main targets of that gossip, due to her childless marriage. As getting a heir to the throne to cement the friendship between Austria and France is the main reason for the union in the first place, Marie constantly receives chiding letters from her mom Maria Theresa (Marianne Faithfull) commanding her to get on with it, which seems to also be the main function of Ambassador Mercy (Steve Coogan). Meanwhile, Louis spends all his waking hours in a state of confused terror, and the film leaves it ambigous whether that terror extends to his sex life, or whether he is gay. In any case, his wife keeps getting the blame for it. 

This depiction of the tragic, oppressive absurdity of Versailles is funny, just and convincing, but also a bit monotonous and obvious. It's not that sophisticated or challenging to take the piss out of European monarchy, especially not for Americans. I still enjoyed the righteously contemptous glee and the sense of showmanship Coppola brought along for the ride, but was a bit miffed that this was seemingly all there was to it. And just when I resigned myself to it, the film suddenly shifted gears. With Marie adjusting to life at the court and even enjoying it, Coppola moves away from her self-reflexively ironic tone to revel in the opulence of it all. The film takes its time to depict all the gowns and shoes Marie gets to wear, and the joy she gets out of wearing and choosing them. We get close ups of delectable desserts, and see Marie and her friends at the court have fun dancing to anachronistic punk music (the film is good for many reasons, but if bringing Siouxsie and the Banshees and Bow Wow Wow to my attention was all it did, it would have been enough) at masked balls where men and women have all the freedom to flirt and frolic. And yet, still, when Marie finally does get a baby, it is involuntarily taken away from her to be breast-fed by the correct people. 

Considerations of Sofia Coppola and her movies often end up focussing on her wealth and privilege and her supposed inability to make movies outside of it. It's obvious that being the daughter of Francis Ford Coppola has helped her enormously in getting a career, but it's equally obvious that she is a great and intelligent filmmaker who has very much thought about the world beyond her bubble. I was too young when I saw Lost in Translation and don't think I'll like it much more now, but really loved The Beguiled and The Bling Ring. Marie Antoinette may be her best though as it becomes about more than just the queen herself. Coppola has a lot of sympathy for the excessive demands put upon Marie Antoinette to always act in a correct way, and to be the woman and wife the world around her expects her to be, but she also knows that this is not unique to her. In fact, the rituals at the royal court don't serve to reflect society, but to shape it. If the queen doesn't perform her marital duties and procreate how can the rest of France be expected to? Marie Antoniette's struggles are those of many women, but it's easier to bear them when you are rich and powerful. Towards the end of the film, Marie Antoinette has become a happy mother and wife and powerful queen, yet still influenced by her past as an insecure teenager and political pawn. All of that shapes how we view her, and Coppola challenges us to embrace conflicting, contadictory feelings. In the final scenes she mourns along with Marie when she loses one of her kids, but gets back to her ironic distance when she is oblivious and indifferent towards the French Revolution coming for her head.  

249. When Harry Met Sally...

Song - Every Time I Think Of You (The Babys)

Movie: When Harry Met Sally... (Rob Reiner, 1989)

In some corners of the internet, Martin Scorsese was already the devil for not allowing people to uncritcally enjoy Marvel movies. Now, those same people are pissed he doesn't let them piss. When some theaters decided to put in an arbitrary intermission in Killers of the Flower Moon, editor Thelma Schoonmaker disgruntled some moviegoers, noting that this was a violation of the film. While her choice of words is a bit strong, she is absolutely right. Filmmakers don't just think about what people see in their movie, but also how they see it, and theaters don't just have the right to make unilateral cuts. The accumulating terror that slowly builds up in Killers of the Flower Moon, and is especially pronounced in the middle stretch that culminates with that surreal fire sequence (the most oppressive vision of hell Scorsese has yet imagined) would be far less effective with an intermission. Making it a difficult watch is part of the intent. 

I think Killers of the Flower Moon is a great movie, and so is When Harry Met Sally..., for precisely the opposite reason. I don't just mean that it is a comforting romantic comedy. Reiner is also always making choices to make sure the audience has the best possible time watching it. One of the loveliest parts of the film is a montage sequence showcasing life in snowy New York. We see happy children sledding towards the camera, beautiful shots of a white Central Park, some Christmas shopping, some romantic ice skaters. It's not a coincidence that this sequence comes right after the famous 'faking it' scene. I had not seen this movie or that scene before, but it is indeed as uproariously funny as advertised. The Christmas scenes following it serve as a sort of mini-intermission before the main business of the film continues. They let the audience compose itself, and let out out a few more stray laughs without missing much of the story, It's necessary too, as the next scene is the first New Year's dance, one of the key moments in the film. It sets up the ending and is the first time Harry (Billy Crystal) and Sally (Meg Ryan) become truly conscious of the possibility of love. 

For the audience that possibility of love is never much in doubt. Right from the opening scene, which doesn't waste any time setting up Harry and Sally, it is pretty obvious how the film will end. That predictability isn't a problem because almost every other scene is a classic, and because the writing is terrific. The film hits all the beats it needs to hit, but every decision our two lovers make, feels true to their characters. It is also one of those films that understands how interesting it is to fall in love with a friend. It gets that it's a situation that slows down your faculties for delicacy and tact, right at the moment when delicacy and tact are most needed. The movie has been criticised for putting its characters in sitcom situations, but while scenes such as Meg Ryan's big moment are indeed unrealistic, they are emotionally true and authentic expressions of the chaotically jubilant inner turmoil Harry and Sally experience. 

To come back full circle (and admittedly, be a little pretentious), there is a shorter distance between Harry and Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo Di Caprio's character in Killers of the Flower Moon) than we'd probably like to admit. Killers of the Flower Moon has been praised for its ending that implicates the audience and itself. I think the audience is far more implicated by Ernest himself, which is why so much writing goes out of its way to present him as a complete idiot or a complete sociopath. He is neither, he just acts in a way that we have all acted at some point in our lives; convincing ourselves that we can negotiate between two incongrous states of being, knowing deep down that we gotta make a decision at some point that might hurt somebody.