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 workers' 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 Marie 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. 

248. Wall Street

Song - Money (Pink Floyd)

Movie: Wall Street (Oliver Stone, 1987)

The phone rings, followed by a pulsating drum beat. Half asleep, Bud Fox (Charlie Sheen) picks up to be greeted by "Money never sleeps, pal". Gordon Gekko (Micheal Douglas) is on the other end of the line hyping his protégé up with arrogantly confident wisecracks about how much money and sex he will provide him with, until the sunrise stops him in his tracks. Awestruck he exclaims "I've never seen a painting that captures the beauty of the ocean in a moment like this". He says it with an affected emphasis aimed to seduce Bud, but that doesn't make his sense of wonder less genuine. The scene ends with a half-dressed, speechless, heavily breathing Bud, and the return of that fabulous drum motif, that appears in a number of scenes, and always for just a couple of seconds. Just enough to excite you for what's coming, and to want more of it. 

The sunrise described by Gordon Gekko is decent. But Stone's filmmaking choices (and Douglas' acting choices) make you feel that the sunrise is indeed the greatest goddamn sunrise the world has ever seen. And when, in another scene, Charlie Sheen quotes Art of War back to Michael Douglas, you will almost forget that they have just been humiliatingly put in their place by a rich British aristocrat, played by Terence Stamp. By the time the camera glides past the sksyscrapers of the Upper East Side and Bud notes that "this is home" in a montage set to the Talking Heads nobody will even think of Stamp, or the (im)morality of Wall Street trading anymore. In no way is this a knock on the film, which I abslolutely loved. Stone wants to put you in the mindset of Bud Fox, and to a lesser extent, Gordon Gekko, to evoke how it feels to be in the position they are in, or rather, believe themselves to be. Gekko, and in his footsteps, Fox, are influential Wall Street businessman with a lot of money, power, connections and access. Though the film explores this, it is equally, if not more, interested in how this reality distorts their worldview and makes them experience life as if they are untouchable giants on top of the world. It's absolutely intoxicating and when Stone and Douglas tell they are surprised by real Wall Street traders telling them that Gordon Gekko is their hero, they should not be believed for a second. The film is designed to elicit exactly that reaction, at least until the moment Gekko wrecks Bluestar, and the film puts Martin Sheen's (I like that he plays Charlie's dad) perspective more to the foreground. 

The famous "Greed is Good" line is one of those moments people like to cite when discussing how easily audiences miss the point of the film. Douglas' lines though come in the context of a longer speech in which he theatirically complains about the decline of America as an industrial nation, but is spot on (even when looking from a more leftist perspective!) about the issue at hand, namely that a corporation shouldn't have 30 vice-presidents who are nothing but symbolic paper pushing figureheads producing nothing, yet earning millions of dollars in salary. If greed is the opposite of that, as Gekko implies, it's at least not bad. Gekko also proceeds to note that greed in all its forms is good, not just greed for money, but also for life, knowledge, and love. And well, who can argue that greed for knowledge is bad? Of course, it's ridiculous for Gekko to put his greed in oppoistion to the greed of the vice-presidents, but there is a lot more going on the scene than just "look at this capitalist idiot, propagating that greed is good, when greed is, in fact, bad." This is even further complicated by the fact that Oliver Stone is just about the least modest mainstream filmmaker out there. The man will exploit every filmmaking resource he has at his disposal to make his movie, and more often than not, it's damn good. 

Daryl Hannah is also good. She got a Razzie Award for her role, and though it's been well documented by now that the Razzie folks are nothing more than attention-seeking smug bastards, neither the cast and crew of Wall Street nor herself were very happy with her role and performance. It suprised me to find that out, because she is really the one character that embodies both the seductiveness of Wall Street life and its rottenness. She is essentially a high-class prostitute 'used' by Gordon Gekko to lure young folks like Bud into his inner circle. She can't escape this life, but also enjoys it. She gets to express herself as an interior designer, and genuinely falls in love with Bud. Yet she also knows that she only has as much freedom as Gekko allows her, all of which gets to the forefront in her final, fantasitcally written and performed, scene with Bud.  She is the film's most complex character, and I don't think it would be nearly as great without her.

247. First Spaceship on Venus

Song - The Final Countdown (Europe)

Movie: First Spaceship on Venus - Der schweigende Stern (Kurt Maetzig, 1960)

American professor Hawling is part of an international crew of scientists, engineers and astronauts on a spaceship bound for Venus. When not working, he likes to play chess against his fellow passengers, usually beating them soundly. The one opponent he can't defeat is the ship's robot Omega. After the umpteenth mate, Sumiko, the Japanese doctor on board, confronts Saltyk, the Polish developer of the robot. She explains that while Omega may be an impressive technical feat of machinery, it lacks a heart. Saltyk listens to her, rewires Omega, and when the robot lets the professor beat it, a rejuvenated Hawling immediately starts bragging to his team about his great chess prowess, completely oblivious to what has happened. 

This little subplot is a good example of the film's good-natured corniness, for better and for worse. It's easy to feel sympathetic towards a film that has such a sincerely utopian view of the potential of peaceful international cooperation to improve humanity. We are told that beyond just discovering extraterrestrial life, the Earth's greatest minds are also close to eradicating hunger and physical labor. The world will then see the value of international, interracial solidarity (worth noting though that the black passenger on the ship is the only one without a nationality - he is 'African' - and the only one who speaks German with an accent), come together to stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons and end the Cold War. But the film is afraid to make any interesting/fun/artistic choice that could distract it from bringing its message across. The acting and the dialogues are so wooden that the actors may as well stand in front of a Powerpoint and give a presentation. 

I didn't realise this before watching it, but this is a film produced by DEFA, the state-owned film studio of East Germany. That does put the punch-line of the chess story in a different view. In an American film this would have been a pointed, sharp joke that's worth thinking about. In this context, it is state-approved messaging, regurgitated propaganda that's not even ferocious enough to work as serious criticism (the film's many reminders that the Americans are responsible for Hiroshima are at least a bit saltier). Now, some would argue that on the global political stage, even during the Cold War, the Americans were the biggest power 'colonising' the world with their culture and their capitalism, and that the communist state-produced films were a subversive corrective to that. But that glesses over the question of why the Americans were/are more succesfull in promoting their culture and lifestyle to the rest of the world. Part of the answer is that you will see in American movies jokes about dumb Americans that are critical of the very fundaments of American life. In First Spaceship on Venus there is not a single lighthearted moment that would allow for even a little doubt or ridicule of a communist idea. 

246. A Canterbury Tale

Song - Solsbury Hill (Peter Gabriel)

Movie: A Canterbury Tale (Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1944)

Allison Smith's (Sheila Sim) plans are altered the moment she gets out of the train station in Chillingbourne. She has come to the (fictional) town as a Land Girl, a woman called on to work on a farm to replace the men off fighting the war, only to become the latest victim of a mysterious figure who sneaks up on women in the dark and puts glue in their hair. Together with Peter Gibbs (Dennis Price) and Bob Johnson (John Sweet, an actual sergeant in his only acting role), respectively a British and an American soldier, she sets out to uncover the identity of the "glue man". 

A Canterbury Tale can't reach the great heights of A Matter of Life and Death (few things can), but it does share its genuine love of people, and their interactions. There are many movies (that present themselves to be) about the importance of human connection, but it's much rarer for a movie to be about the process of human connection. There is a short scene where Bob is calling his buddy in London to tell him he is delayed, He is observed from the background by a bemused Peter. There is no deeper meaning or subtext to this scene. It is simply about how wonderful it is to express interest in what your friend is up to, and more generally, how wonderful it is to be willing to engage with the world around you and feel at ease in doing so. It does matter here that Allison, Bob and Peter are all presented with poise, confidence and earnestness, qualities that Powell and Pressburger seem to find vital for being able to experience and approach the world and the people in it with comfort, curiosity, joy and moral seriousness. Above all else, expressing how great it is to be able to be like that, is what both A Canterbury Tale and A Matter of Life and Death are utimately about. 

I wonder if A Canterbury Tale influenced Twin Peaks. In particular the relationship between Bob and Peter almost plays as a blueprint for Dale Cooper and Sheriff Truman. The development of their friendship is as important for them as solving Laura's murder/finding the identity of the glue man, but more than that, it's about their heightened awareness of how fulfilling it is to behave in ways that give you the opportunity to experience the joys of humanity (including damn good tea/coffee!). Both Twin Peaks and A Canterbury Tale see this as a sacred, miraculous experience, that is crucial to be able to withstand, though not necessarily defeat, the ultimate evil, whether that's BOB, or Nazi's. In Twin Peaks this is mostly communicated through the shamelessly melodramatic formal choices; in A Canterbury Tale mostly through the performances and the constant reminders of the spiritual context around Canterbury. The film insists that the characters are not only aware of their connection to each other, but also to the nature and history of their surroundings, seeing them as basically direct descendants of the pilgrims of Chaucer's time.  

What stops the film from greatness is that the glue man is essentially a stand-in for Powell and Pressburger. Once caught, he explains that he wants to stop the women from going out with the soldiers in town. His reasoning has nothing to do with the war effort or with sexual morality. Rather, he is simply a raconteur who has always dreamt of preaching about the history of Canterbury, without being able to find a right audience. Now that his little town is filled to the brink with bored soldiers, he can finally fulfiill his dream explaining Canterbury's special place in the history of England. The film itself is even preachier. Almost every plot point ultimately serves to teach a moral, practical or historic lesson, with the overarching message being that Americans and Britons have much in common, and should be friends who work together to make the world a better place, whether that entails unmasking the glue man or beating the Nazi's. Some of these scenes are really infantilising, in both content and form. For example a point about the idiocy of American isolationists is disguised as a joke to not come off as cheap propaganda, but it is so blatantly the latter that the attempt to disguise it only makes a very valid argument come off as insidious manipulation. 

245. Ladyhawke

Song - Total Eclipse Of The Heart (Bonnie Tyler)

Movie: Ladyhawke (Richard Donner, 1985)

In the early days of this project I wrote up The Fabulous Baker Boys, lacking the vocabulary to talk about 'Makin Whoopee' without it coming off as creepy or boringly obvious. But I can say that it's a curse on the audience to cast 80's Michelle Pfeiffer and then make her appear half the time in the guise of a hawk. Out of jealousy, the Bishop of Aquila (John Wood) has damned her and her lover Navarre (Rutger Hauer); she, Isabeau, is a hawk by day, while he is a wolf by night. And every sunset and sunrise they are tortured by an ephemeral glimpse of each other's human bodies. They can only bring an end to this ordeal by appearing together at the Bishop during a solar eclipse. That's why they need Gaston (Matthew Broderick), the only one to have ever escaped out of the prison beneath the Bishop's palace. Of course, the real reason for Gaston is that without him this would have to be an austere film about two cursed lovers silentily battling the forces of nature and of the Bishop. That  would have required a lot physically from Hauer and Pfeiffer but the real pain would have been for the producers, who would not have gotten their return on investment. 

Still, you should be able to satisfy commercial demands without being unfavorably compared to Black Knight. Who doesnt't remember the 2001 comedy about a stereotypical black comedian who has to adapt to his surroundings when he is magically transported into medieval times? It's much better than Ladyhawke, which essentially imagines how a stereotypical 80's high school teen would behave when transported into medieval times. Firstly, Martin Lawrence is inherently funnier than Matthew Broderick. Secondly, Broderick plays Gaston as a lazy student who gets accidentally sent to 14th Century Italy and now has to use his rudimentary knowledge of history to survive. That could be quite funny, but Gaston is conceived as a pickpocket from the actual Middle Ages, and the film wants him to be both that and a time-travelling Ferris Bueller. Which leads to a lot of irritatingly daft lines, often enunciated by Broderick as if he is participating in an oral exam. 

The film's attempts to merge the medieval with the contemporary also extend to the score produced by Alan Parsons. It's typical 80's synth-heavy pop with sudden ocassional outburts that make it seem as if you are listening to an orchestral score for a traditional epic. I quite liked the music, but it never really meshes with the action and the images on screen, making it feel a bit too disparate from the movie. The truth is that Hauer is the only one who succesfully adapts to what the film is trying to do. He portrays Navarre as a stoic courageous romantic who would rather express his love for Isabeau and his honorable family history than his discontent with Gaston. He is often given sarcastic zingers in response to Broderick's shenaningans, but he delivers them as if they are beneath his dignity, as if he feels that he shouldn't be saying what he does.