Terror at the Mall: This movie made me think a lot of
Nightcrawler thanks to a brave but shameless R reporter and his insistence on
getting all up in people’s business as their lives’ slipped away. I would
normally go on a sanctimonious tirade about his crossing of that line, except
a: I don’t know where that line should be and b: I’m the voyeur who had every
opportunity to turn the channel and didn’t. The movie, released by HBO Films,
chronicles the attacks on a mall in Nairobi by the terrorist group known as Al
Shabaab. Most of the violence was caught by security cameras, which director
Dan Reed obtained and weaved into a storyline with narration and interviews
with survivors. It’s terrifying to watch these innocent people scatter and
hide, helpless as these misguided young men crept up and fired bullets
indiscriminately at them. Men, women, and children lost their lives (71 to be
exact, 3 pregnant women included and at least a dozen kids) and the killers
were added to that total. The interviews mostly recount the panic, pragmatic
decision making, and relief of the survivors, most of whom not only survived
but also thankfully could count their loved ones (mostly children and babies)
along with the rescued. There is something triumphant about these men and women
uniting to save one another, especially when this common connection, as ugly as
it is, causes so many to act so selflessly. But while most of interviewees
walked away with something of a new appreciation for their lives and loved
ones, there was one gentleman who proved to be the sad exception. He lost his
wife. The shots that caused the wounds that cost her life are caught by one of
the security cameras. It’s hard to watch, and maybe it shouldn’t be seen. I
don’t know the answer to this, but I do know that his description of the events
took my breath away. I would call it a moment of transcendence except it
actually made me sink lower in my seat. Maybe transcendence is sometimes
supposed to pull us closer to the dirt. This moment is crucial to a film in
which we wonder how these men could act so senselessly, especially when we hear
accounts of them also apologizing and acting with the kind of compassion that
only people in their warped position of power can offer. The common ingredients
to violence at this juncture in my life seem a: greed b: hate c: brainwashing
and d: misguided ideology. I’m not sure if this is a good movie, but I’m glad I
saw it.
** Note: the movie sparked a discussion between me and my
better half, a discussion that started in one troubled area and ended up in a
futile and arbitrary debate over whether or not we should credit a “country”
with the moral accomplishments of its people. We haven’t chased our tails so
furiously since we saw Do the Right Thing together back in 1999.
Total Recall (1990): I tend to reflexively trudge through
life in a sarcastic haze in order to repel the perils of actual feelings. It’s
a weakness, I know, but it’s all I got. Movies from Paul Verhoeven’s ten
year/four-for-four winning streak (starting in 1987 and ending in 97) worked
great for morons like me, both then and
now. Though I’d like to think of myself as wiser and impervious to the same
giggling postmodernist “soooo ridiculous it’s profound” imprudence of others,
I’m right there with them laughing my way to an early death. Total Recall is
silly and preposterous, though the ideas in We Can Remember It For You
Wholesale occasionally break through all of the noise. Verhoeven’s skill is
matched by his energy. The effects by the great Rob Bottin are the images that
bind us smirking losers together. I guess this is as it should be. Total Recall
is the type of glorious spectacle that I need from time to time. Sometimes I
long for it on a Sunday afternoon in which I miss my Newport friends who would
come by with beer and gross food to remedy or sustain the debauchery of the
previous night. Here we would laugh and joke our way through our meaningless
existences.
The Phenix City Story (1955): I can’t believe I’m just
catching up with this now. I’ve only seen one other Phil Karlson movie
(shameful) so I’m certainly not going to wax philosophical about his oeuvre. In
opening his film with thirteen minutes of newsreel footage describing the
forthcoming events, Karlson at least spoils the fate of one crucial character.
I’m not complaining, in fact I don’t have a single complaint. This is a
masterpiece, the kind of movie that should be held high when eulogizing the
virtues of economic artists trudging their way through big stories with little
money. The dealings are yet another stain on the American quilt. Actually, it’s
similar in spirit to Terror at the Mall in that society (meaning a social
order) can/will fail us from time to time, and it’s in this wicked space that
bad men prosper. I don’t mind using terms like bad men when describing Rhett
Tanner (as portrayed by Edward Andrews), a man willing to quantify and weigh
human life against power and wealth. It’s a rather nice allegory for some of
the same problems currently bubbling in our melting pot. It was also a sly
commentary on the Civil Rights Movement, which was officially being born in the
year this movie was made.
Pather Panchali: Elegiac, impressionistic, fleshly,
attentive, unbound, and thriving with the rhythms of life. Ray’s movements and
cuts contain a great deal of attuned perception to our relationship to nature.
There is a scene where Harihar speaks with poise to the ancestral overseers who
want to know why he and his family are suddenly uprooting for the big city. In
this conversation he politely lays forth his reasoning for leaving --- he
basically states that they have held him down and that he can’t even afford to
pay back their debt with the wages he earns working tirelessly day in and day
out ---- as the camera tracks slowly towards him. In the midst of that
tiptoeing he mentions the name of a deceased loved one, pauses and the camera pauses
with him only to pick up its crawl as he continues. This movie is full of
similar flourishes, and the story itself, though no different from many other
sad and triumphantly humanist stories about impoverished families, is full of
joy amidst the struggle. These aren’t helpless rural peasants laid out for our pity;
they are full of dignity and strength. I can’t say that I understand Truffaut’s
reaction one bit, certainly not his rumored articulation.
Come and See: Among the many pointless hypothetical
inquiries into the do’s and don’ts of telling stories would be whether or not
it’s “necessary” to recreate travesties for historical fiction’s sake. Perhaps
more relevant a question would be whether or not you personally should subject
yourself to things of that nature. Elem Klimov’s Come and See chronicles a
young boy’s horrific war experiences during the Nazi occupation of Byelorussian
SSR. The movie was written by Ales Adamovich, who served as a Belorussian
partisan fighter at a very young age and undoubtedly witnessed some of the
horrors so assuredly recreated here. I won’t bother going into the deluge of
atrocities, but I will say that much of the horror portrayed may have been
better captured (and much of it is) in the young actor’s face. The pandemonium
isn’t confined to set pieces; it’s in the trees, in the eyes, on the ground, and
in the soundscape. The filmmaking evokes other Russian masters (though my
knowledge is sadly limited to the renowned auteurs); the movie it reminded me
most of was actually Sergei Parajanov’s Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors. I’m not
so sure I buy the “plea for peace” notion, though it certainly would give pause
to anyone wanting to immerse themselves in battle. I guess the reason I doubt
this is because though some will be repulsed to the point of trauma, others
will be unquestionably fuming about the pillagers marching unobstructed through
a defenseless region. I guess here we might find an answer to the pointless
question of whether or not to fictionalize that which is unfathomable to those
of us who live what some consider a “comfortable existence.” Oh and by the way,
the young actor’s name is Aleksey Kravchenko, and he supposedly went grey while
filming this movie. I almost went grey watching it.
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I also caught up with: two films dealing with Frank
Merrill’s six month military campaign in Burma during WWII. The films were
1945’s Objective Burma! and 1962’s Merrill’s Marauders, directed by Raoul Walsh
and Sam Fuller. Different approaches here; one made in reverence and the other
with many more questions. There is also the problem of racial representations
in Walsh’s film, while Fuller works harder to even things out. I like both film
a great deal, setting aside my 2015 issues with the 1945 movie, as I suppose
you have to if you want to enjoy much of anything from that time. Not so fun
fact, the U.S. military prodded the marauders until they were “victorious” and
out of the 2,997 that were sent, only 130 returned. I also shamefully caught up
with another great WWII thriller for the first time, this from Fritz Lang,
1944’s Ministry of Fear. I don’t have much to say other than Lang picked the
wrong film to apologize for. Bob Clark’s Deathdream would make a fine chaser to
Eastwood’s American Sniper. The finale is as heartbreaking as anything I’ve
seen in a traditional war movie. Don Siegel plays it rough and loose with
1962’s Hell is for Heroes, a nice unsentimental look at battle life. Fritz Lang
adapted J. Meade Falkner’s Moofleet to great effect. I just wish I had seen a
crisper transfer so that Eastman Color would pop. Darkman is underrated Raimi.
And I saw lots more but I’m losing focus here.
here is a beautiful drawing by my friend Jackson:
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