The highly gifted screenwriter Charlie Kaufman’s latest film “Synedoche, New York”, which he also directed, is a film with experimental tones, that watches like a weird fusion of a college film class and Existential Philosophy 101. It utterly lacks any Dramatic, Comedic, or even Intellectual Appeal; instead it is a nearly unbearable two hours of listless dialogue, filled with cringe-inducingly bad lines and terrible acting. It is painful to watch, and earned the distinction of being the first ever movie that it was impossible for me to sit through; I turned it off at the hour mark.
Part of its problem is that it rings so shallow and gimmicky, making it heavy handed. Kaufman went so far that the lines weren’t even visible anymore, lines that he’s usually smart enough to only flirt with. So the viewer is forced to watch such pointlessly silly gimmicks as the burning house, and the main characters self-insertion into utterly stupid and dry commercials, all of which makes the film seem to insult my intelligence by playing around with such lowest common denominator gimmicks and reminds me that it is so important in film to not do something just for the hell of it. Well-developed human characters are not a thing you should expect to see in this film, which is attempting to create an elaborate existentialist metaphor for the way in which we create and manage our lives. Nor should you expect good dialogue that provides some tiny shred of something, anything, to hang onto and attempt to get some form of a cinematic experience from, and that was perhaps the most shocking part about it, considering how wonderfully dialogue driven Kaufman’s previous scripts have been, particularly “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and “Adaptation”. But the dialogue here in this film is horrific, it’s dead on arrival and hopelessly unrealistic.
Its other problem, the one that truly makes it unwatchable, is its lifelessness. This film was never alive, it was never a living, satisfying, breathing work of intellectual discourse, and therefore in its heavy-handedness it fails spectacularly to create a work that surprises with ambiguous and complex truths. What it does is beat you over the head with a dry and unrelentingly dark, (but very simplistic and shallow), tone. This film is too Kaufmanesque, truthfully. He’s always pushing the limits to where his own personal neurotic tendencies are almost annoying, but here with no restraint Kaufman went crazy, literally and figuratively I suppose. Whereas all of his characters are unnaturally shy, reticent, and quite frankly neurotic to the point of madness, (on the part of the viewer), they still have redeeming qualities, such as interesting dialogue and real feelings, which makes them wonderful and interesting to get involved with, here there is none of that, they are dredging characters plodding around empty and soulless on the screen. So while there is always a certain unrealistic and cheesy post-modern aspect to his films, this one goes a step farther and it makes it impossible to watch and get anything out of. Beyond that it is simply impossible to sympathize with this sort of character; he’s simply annoying and unlikeable and not in a good way but in way that screams “I’m a metaphorical character meant to make a point”.
As someone who did not like Camus’s stranger for the same reason, I obviously won’t put up with it here; it defiles my entire perspective of art and sense of aesthetic beliefs on what art is supposed to do. Art is not here as an exercise in how much we can obfuscate what we mean, nor is it here to see how much we can dehumanize ourselves. Kaufman’s New French Novel experiment of a film is crap for me.
There are scenes where the actors involved seemed quite aware they are in a very deep and intellectual movie and they act the dredging, solemn, lethargic roles. It’s also a flaw that this film has not an ounce of comedy in it; almost all great films must have some sort of humor, must realize that life is rarely so dark and depressing as it is in film, that people will always find a way to laugh. Some films don’t need this, but this one did, and by not having it, it became one of those dreaded “Takes itself too seriously” films which manages to acerbate and complement its already vast problems.
In closing, the movie could be completely and accurately described as a enervated, hopelessly artsy and overwhelmingly obtuse film with no redeeming value whatsoever anywhere in the film.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Kill Bill: An Epic
Its controversial to say this, but I love Kill Bill. I think its an epic, a masterpiece. While critics generally like some really hated it, I mean some despised it. And I have a theory on this, on situations like that where a select group of people really hate something that is fairly well received. It can fall into one of two categories: one, the film hits a bunch of shallow deep notes for critics, or two a select group of just completely misses the point and the movie just swishes right over their heads, and both those aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.
But I had the great pleasure of rewatching both Kill Bill's recently for the first time and in several years and enjoyed it even more. I watched them with my new trained eye, taking in the way they were shot, the music, the mood, the tone, all the things I've gotten from watching movies closer and learning more about film and acting, and it was one of the few movies I enjoyed much more with this closer examination.
The one thing you have to like Kill Bill for is that it dared to be an Epic, it didn't half try, it wasn't embarrassed, or held back wondering what would be thought about it, it was an all out, everything on the table Epic. That is the one thing every critic should give it as its due, regardless of how they felt about it.
Kill Bill is a stylistic masterpiece, no other way to put it. The fleeting camera angles, the black and white to color mixture, the reversions to cartoons or dancing colors, is simply put some of the greatest cinematography I've come across. Uma Thurmon's scene in Volume 2 where she's buried alive is one of the best I've seen done.
What is perhaps so lovely about this movie is that its depth speaks on its own if you know how to listen. It doesn't try it simply is profound, which marks it apart from many other movies. Its a breath of fresh air because its never too serious, its never cliched or preachy, (like No Country for Old Men), but its beautiful. I kept having to fight the urge to weep because I was just so astonished and taken in and inundated by this movie. As someone deeply in tune with the pop culture it is an ode to, I could connect with it.
The films are very different but in a purposeful way, they are meant to compliment each other; you cannot understand or enjoy one fully without having seen the other and taken time to ponder them together then rewatch them.
The first film is a bloody ode on the violence, it is saturated in violence, so much so that some people take the violence at too much face value instead of the intent and see the movie as a mindless, gory action flick. My grandparents for instance went to this movie thinking that it was a Clint Eastwood movie for some reason, and to this day they swear by it that it was the strangest, most awful movie ever made.
The second film is what establishes its greatness though. Volume One is good but what it lacks Volume Two provides. Volume Two is really the most critical to watch; you can understand the movie just watching Volume Two, but you could not understand it just watching Volume One. The stark difference in tone exists as well. While Volume One is a not entirely serious glorification of violence Volume Two is slower and ponders this violence.
All of the great moments in the film really, belong to Volume Two. David Carradine truly shines in his role and the characters are given more flesh and blood and come to life as real people which ponders the question of the dehumanizing effect of the violence of the first one. The epic blood gushing nonstop violence of the first movie is replaced by no gushes of blood or epic attacks in the second one.
I'm trying not to give too much of the movie away lest it be ruined but the ending, from Carradine's discussion of Superman to his five slow steps into the distance as he dies are something so powerful, so special, so profound that I can scarcely describe the experience of watching them. They are this way because they pretend to be nothing, they don't try to be that way, they lack the superficial pompous, and false epic of "great" films like The Last King of Scotland, they are what cinema is supposed to be; they don't even try to pretend they are real life because the harder a film tries to replicate reality the greater and more terrible its failure was. Instead this film creates its own reality and in that reality it truly shines because we don't have to question anything or mar anything through the lens of our reality. That's why those other films miss the point reality. I don't want our reality when I watch a movie, I wanna get away from it, I wanna watch an innovative look at something fresh, something new, something different.
I can't say enough as well for the acting; I cannot even begin to imagine this film without Carradine or Thurmon. They are there characters, that's the sign of a great performance. They aren't even the actors Uma Thurmon and David Carradine they are Bill and Beatrix Kiddo. My heart was sealed on this film watching her cry on the floor of the bathroom at the end of Volume Two as her daughter watched Bugs Bunny in the other room before she wiped her eyes and leaves off into the sunset. Its the existential criticism on the pointlessness of all the violence she went through to get to that point and its a fitting end for an epic movie.
But I had the great pleasure of rewatching both Kill Bill's recently for the first time and in several years and enjoyed it even more. I watched them with my new trained eye, taking in the way they were shot, the music, the mood, the tone, all the things I've gotten from watching movies closer and learning more about film and acting, and it was one of the few movies I enjoyed much more with this closer examination.
The one thing you have to like Kill Bill for is that it dared to be an Epic, it didn't half try, it wasn't embarrassed, or held back wondering what would be thought about it, it was an all out, everything on the table Epic. That is the one thing every critic should give it as its due, regardless of how they felt about it.
Kill Bill is a stylistic masterpiece, no other way to put it. The fleeting camera angles, the black and white to color mixture, the reversions to cartoons or dancing colors, is simply put some of the greatest cinematography I've come across. Uma Thurmon's scene in Volume 2 where she's buried alive is one of the best I've seen done.
What is perhaps so lovely about this movie is that its depth speaks on its own if you know how to listen. It doesn't try it simply is profound, which marks it apart from many other movies. Its a breath of fresh air because its never too serious, its never cliched or preachy, (like No Country for Old Men), but its beautiful. I kept having to fight the urge to weep because I was just so astonished and taken in and inundated by this movie. As someone deeply in tune with the pop culture it is an ode to, I could connect with it.
The films are very different but in a purposeful way, they are meant to compliment each other; you cannot understand or enjoy one fully without having seen the other and taken time to ponder them together then rewatch them.
The first film is a bloody ode on the violence, it is saturated in violence, so much so that some people take the violence at too much face value instead of the intent and see the movie as a mindless, gory action flick. My grandparents for instance went to this movie thinking that it was a Clint Eastwood movie for some reason, and to this day they swear by it that it was the strangest, most awful movie ever made.
The second film is what establishes its greatness though. Volume One is good but what it lacks Volume Two provides. Volume Two is really the most critical to watch; you can understand the movie just watching Volume Two, but you could not understand it just watching Volume One. The stark difference in tone exists as well. While Volume One is a not entirely serious glorification of violence Volume Two is slower and ponders this violence.
All of the great moments in the film really, belong to Volume Two. David Carradine truly shines in his role and the characters are given more flesh and blood and come to life as real people which ponders the question of the dehumanizing effect of the violence of the first one. The epic blood gushing nonstop violence of the first movie is replaced by no gushes of blood or epic attacks in the second one.
I'm trying not to give too much of the movie away lest it be ruined but the ending, from Carradine's discussion of Superman to his five slow steps into the distance as he dies are something so powerful, so special, so profound that I can scarcely describe the experience of watching them. They are this way because they pretend to be nothing, they don't try to be that way, they lack the superficial pompous, and false epic of "great" films like The Last King of Scotland, they are what cinema is supposed to be; they don't even try to pretend they are real life because the harder a film tries to replicate reality the greater and more terrible its failure was. Instead this film creates its own reality and in that reality it truly shines because we don't have to question anything or mar anything through the lens of our reality. That's why those other films miss the point reality. I don't want our reality when I watch a movie, I wanna get away from it, I wanna watch an innovative look at something fresh, something new, something different.
I can't say enough as well for the acting; I cannot even begin to imagine this film without Carradine or Thurmon. They are there characters, that's the sign of a great performance. They aren't even the actors Uma Thurmon and David Carradine they are Bill and Beatrix Kiddo. My heart was sealed on this film watching her cry on the floor of the bathroom at the end of Volume Two as her daughter watched Bugs Bunny in the other room before she wiped her eyes and leaves off into the sunset. Its the existential criticism on the pointlessness of all the violence she went through to get to that point and its a fitting end for an epic movie.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
My Take on Movie Criticism
I just thought I should give my readers some sort of take on my philosophy for movie critcism, if I have any readers. I'm to eventually start gaining some kind of loyal base. I have a different idea of criticism than most critics and therefore you won't see me anything that often. I don't watch something with the intention of being critical of it, therefore if I pan its really really bad. Joking aside that is my philsophy.
Therefore while I take note of how its shot, how original it is, etc, I'm not afraid to get lost in it and am easily lost in a movie because I am simply a huge cinema lover.
I'm not easier than mainstream critics on everything, I'm actually a lot harsher on "critically popular" movies. I hate and despise it when I see movies trying to do something trendy, or profound, trying to do something artsy which they know will be a hit among the critics whose only criteria is to search for such a thing and praise it while condemning everything else that doesn't meet their snobbish standards. Notable movies I've panned because of this are Children of Men and No Country for Old Men. No Country I panned if only for the cliched scenes of Tommy Lee Jones and especially the ending. The ending of No country is the epitome of saying something because it sounds profound and sounds good and having people chuckle and applaud you as brilliant for it.
So in some ways I am a lot harder than most critics; I demand a natural feel, I don't want to be preached to or shown a pile of artistic crap that's meant to shock and astound me. Therefore very few movies meet my criteria of brilliant.
But my number one rule, my gold rule, is don't be a snob. The one thing I cannot stand more than anything else is the snobbish attitude in criticism today. Not so much movie criticism, movie criticism is tame in comparison to the snobbery of literary criticism. I'll criticize some popular novels for not being well done, but I'll still admit they were fun to read. I won't force myself to not enjoy them, I won't dismiss or dislike escapist literature, becuase what's wrong with that, we all need escapes and as much as these snobs would hate to admit all literature is a form of escape from our own realities, even the books they praise so highly, (and which I would probably also praise highly most of the time, if it weren't postmodern or minimalist).
So there you have it, my philosophy in criticism. Number one of all I try not to be a snob, I try to look at things fairly, intend to enjoy them, and review them fairly pointing out positive effects and negative and for many movies I give them a rating of how fun they are to watch, and then talk about how they failed or met standards of being well done and profound and sticking with you after they were watched. Thanks for reading, and I hope you bookmark and keep track oh loyal reader.
Therefore while I take note of how its shot, how original it is, etc, I'm not afraid to get lost in it and am easily lost in a movie because I am simply a huge cinema lover.
I'm not easier than mainstream critics on everything, I'm actually a lot harsher on "critically popular" movies. I hate and despise it when I see movies trying to do something trendy, or profound, trying to do something artsy which they know will be a hit among the critics whose only criteria is to search for such a thing and praise it while condemning everything else that doesn't meet their snobbish standards. Notable movies I've panned because of this are Children of Men and No Country for Old Men. No Country I panned if only for the cliched scenes of Tommy Lee Jones and especially the ending. The ending of No country is the epitome of saying something because it sounds profound and sounds good and having people chuckle and applaud you as brilliant for it.
So in some ways I am a lot harder than most critics; I demand a natural feel, I don't want to be preached to or shown a pile of artistic crap that's meant to shock and astound me. Therefore very few movies meet my criteria of brilliant.
But my number one rule, my gold rule, is don't be a snob. The one thing I cannot stand more than anything else is the snobbish attitude in criticism today. Not so much movie criticism, movie criticism is tame in comparison to the snobbery of literary criticism. I'll criticize some popular novels for not being well done, but I'll still admit they were fun to read. I won't force myself to not enjoy them, I won't dismiss or dislike escapist literature, becuase what's wrong with that, we all need escapes and as much as these snobs would hate to admit all literature is a form of escape from our own realities, even the books they praise so highly, (and which I would probably also praise highly most of the time, if it weren't postmodern or minimalist).
So there you have it, my philosophy in criticism. Number one of all I try not to be a snob, I try to look at things fairly, intend to enjoy them, and review them fairly pointing out positive effects and negative and for many movies I give them a rating of how fun they are to watch, and then talk about how they failed or met standards of being well done and profound and sticking with you after they were watched. Thanks for reading, and I hope you bookmark and keep track oh loyal reader.
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