All posts by Dennis Hartley

Culture Clash, Politics, Road Movie, Social Satire

No future: Top 5 Thatcher era films

September 15, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 13, 2013)

Digby did a great post earlier this week with an interesting cultural angle regarding the passing of former British PM Margaret Thatcher. She recalls how the Thatcher era (1979-1990) “was a fertile period in British music”, that blossomed in tandem with the “very active political opposition to Thatcherism”. The socio-political ennui that fueled those punk anthems Dibgy cites also informed the work of some young British filmmakers. So as a sort of companion piece to Digby’s post, I’ve selected five films that share the ethos:

High Hopes – “Guess what its name is?” asks Shirley (Ruth Sheen), whilst pointing at a potted cactus plant. When their house guest shrugs, her husband Cyril (Philip Davis) chimes in, “Thatcher! Because it’s a pain in the ass; prongs you every time you walk past it.” Cyril (an old-school Marxist who works as a motorbike messenger) and the earth-motherly Shirley are at the center of Mike Leigh’s wonderful 1988 character study.

In his usual leisurely yet compelling fashion, Leigh pulls you right into the world of this sweet, unpretentious working-class couple and the people in their orbit. There’s Cyril’s elderly mum (Edna Dore), with whom he dutifully stays in touch (despite the fact that she voted Tory in the last election, to his chagrin). Cyril’s shrill, self-centered sister Valerie (Heather Tobias) is a piece of work; while she also stays in touch with Mum, she sees it as a bothersome chore. Her exasperated husband (Martin Burke) is starting to view his marriage as a bothersome chore. And then there is an obnoxious yuppie couple (Lesley Manville and David Bamber) that you will love to hate.

Many of Leigh’s recurring themes are present; particularly class warfare and family dynamics (the thread about Cyril’s aging mother reminds me of Ozu’s Tokyo Story). And like most of Leigh’s films, it’s insightful, funny, poignant and ultimately life-affirming.

The Ploughman’s Lunch – In a 2009 article in The Guardian, a number of UK writers, artists, musicians, filmmakers and arts critics weighed in regarding Thatcherism’s effect on each of their respective fields. This was theater and film director Richard Eyre’s take:

Thatcher’s relentless emphasis on money and management and marketing illuminated the value of things that couldn’t be quantified, and her moronic mantra “there’s no such thing as society” gave the humanitarian and moral a conspicuous importance. So, although I didn’t think it at the time, it’s possible that Thatcher gave the arts a shot in the arm.

And indeed, Eyre’s 1983 film is probably the most politically subversive of my five selections. Bolstered by Ian McEwan’s incisive screenplay, the story is set on the eve of the Falklands War. Jonathan Pryce tackles the unenviable task of making us care about an inherently smarmy protagonist with considerable aplomb.

Pryce plays a cynical Oxford-educated Radio London news writer who falls madly in love with a TV journalist (Charlie Dore). She reciprocates in a platonic fashion. Frustrated, Pryce begs a pal (Tim Curry) who also happens to be Dore’s long-time co-worker for ideas. Curry suggests that Pryce, who has been commissioned to write a book on the Suez Crisis, could score points by ingratiating himself with Dore’s mother (Rosemary Harris), an historian who once wrote a commemorative article on that very subject. Pryce’s love life takes a few unexpected turns.

While it may sound more like a soap opera than a political statement, McEwan’s script cleverly draws parallels between the self-serving sexual machinations of the characters and what he may have felt Thatcher was (figuratively) “doing” to Britain at the time.

It’s interesting to note that the denouement, which features the three journalists covering the 1982 Conservative Party Conference, was surreptitiously filmed at the actual event (you’ll see snippets of Thatcher’s address) as the actors nonchalantly mingled with the crowd (begging comparison to Haskell Wexler’s Medium Cool).

Radio On – You know how you develop an inexplicable emotional attachment to certain films? This no-budget 1979 offering from writer-director Christopher Petit, shot in stark B&W is one such film for me. That said, I should warn you that it is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea, as it contains one of those episodic narratives that may cause drowsiness for some after about 15 minutes. Yet, I am compelled to revisit this one annually. Go figure.

A dour London DJ (David Beames), whose estranged brother has committed suicide, heads to Bristol to get his sibling’s affairs in order and attempt to glean what drove him to such despair (while quite reminiscent of the setup for Get Carter, this is not a crime thriller…far from it). He has encounters with various characters, including a friendly German woman, an unbalanced British Army vet who served in Northern Ireland, and a rural gas-station attendant (a cameo by Sting) who kills time singing Eddie Cochran songs.

As the protagonist journeys across an England full of bleak yet perversely beautiful industrial landscapes in his boxy sedan, accompanied by a moody electronic score (mostly Kraftwerk and David Bowie) the film becomes hypnotic. A textbook example of how the cinema can capture and preserve the zeitgeist of an ephemeral moment (e.g. England on the cusp of the Thatcher era) like no other art form.

Sammie and Rosie Get Laid –What I adore most about this 1987 dramedy from director Stephen Frears (My Beautiful Launderette, Prick up Your Ears, Dangerous Liaisons, The Grifters, High Fidelity) is that it is everything wingnuts dread: Pro-feminist, gay-positive, anti-fascist, pro-multiculturalism, anti-colonialist and Marxist-friendly (they don’t make ‘em like this anymore).

At first glance, Sammy (Ayub Khan-Din) and Rosie (Frances Barber) are just your average middle-class London couple. However, their lifestyle is unconventional. They have taken a libertine approach to their marriage; giving each other an unlimited pass to take lovers on the side (the in-joke here is that Sammy and Rosie seemingly “get laid” with everyone but each other).

In the meantime, the couple’s neighborhood is turning into a war zone; ethnic and political unrest has led to nightly riots (this is unmistakably Thatcher’s England; Frears bookends his film with ironic excerpts from her speeches). When Sammy’s estranged father (Shashi Kapoor), a former Indian government official haunted by ghosts from his political past, returns to London after a long absence, everything goes topsy-turvy for the couple.

Fine performances abound in a cast that includes Claire Bloom and Fine Young Cannibals lead singer Roland Gift, buoyed by Frears’ direction and Hanif Kureishi’s literate script.

This is England – This film from director Shane Meadows (Once Upon a Time in the Midlands) was released in 2007, but is set during the Thatcher era, circa 1983. A hard-hitting, naturalistic “social drama” reminiscent of the work of Ken Loach and British “angry young man” films of the early 60s, it centers on a glum, alienated 12 year-old named Shaun (first-time film actor Thomas Turgoose, in an extraordinary performance).

Shaun is a real handful to his loving but exasperated mother (Jo Hartley), a struggling working-class Falklands War widow. Happenstance leads Shaun into the midst of a skinhead gang, after the empathetic and good-natured gang leader (Joe Gilgun) takes him under his wing and offers him unconditional entrée. The idyll is shattered when the gang’s original leader ‘Combo’ (Stephen Graham) is released from prison. His jailhouse conversion to racist National Front ideals splits the gang into factions. Shaun decides to side with the thuggish and manipulative Combo, and it’s downhill from there.

As a cautionary tale, the film demonstrates how easily the disenfranchised can be recruited and indoctrinated into the politics of hate. As a history lesson, it’s a fascinating glimpse at a not-so-long ago era of complex sociopolitical upheaval in Great Britain. As a drama, it has believable and astounding performances, particularly from the aforementioned Turgoose and Graham, who positively owns the screen with his charismatic intensity. Not to be missed.

Cop on the Edge, Drama, Family Issues, Neo-Noir

Schenectady, NY: The Place Beyond the Pines ***

September 14, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 6, 2013)

It’s official. Ryan Gosling is the McQueen of his generation. He has already aced the Taciturn Pro Driver (in the 2011 film Drive) and now with this weekend’s opening of Derek Cianfrance’s The Place Beyond the Pines, Gosling can add the Taciturn Pro Biker to his Steve cred.

Judging from the chorus of dreamy sighs that spontaneously erupted all about the auditorium when Gosling first appeared onscreen, perhaps “taciturn, ripped and tattooed” would be a more apt description of Luke Glanton, a carny who makes his living charging around the ‘cage of death’ on his motorcycle. When we meet him, the carnival is nearing the end of a run in Schenectady. Killing time between performances, Luke runs into Romina (Eva Mendes) a woman he had a fling with the previous time the carnival blew through town.

Romina is reticent to re-connect with the flighty Luke, for two major reasons: 1) The new man in her life (Mahershala Ali), and 2) A 1-year old bundle of joy named Jason that resulted from their fling. She doesn’t tell Luke about item #2, but he soon finds out anyway.

Now, Luke is determined to “do the right thing” and provide for his son. He promptly quits the carnival gig, accepts a job offer from a shady auto repair shop owner (Ben Mendelsohn) and sets about ingratiating himself back into Romina’s life (choosing to ignore that whole live-in boyfriend thing).

However, minimum wage isn’t fitting in with Luke’s timetable. In lieu of a raise, his boss helpfully suggests that he try robbing a few banks for supplemental income (a sideline that the auto shop owner himself has dabbled in on occasion). With his special skill sets, Luke discovers that he has a knack; soon earning himself a nickname in the local media as “The Moto-Bandit”.

Luke’s reckless approach to his newfound criminal career puts him on a karmic path with that of another young father with an infant son, a rookie cop named Avery Cross (Bradley Cooper), and it is at this point that the film takes some unexpected turns. Without giving much away, we’ll just say Luke’s story is prologue for what evolves into a more sprawling, multi-generational tale in the Rich Man, Poor Man vein.

It can also be viewed as a three-part character study, with Officer Cross’s story taking up the middle third, culminating with a flash-forward 15 years down the road involving a tenuous relationship that develops between the now high-school-aged sons of the two men (Dane DeHaan as the older Jason and Emory Cohen as AJ Cross). There’s also a noirish subplot with echoes of James Mangold’s Cop Land; in fact one of its stars, Ray Liotta, is essentially reprising the same character he played there in Cianfrance’s film.

While it’s tempting to label Cianfrance’s screenplay (co-written with Ben Coccio and Darius Marder) as too sprawling at times (tossing everything into the mix…from classic film noir cycle tropes to Sirkian subtexts) he earns bonus points for coaxing uniformly excellent performances from the cast (particularly from Gosling, Cooper and the Brando-esque young Cohen), and for keeping true to its central themes: family legacies, the sins of the fathers, and the never-changing machinations of small town American politics.

Cop on the Edge, Neo-Noir, Thriller

Field of nightmares: The Silence ***1/2

September 14, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 30, 2013)

Generally speaking, a field of wheat is a field of wheat; nothing more, nothing less. However, in the realm of crime thrillers, such benign rural locales can harbor ominous underpinnings (Memories of Murder, The Onion Field and In Cold Blood come to mind).

And so it is in The Silence, a low-key, quietly unsettling genre entry from Germany. In the hands of Swiss-born writer-director Baran bo Odar (who adapted from Jan Costin Wagner’s novel), a wheat field emerges as the principal character; an unlikely venue for acts running the gamut from the sacred to profane, as unfathomably mysterious and complex as the humans who commit them within its enveloping, wind-swept folds.

A flashback to the mid-1980s, involving the disappearance of a 13-year old girl, whose abandoned bicycle is found amid the aforementioned waves of grain, sets the stage for the bulk of the story, which begins 23 years later with an eerily similar incident at the same location involving a girl of the same age.

A team of oddly dysfunctional homicide detectives (several of whom worked the former unsolved case) sets about to investigate. However, Odar quickly discards standard police procedural tropes by revealing the perpetrator to the audience long before the police figure out who it is.

Interestingly, this narrative choice echoes another German crime thriller (arguably the seminal German crime thriller), Fritz Lang’s M. And, just like the child-murderer in Lang’s film, this is a monster hidden in plain sight who walks “among us”… personifying the banality of evil.

Putting the “mystery” on the back burner allows Odar to focus on the aftermath of tragedy. The loss of any loved one is profound; but the loss of a child, especially via an act of violence, is particularly devastating to surviving family members (so poignantly evident to us all in the wake of Sandy Hook).

In that respect, I was reminded of Atom Egoyan’s 1997 drama, The Sweet Hereafter. Like Egoyan, Odar deep-sixes Cause and makes a beeline for Effect, peeling away the veneer of his characters like the layers of an onion, enabling his talented ensemble to deliver emotionally resonant performances.

Consequently, this haunting film is not so much about interrogations and evidence bags as it is about grief, loss, guilt, redemption…and an unfathomably mysterious field of wheat.

Documentary

The institution of last resort: The Waiting Room ***

September 14, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 23, 2013)

“We’ve established the most enormous medical entity ever conceived…and people are sicker than ever. We ‘cure’ nothing! We ‘heal’ nothing!”

– George C. Scott as ‘Dr. Bock’, from The Hospital (screenplay by Paddy Chayefsky)

There are two questions that get asked again and again throughout Peter Nicks’ film, The Waiting Room: “Do you have a regular doctor?” and “Do you carry health insurance?” And the answer that you hear over and over to both questions is a simple “no.”

After watching this extraordinary documentary (which somehow manages to be at once disheartening and life-affirming) I had to ask myself a question: “Does this country have a completely fucked-up health care system?” To which I answer with a simple “yes.” Not that Nicks has set out to make a self-consciously polemical statement on the health care crisis. Quite simply, he allows the filmed record to speak for itself.

The premise is straightforward: document a “typical” 24 hour period in the life of a bustling public ER (in this case, at Oakland’s Highland Hospital) and compress it into a 90-minute film. And as you would expect, all forms of human misery are on display, in a microcosm of Everything That Can Go Wrong with these ridiculously fragile shells we inhabit for “…eighty years, with luck-or even less” (if I may quote my favorite Pink Floyd song).

A sweet little girl with a severe case of strep struggles to communicate as her loving parents take turns at her bedside. An uninsured 20-something couple (a man who has just learned he has a tumor, and his concerned wife) desperately confab with hapless and over-taxed attending physicians about how he’s supposed to arrange the “emergency” surgery recommended by a private hospital that has palmed him off on Highland’s ER.

Every time a trauma case arrives, there’s a ripple effect on the pecking order for the huddled (and understandably frustrated) masses in the waiting room proper; for obvious reasons nearly all available ER staff have to pitch in and focus on stabilizing the patient. When these efforts prove to be for naught, it’s heartbreaking to watch (in the film’s most emotionally wrenching scene, a 15-year old gunshot victim is pronounced DOA after attempts to resuscitate fail).

Not all scenarios are life and death. Some patients are “regulars” who use the ER for primary care. One of the “regulars” is a homeless man (initially brought in for breathing problems) who has ongoing issues with drug and alcohol abuse. He has become a handful for the shelter he has been staying at; his attending physician is told over the phone that they don’t want to take him back anymore.

Now the doctor has to decide whether to let the pleading patient stay the night (and take up space that may be needed for more medically needy patients) or in essence toss him out into the streets. “Sometimes,” the frazzled doctor confides with a resigned sigh, “I have to admit people…for societal reasons.” Then, he delivers the film’s money quote: “This (the ER) is the institution of last resort.”

The filmmaker can’t be faulted for not asking the million dollar question that arises from that statement, because any viewer with a heart and a functional brain will begin to ponder why emergency rooms have become “the institution of last resort” for America’s uninsured.

Why are already overextended medical personnel who staff these facilities getting saddled with responsibilities more appropriate to PCPs, social workers and mental health professionals? And why is this even up for debate? How and when did the fundamental right to receive decent health care transmogrify into a political football?

Of course, we can wring our hands and debate health care issues until the cows come home, but in the meantime there are sick people who need help yesterday and who certainly don’t have time to hang around waiting for an act of Congress in order to get it. For their sake (and for yours and mine when the time comes, and that time will come) all I can say is thank the gods for the tireless and dedicated men and women who staff these facilities. That’s the takeaway I got from this film (and it accounts for that “life-affirming” part I mentioned earlier in the review).

Nicks, whose utilization of the observational mode recalls the work of documentary film maker Frederick Wiseman, has fashioned a narrative that is wholly intimate, yet completely unobtrusive. I never once got the impression that anyone was playing to the camera; consequently there is a great deal of humanity shining through, from doctors and patients.

And the next time a family member or co-worker starts ranting about the “tyranny” of universal health coverage, don’t argue. Calmly take their pulse, ask if they’ve been eating right, exercising and getting regular check-ups. Then, invite ‘em out for dinner and a flick-preferably this one.

Culture Clash, Historical drama, Politics, War

MacArthur’s lark: Emperor **

September 14, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 9, 2013)

The heroes and villains are not easily delineated in Emperor, an uneven hybrid of History Channel docudrama and Lifetime weepie based on Shiro Okamoto’s book and directed by Peter Weber. Set in post-WW 2 Japan at the dawn of the American occupation, the story centers on the roundup of key Japanese military and political leaders to be tried for war crimes.

President Truman has appointed General Douglas MacArthur (a scenery-chewing Tommy Lee Jones) to oversee the operation; he in turn delegates “Japan expert” Brigadier General Bonner Fellers (tepid leading man Matthew Fox) to see that the task is executed pronto. Fellers is also directed to investigate whether the biggest fish, Emperor Hirohito (Takataro Kataoka) gave direct input on war strategy. MacArthur has allotted him only a week or so to conduct his investigation (no pressure!).

Indeed, the question of the Emperor’s guilt is a complex one (and the most historically fascinating element of the film). Was he merely a figurehead, kept carefully squirreled away in his hermetic bubble throughout the war and occasionally trotted out for propaganda purposes? Or did he have a direct say in military decisions, perhaps even giving a blessing for the attack on Pearl Harbor?

And there is the cultural element to consider. MacArthur (at least as depicted in the film) was shrewd enough to realize that if he could build a working relationship with Hirohito, perhaps the Emperor could in turn persuade the populace to cooperate with their overseers, thereby expediting the rebuild of Japan’s sociopolitical infrastructure. Even if he was a paper tiger, the Emperor’s words traditionally held substantial sway over the Japanese people.

Unfortunately, screenwriters Vera Blasi and David Klass shoot themselves in the foot and sidestep this potentially provocative historical reassessment by injecting an unconvincing romantic subplot involving Fellers’ surreptitious search to discover the fate of a Japanese exchange student (Aya Shimada) who he dated in college (the young woman, whose father was a general in the Imperial Army, returned to Japan before the war). The flashback scenes recapping the relationship are curiously devoid of passion and dramatically flat, grinding the film to a halt with each intrusion.

While Fox has a touch of that stoic Henry Fonda/Gary Cooper vibe going for him, his performance feels wooden, especially when up against Jones, who makes the most of his brief screen time (even he is given short shrift, mostly relegated to caricature and movie trailer-friendly lines like “Let’s show them some good old-fashioned American swagger!”).

I get the feeling that at some point during the film’s development there was an interesting culture-clash drama in here somewhere. But when the denouement is a re-enactment of an historic photo that slowly dissolves from the actors into the actual photo? That is almost never a good sign…

Big Money, Documentary, On Politics, The Environment

Liars for clams: Greedy Lying Bastards ***

September 14, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 9, 2013)

Greedy Lying Bastards: Do we have to draw you a picture?

I know it’s cliché to quote from the Joseph Goebbels playbook, but this one bears repeating: “If you repeat a lie often enough, it becomes the truth.” That’s pretty much the theme that runs throughout Craig Rosebraugh’s documentary, Greedy Lying Bastards. As a PR consultant seems to reinforce in the film: “On one side you have all the facts. On the other side, you have none. But the folks without the facts are far more effective at convincing the public that this is not a problem, than scientists are about convincing them that we need to do something about this.”

The debate at hand? Global warming. The facts, in this case, would appear irrefutable; Rosebraugh devotes the first third of his film to a recap of what we’ve been watching on the nightly news for the past several years: a proliferation of super-storms like Hurricane Sandy, rampant wildfires, “brown-outs”, and one of the worst droughts in U.S. history. Climate scientists weigh in.

Granted, this ground has been covered extensively via the surge of eco-docs that followed Davis Guggenheim’s 2006 film, An Inconvenient Truth (one of the top 10 highest-grossing documentaries of all time). And one could argue that moviegoers have stayed away from subsequent genre offerings in droves, leaving many hapless (if earnest) filmmakers preaching to the choir (ever attended a matinee with 3 people in the audience, including you?). Rosebraugh separates himself from the pack by devoting most of the screen time going after those “folks without the facts”, and analyzing how and why they are “far more effective” at this game.

Using simple but damning flow charts, Rosebraugh follows the money and connects the dots between high-profile deniers (who one interviewee labels “career skeptics […] in the business of selling doubt”) and their special interest sugar daddies. The shills range from media pundits (very few who have any background in hard science) to members of Congress, presidential candidates and Supreme Court justices. Various “think tanks” and organizations are exposed to be glorified mouthpieces for the big money boys as well.

If you enjoy a generous dollop of heroes and villains atop your scathing expose, you should find this doc to be in your wheelhouse. Sadly, the villains outnumber the heroes. It’s a bit depressing, but as you watch, you’ll thank the gods for the Good Guys, like politicians Henry Waxman and Jay Inslee, and science-backed voices of reason like Dr. Michael E. Mann. The idiosyncratic Rosebraugh narrates throughout like an ironic hipster version of Edward R. Murrow.

At one point, the director gets into the act, Roger and Me style. After unsuccessful attempts to arrange an interview with ExxonMobil’s chairman and CEO Rex Tillerson, he goes guerilla. Hiding his tats with suit and tie, he gains admission to Exxon Mobil’s annual shareholder’s meeting, where he asks the chairman (from the audience) if he would (at the very least) acknowledge the human factor in global warming. Tillerson’s answer, while not exactly reassuring, is surprising. What does reassure are suggested action steps in the film’s coda…which is the least any of us can do.

Cop on the Edge, Heist Caper, Neo-Noir

London’s burning: The Sweeney ***1/2

September 14, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 3, 2013)

If there’s anything I’ve learned from watching hundreds of crime thrillers over the years, it’s this: if you’re a bad guy, be wary of any police team that is known on the street as the “(insert nickname here) Squad”. Consider “The Hat Squad” in Mulholland Falls, Lee Tamahori’s 1996 neo-noir concerning the exploits of a merry crew of thuggish cops (led by growling fireplug Nick Nolte) barely distinguishable in thought or action from the criminals they chase.

The latest example is writer-director Nick Love’s new film, The Sweeney, which centers on “The Flying Squad”, a modern-day team of London coppers who share similarities with their fedora-wearing American counterparts. For one, they’re led by a growly fireplug (Brit-noir veteran Ray Winstone). He’s DI Jack Regan, a “cop on the edge” who swears by the adage: “To catch a criminal-you have to think like one”. You also apparently have to act like one; Regan and his clannish unit bend the rules (as they violate 57 civil liberties) on a daily basis. But they always get their man, sealing every take down with the catchphrase “We’re the Sweeney…and you’re nicked!”

Regan’s questionable methods have put him at loggerheads with his supervisor (Damian Lewis), and with head of internal affairs DCI Lewis (Steven Mackintosh). Lewis and Regan have a history of mutual animosity, which would likely turn into open warfare should Lewis ever discover Regan has been playing bangers and mashers with his estranged wife (Hayley Atwell) who is an officer in Regan’s squad.

However, office politics soon takes a back seat to Regan’s obsession with nailing his criminal nemesis (Paul Anderson), who Regan suspects as the mastermind behind a series of bold, military-style robberies. The squad intercepts the heavily-armed robbers in the middle of a bank score, but after a pitched gun battle on the busy London streets, they elude capture (set in Trafalgar Square, it’s the most tense and excitingly mounted cops ’n’ robbers shootout since Michael Mann’s Heat). Regan’s superiors are not pleased with his disregard for public safety, so they ask for his badge and gun; however with some clandestine help from his protégé (Ben Drew) he is soon “unofficially” back on the case.

Love’s film is based on a British TV series of the same name, which ran from 1975-1979. One needn’t be familiar with the TV version to enjoy this film, which I did immensely. The screenplay was co-written by John Hodge (Trainspotting), and is chock-a-block with crackling dialogue and amusing insult humor. Performances are excellent throughout; Winstone is perfectly cast, and I was impressed with Drew’s convincing performance as a reformed petty street criminal turned cop (you may know him as rap artist “Plan B”).

Interestingly, while it has a number of similarities to the Mann film referenced earlier, there is one classic neo-noir that Love’s film particularly evoked, and that is William Friedkin’s 1971 thriller, The French Connection. Winstone’s character is a kindred spirit to Gene Hackman’s “Popeye” Doyle.

Both bachelors, they are slovenly and bereft of social skills, but on the job, they are a force to be reckoned with; driven, focused and relentless in their desire to catch the bad guys. And like Doyle’s obsession with “the Frenchman” in Friedkin’s film, Regan’s pursuit of his quarry becomes his raison d’etre; all else falls by the wayside.

Most significantly, both characters see themselves as working-class heroes of a sort. The criminals they seek to take down are living high off their ill-begotten gains; they are cleverly elusive, yet so confident in their abilities to cover their tracks that they seem to take perverse pleasure in taunting their pursuers. This is film noir as class warfare. Or, this could just be a well-made cops and robbers flick with cool chase scenes.

Documentary

Northern exposure: Happy People: a Year in the Taiga ***

September 13, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on February 16, 2013)

Siberia has acquired a bit of a bad rap over the years, especially in literature and film. Granted, up until the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the phrase “We’re going to send you to Siberia!” usually indicated that “you are in some deep shit, my droogie” (it’s now a tongue-in-cheek colloquial for “a fate worse than death”). Yet, even during the gulag era, you couldn’t fault ‘Siberia’ (the geographical entity) itself for any state-sponsored maliciousness that occurred within its boundaries. And despite the bad press, it is actually quite a beautiful part of the world (nature has a funny way of remaining blissfully oblivious to the little dramas of the silly biped creatures who teeter about the terra firma for a spell before eventually falling over to provide some lovely mulch for the trees). This is the Siberia profiled in a documentary called Happy People: a Year in the Taiga.

Co-directed by Dmitry Vasyukov and Werner Herzog, the film observes four seasons in the lives of several northern Siberian fur trappers, all hailing from the remote village of Bakhta. Vasyukov’s intimately shot footage mesmerizes, as Herzog narrates in his inimitable fashion, bringing wry and keenly insightful observations to the table. While Herzog came on board during post-production, anyone familiar with his work will glean what attracted him to Vasyukov’s project, particularly in the person of Gennady Soloviev-rugged individualist, stoic survivalist, and a Zen master with a fur hat.

On the cusp of winter’s first freeze, Soloviev and his two fellow fur trappers (each accompanied by their trusty workmate dogs) head out together on the Yenisei River in their hand-crafted dugout canoes, splitting up to head out to their respective “territories”, where they will spend the winter gathering sable and ermine pelts. Herzog is palpably enamored with the men’s river travails, prompting him to wax poetic about the struggle against the elements; not surprising since similarly challenging river journeys figure prominently in two of his most well-known narrative films, Aguirre the Wrath of God and Fitzcarraldo (Soloviev is much like a typical Herzog protagonist).

There are a few nods to modern amenities (snowmobiles and firearms) but the men essentially survive by their wits and stamina during these protracted solo expeditions, living off the land in accordance with time-honored local traditions, and it’s fascinating to watch. This dedication to self-reliance also extends to life in the village (which is accessible only by boat or helicopter). It’s a rough life, but the residents seem to be “happy”, taking it all in stride. Well, for the most part. While it’s easy to romanticize the idea of living off the grid…“with no rules, no taxes, no laws, no bureaucracy, no phones, no radio, equipped only with their individual values and standard of conduct,” (as Herzog reverently muses) the village is not entirely free of social ills (the problem of alcoholism among the indigenous native people of the region is briefly acknowledged).

As I was watching the film, a certain sense of familiarity began to gnaw at me. It was something about the stark wintry beauty of naturally flocked spruce forests, the crisp contrast of white birch against blue skies, and the odd moose galumphing into the frame. Or maybe it was the relentless vampirism of swarming mosquitos during the short but intense sub-arctic summer. Then it dawned on me. I had lived there! Was this a past life memory? Then I remembered that I don’t believe in that sort of thing…so I Googled a map of Siberia, which solved the mystery: the village of Bakhta lies roughly on the same longitude as Fairbanks, Alaska, where I lived for 23 years. I couldn’t see Russia from my house, but I now feel a spiritual kinship with these hardy Siberians. Okay, I’m not a survivalist (if I were to venture out on Gennady’s trap line; I’d end up like the protagonists in Kalatozov’s Letter Never Sent). But I think you catch my drift…

Historical drama, On Politics, War(s) on Terror

Bring me the head of you-know-who: Zero Dark Thirty **1/2

September 13, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on January 5, 2013)

“Whadaya think…this is like the Army, where you can shoot ‘em from a mile away?! No, you gotta get up like this, and budda-bing, you blow their brains all over your nice Ivy League suit.”

–from The Godfather, screenplay by Mario Puzo and Francis Ford Coppola

If CIA operative Maya (Jessica Chastain), the partially fictionalized protagonist of Zero Dark Thirty had her druthers, she would “drop a bomb” on Osama Bin Laden’s compound, as opposed to dispatching a Navy SEAL team with all their “…Velcro and gear.” Therein lays the crux of my dilemma regarding Kathryn Bigelow’s film recounting the 10-year hunt for the 9-11 mastermind and events surrounding his take down; I can’t decide if it’s “like the Army” or a glorified mob movie.

At any rate, by the time I reached the end of its exhausting 157 minutes, any vicarious feeling of “victory” (intended or otherwise) I may have experienced watching Maya’s (that is to say, “America’s”) long-sought quarry go down in a hail of bullets was Pyrrhic at best; the same curiously ambivalent reaction I had watching Hitler and Goebbels getting blown to bits by another all-‘Murcan hit team in Quentin Tarantino’s 2010 WW2 revenge fantasy, Inglourious Basterds (and neither film’s denouement made me feel, you know…patriotic). Or, as I wrote regarding this peculiarly post 9-11 form of Weltschmerz in my review of Nuremberg: Its Lesson for Today, Stuart Schulberg’s 2011 doc about the Nazi war trials:

Unfortunately, humanity in general hasn’t learned too awful much [since 1946]; the semantics may have changed, but the behavior, sadly, remains the same […] “Crimes against humanity” are still perpetrated every day-so why haven’t we had any more Nurembergs? If it can’t be caught via cell phone camera and posted five minutes later on YouTube like Saddam Hussein’s execution, so we can take a quick peek, go “Yay! Justice is served!” and then get back to our busy schedule of eating stuffed-crust pizza and watching the Superbowl, I guess we just can’t be bothered. Besides, who wants to follow some boring 11-month long trial, anyway (unless an ex-football player is somehow involved).

But that’s just me. Perhaps Zero Dark Thirty is intended as a litmus test for its viewers (the cries of “Foul!” that have emitted from both poles of the political spectrum, even before its wide release this weekend would seem to bear this out). And indeed, Bigelow has nearly succeeded in making an objective, apolitical docudrama.

Notice that I say nearly. Here’s how she cheats. After opening with a powerfully affecting collage of now sadly familiar audio clips of horrified air traffic controllers, poignant answering machine adieus and heartbreaking exchanges between frustrated 911 operators and hapless World Trade Center office workers, Bigelow segues into those torture scenes you have undoubtedly heard about.

Tugging at our heartstrings to incite us to vengeful thoughts? That’s not playing fair. “Remember how terrible that day was?” she seems to be saying, “…so the ends justify the means, right? Anyone? Bueller?” The rub is that by most accounts, none of the intelligence instrumental to locating Bin Laden’s whereabouts was garnered via torture…unless the director knows something the rest of us don’t. That being said, the harrowing scenes (around 10 minutes of screen time) would not be out of place in a film about, say, Abu Ghraib (maybe Bigelow is making an oblique reference?).

However, if you can get past the fact that Bigelow or screenwriter Mark Boal are not ones to necessarily allow the truth to get in the way of a good story (and that The Battle of Algiers or The Day of the Jackal…this definitely ain’t), in terms of pure film making, there is an impressive amount of (if I may appropriate an oft-used phrase from the movie) cinematic “trade craft” on display.

While lukewarm as a political thriller, it does make a terrific detective story, and the recreation of the SEAL mission, while up for debate as to accuracy (only those who were there could say for sure, and keeping mum on such escapades is kind of a major part of their job description) is quite taut and exciting.

Chastain compellingly inhabits her obsessive character, and there are excellent supporting performances from Jennifer Ehle, Jason Clark, Kyle Chandler and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy’s Mark Strong (who is becoming one of my favorite character actors). If this sounds like a mixed review-well, I suppose it is. But hey, I still support the troops!

Documentary

What the hell happened to me? – 56 Up ****

September 13, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally published on Digby’s Hullabaloo on February 2, 2013)

Have you ever stumbled across one of your own childhood photos and mused, “How could this grinning idiot have not seen a future in computer science?” Or, “Pardon me, but…have we met?” (“If I’d only known then what I know now…”).

The tendency many of us have to brood about a life tragically misspent with each successive birthday is bad enough…but imagine doing it on national TV, whilst thousands of voyeuristic strangers look on, parsing your every thought and action. If that reminds you of The Truman Show, you’re not far off the mark.

In 1964, a UK television film series-cum-social experiment kicked off with Paul Almond’s 7 Up, a documentary profiling fourteen 7 year-old kids from varied socioeconomic backgrounds, sharing their dreams and aspirations. 7 years later the same subjects appeared in 7 Plus Seven, with Michael Apted taking over directing. Seven year updates continued with 21 Up, 28 Up, 35 Up, 42 Up and 49 Up.

Which brings us to Apted’s latest chapter, 56 Up; like its predecessors, it has been released to theaters. First, it’s nice to see that everyone is still above ground (currently being 56 and ¾ myself, I find that somehow…reassuring). This is not to say that the participants haven’t been put through life’s wringer in one way or another. Health issues, multiple marriages and financial problems abound. Some are doing better than 7 years ago, some worse; most maintain the status quo. Some are happy, some not so much.

The most fascinating character continues to be Liverpool native Neil Hughes, who is like a real life version of Jean Valjean from Les Miserables. A charming and funny little kid in 7 Up, he was a homeless, mentally troubled university dropout by 21 Up. Over the next two installments, he remained directionless and homeless, moving first to Scotland, then to the Shetlands. By 42 Up, however, he had discovered a knack for politics, in which he remains ensconced.

In this age of dime-a-dozen reality TV shows and smart phone attention spans, the idea of a filmed series where the audience waits seven years between “episodes” may seem trite; perhaps downright anachronistic. But if you think about it for 10 seconds, I suspect that sitting down to watch any number of episodes of, let’s say, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, over any number of years, would not likely provide you with much keen insight into the human condition (it’s more likely a roomful of monkeys with typewriters could eventually produce the complete works of Shakespeare…and in less time).

At least here, there were/are noble intentions; and you certainly cannot say that Apted, having devoted 40 years of his life to the project doesn’t have “the vision thing”. Not all participants share in the altruism; in 56 Up some interviewees continue to badger the director to hang it up and be done with it. Granted, 10 to 15 minutes of screen time, every 7 years cannot give you the whole picture of someone’s life, and that’s one of the primary issues in question.

As far as the “social experiment” aspect of the project is concerned, that has been off the table for some time now, especially when you consider that the participants have become celebrities in the U.K. So it appears that over the years, the “experiment” has become less Margaret Mead and more Andy Warhol.

Indeed, one gentleman, who has declined to participate since his strident anti-Thatcher rants in 28 Up made him a pariah in the British press and led to his resignation as a teacher, makes no effort to sugarcoat his cynicism. “I’ve only agreed to come back” he tells Apted, “…because I want to promote my band.”

Still, for the most part, everyone is game. There’s a palpable sense of poignancy this time , since Apted has amassed a sizable archive of clips for each interviewee, from all periods of their lives (he makes good use of the flashbacks and flash-forwarding).

The lives depicted here may not be glamorous or exciting, but most people’s lives aren’t, are they? And as cliché as this sounds, it all seems to boil down to that most basic of human needs: to love or be loved. You know what? I’ll bet that’s what was making me smile in my childhood photo.