“No force from outside, nor any pain, has finally proved stronger than her power to weigh down upon herself. If she has possibly been strangled once, then suffocated again in the life of the orphanage, and lived to be stifled by the studio and choked by the rages of marriage, she has kept in reaction a total control over her life, which is perhaps to say that she chooses to be in control of her death.
“And out there somewhere in the attractions of that eternity she has heard singing in her ears from childhood, she takes the leap to leave the pain of one deadened soul for the hope of life in another, she says good-bye to that world she conquered and could not use.” — excerpted from Norman Mailer‘s Marilyn Monroe biography, which originally hit stores in 1973 and has been republished a few times (and in two or three different forms) since.
Yesterday’s Clint Eastwood-endorses-Mitt Romney announcement led to an intense Twitter debate between Badass Digest‘s Devin Faraci and Hitfix‘s Drew McWeeeny. It quickly devolved evolved into a discussion of the how to deal with the loony-tune right. I don’t want to over-simplify, but it seemed that Drew was basically mouthing a “let’s be civil and show respect” line and Faraci was basically saying “eff that noise.” Here’s some of what Faraci said:
“I don’t have to be tolerant of intolerance, and fuck elevating the conversation. This isn’t a conversation. It’s a war for the future of the world. Period. To pretend that this is about people having disagreements is INSANE at this point. They don’t believe in SCIENCE. You don’t win wars by being nice. You win wars by destroying the enemy. You lose wars by appeasing.
“Again, you’re treating this like it’s a gentleman’s disagreement. This is [about] hard-right hate groups taking over the nation. People are going to look back at what went down in this political period and refuse to believe [that this] shit ever got this out of hand. [And] you’re going to lose. You’re going to quietly allow these people to not only destroy this country but actually, and, this is not hyperbole, destroy life on this planet as they continue to ignore global warming. No, the problem is hard right anti-science hate mongers who have co-opted the GOP, and we all pretend like it’s not a big deal.
“I’m not interested in making people on the other side listen. I’m interested in defeating them thoroughly. I don’t care about changing their minds anymore. I care only about mitigating the harm they do. The problem is the idea that these people can be dealt with using some Marquess of Queensbury rules. They are not interested n reason or debate or discussion. They cannot be treated like equals or people who will be persuaded. They must be only beaten down. Just like nobody bothered trying to give Bull Connors a good talking to, these people must be legislated to the margins. Forever.
“So I’m okay with turning up the rancor. We should all be really rancorous that a GOP rep compared women’s health care to 9/11. If you’re trying to handle it ‘quietly’ and without rancor you’re pretending we’re past the point of no return. I’ve learned that you can’t have rational discussions with irrational people.”
In a “Thompson on Hollywood”/Indiewire review of The Master, Beth Hanna (who caught Paul Thomas Anderson‘s film last night at the Aero) writes that while “much attention will be rightly paid to Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams,” portraying the charismatic Hoffman’s wife, “may [be] the most revelatory character.”
Amy Adams sharing a scene with Joaquin Phoenix in Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master.
Editor’s note: I fiddled with Hanna’s wording but the sentence still didn’t come out right. But you get the gist. Adams pops through because she does well by an interesting character.
The film is set in the 1950s “when wives must stand dutifully beside their husbands,” and yet “something rather different is going on behind the scenes,” Hanna notes. “Adams’ quiet strength works beautifully” as it apparently “causes the viewer to re-think the power structures in Master’s universe.” Or something like that.
In his just-up review of Jay Roach‘s The Campaign (Warner Bros., 8.10), Variety‘s Peter Debruge calls it “an all-around tight and polished package” that “vigorously swoops in to satirize how low things can go between a pair of rival Congressional candidates” — Will Ferrell‘s sleazy Cam Brady and Zach Galifianakis‘ idealistic Marty Huggins. Typically for an American political comedy, The Campaign (with a script by Chris Henchy and Shawn Harwell) “doesn’t go near the issues” and “steers clear of partisan concerns,” Debruge says.
And yet the villains of the piece (or “the guys to watch out for,” as Debruge puts it) are the Motch brothers (Dan Aykroyd, John Lithgow), “a pair of powerful millionaires looking to rig the election so they can ‘insource’ cheap Chinese labor to the district.” Obviously the Motches are based on David and Charles Koch, the right-wing scumbag billionaires who are funding the Tea Party and any anti-Obama candidate who will step up to the plate. How can a film that portrays these guys in some kind of satirically negative light be regarded as taking a generic take-no-sides position? How are you not partisan if you think the Koch brothers are bad news?
If I could somehow meet and get acquainted with every large-bellied, T-shirted, sandal-wearing American vacationer or weekender, I would have a different view to share. But every time I stroll through Las Vegas’s McCarran airport, I see the Tele-tubbies from Andrew Stanton‘s WALL-E. Stanton claimed during interviews that the Tele-tubbies weren’t metaphors…sure thing. Ask George Carlin in heaven — he won’t mince words.
I’ve been an admirer…hell, a worshipper of you, your acting style and mostmany most of your films for decades, starting with Play Misty For Me and the under-seen, under-appreciated Breezy. I reallly loved Unforgiven, Million Dollar Baby and Gran Torino. (I ran a series of quote-excerpt pieces called “Friends of Torino.”) You gave me a phoner for a 1994 Los Angeles magazine piece I wrote called “Right Face,” about the career pressures faced by conservative-minded filmmakers, and you’ve been ultra-gracious and gentlemanly the three times we’ve spoken, and you were also very cool on the phone…’nuff said.
And I got and respected what I thought you were saying when you once called yourself an “Eisenhower Republican.” I’ve always respected genuine conservatives. I became an admirer of the late Barry Goldwater after catching that HBO doc, Mr. Conservative, that his granddaughter, CC Goldwater, directed. I’ve come to realize that the once-reviled Richard Nixon wasn’t so bad after all, and would be defined by today’s nutter righties as an Obama-like centrist, given his views on healthcare. John McCain isn’t such a bad guy, I’m told, and I admired that he at least tried to contain the Palin craziness during the ’08 campaign. But you’ve just endorsed Mitt Romney, Clint, and I feel truly sad and disappointed and turned around by this.
If Trouble With The Curve is a good or great film then that’s what it is, and I will describe it as such. I will never let my political feelings interfere with my ability to recognize and champion quality work. So this is not about Trouble With The Effing Curve.
This is about a presumption that a guy born in the 1930s who’s earned considerable success in a tough industry and who’s won the respect of people across the spectrum is supposed to be a little bit wiser and perhaps even more perceptive than many if not most of us. You’ve been a rightie since the ’60s — I get that. But by endorsing Romney you’re…I don’t know what you’re doing but I feel crestfallen.
You don’t care what I think about Romney, but just as surely as you are a good guy, he is a bad one. You must know this. He’s not a genuine heartland conservative as much as a corporate finagler and appeaser of the the ongoing corporate criminality that’s gotten us into such trouble, starting with Reagan. He’s an embodiment of 1% elitism and tax havens and flim-flammery, pricey show horses (okay, his wife’s), wheeler-dealer indifference to working schlubs, colossal cluelessness (“corporations are people too”), political awkwardness and lack of diplomacy (did you catch his European-tour act?), health-care hypocrisy (you know there was never a dime’s worth of difference between Romney’s Massachusetts health-care plan and Obama’s), garage elevators, etc. You don’t want to hear this any more than I want to write it but God, man….why? WTF?
A big scolding happened in response to yesterday’s Jaws riff. You’d have thought from the comments that I trashed it. I didn’t. I said that Steven Spielberg‘s 1975 blockbuster is “a decent-enough thing,” and it is. I’ve seen it maybe six or seven times. But like almost all Spielberg films “it has no undercurrents so it hasn’t aged all that well,” I said. And I was bitchslapped all around the room.
I’m not calling Jaws a problem film. It obviously isn’t and never has been. But it’s the movie equivalent of a lightweight beach read. Engrossing, highly accessible, fun to follow, entertaining. It’s like a great dinner — zesty, well prepared, exhilarating in a sense — but like all great dishes it fades upon reflection. And it may not even be that. It’s actually more like a great dessert. Made with confidence bordering on swagger (young Spielberg was as good as it got in this realm) and summer-movie attitude, but all you remember at the end of the day are the bits, the tricks, the cherry and the whipped cream.
Add up all the parts and you’re left with a collection of parts. There’s no real muscle tissue, no wholeness, no gravitas, no “things that are not said” and no metaphor other than “uh-oh, life can be occasionally scary or threatening because of the existence of predators…wooooh.” It has several great bits (the severed leg, the fake-looking dead guy’s head, the chumming and the Bruce pop-out, “you’re gonna need a bigger boat”) and that one great moment when Robert Shaw‘s Quint talks about being in the sea with the survivors of the sunken U.S.S. Indianapolis.
It’s just a summer movie that made a lot of money and played a seminal role in the ruining of the great era of Hollywood achievement that began in the late ’60s and ended in the early ’80s. (It took a while.) If you want to buy the Jaws Bluray to have and hold, fine. If it still works for you, fine. I just don’t hold with calling it a great or even an especially sturdy film. It’s merely an effective one.
I never believed the opening scene. I’ve always been impressed by it, but only as a movie bit. I never believed that a shark would pull a naked girl back and forth across the water’s surface so she can shriek and scream for our delectation. (I suspect that shark death is probably much worse and a good deal less cinematic than this.) Again — I’m not putting it down. I’m just saying that like almost everything Spielberg does, it’s jizz whizz.
I always thought that Murray Hamilton‘s mayor character was a little too lazy, exuding a tedious form of small-town corruption. There’s a scene in which he complains to his friends that no one is swimming, and he goads an older couple (both of whom are aware of the young girl’s recent shark death) into wading in. I didn’t believe that for a second.
The scene in which Roy Scheider‘s Chief Brody is keeping an eye on the swimmers is one of the best scenes. And like I said yesterday, the surreal visual effect (track back & zoom in or whatever) is superb — I’lll give Spielberg that.
The woman who lays into Brody for knowing about a shark threat and not closing the beaches is supposed to be the mother of the twelve-year old kid who was eaten by the shark. But she’s dressed like a Midwestern schoolmarm out of a John Ford film, and appears to be in her ’50s.
The scene in which the two guys standing on a pier are dragged out to sea when the pier is pulled from its moorings by the shark — another entertaining scene that is essentially cheap, teasing and absurd.
Ditto the ability of Bruce the shark to pull Quint’s yellow barrels under the surface of the water and to chomp through the cable lines. It’s all to support an idea than Bruce isn’t a shark — he’s a reasoning, calculating, diabolical super-leviathan who’s out to murder and devour with relish because that’s the stuff that the popcorn munchers eat up and talk to their friends about. Again — amusing movie bullshit.
I could go on and on and on and on.
I’m not sure that any Spielberg films have aged very well. He’s the most successful hack who ever came down the pike. I’m almost afraid to look at E.T. and Schindler’s List for fear they they, too, might seem like less.
This morning I had a meditative sink-in outside my Mexican Hat motel room. It was akin to the opening credits of Mike Nichols‘ Catch 22 (’70). It began around 4:30 am — pretty much pitch black. I heard the occasional howl of a coyote, faint but definitely no dog. And then a couple of yelping dogs, and ever so gradually, like it’s done for a hundred million mornings since before the dinosaurs, the light began to creep in by slight undetectable increments, and again the dogs, the coyote and the sinking of the moon.
I waited too long to take this. The Canon always adds light that isn’t there.
I wrote the guy (i.e., “bobfilm”) who tipped me about last night’s Master screening at the Aero and asked “were you there?” and “whadja hear?” It’s now 4:49 am and he’s written back as follows: “I’m still digesting everything I saw, but it was pretty amazing. It was like a strange fever dream. [But] not audience friendly AT ALL. An ambiguous ending and not one likable character. And without any ‘milkshake’ lines, it probably won’t have the breakthrough that There Will Be Blood had.
“There are three or four scenes between Phoenix and Hoffman that are barn burners. It also containts the best work Amy Adams has ever done.
“Phoenix WILL win Best Actor unless Daniel Day Lewis blows us away with [his] Lincoln performance. This is Raging Bull territory for him. Believe it or not, his performance is stranger than that fake doc he made. The only way I can describe him is ‘animalistic.’ (I think the Master title refers to more of a dog and his master. At least that was the vibe I got).
“The style feels like Terrence Malick by way of There Will Be Blood. Wish you could have been there!”
Here are some brief reactions from a film site called Movie Parliament. Samples: (a) “Amazing…Oscars all over this one“; (b) “If it were me, I’d put them both [Pheonix and Hoffman] in the Best Actor category but if one them is getting the supporting nod, it’s Hoffman” and (c) “Will get nods for Picture. Good chance of winning original screenplay and acting awards.”
“Yes, I was there. Paul Thomas Anderson was there with his wife Maya Rudolph. I saw him lingering in the back before The Shining started. But I just assumed he was there for the film. So before The Shining, they announced that there would be a mystery 70mm movie projected as a second feature.
“Once The Shining was over (the newly created DCP looked incredible) they told us it was The Master. We then had to wait outside for about a half-hour and then were let back in. No opening titles other than production logos and The Master. No end titles. Not sure of the exact running time, but it was close to 2 hours and 30 minutes.”
It was around 4:30 am and I couldn’t sleep, so I checked the email and found the following from “bobfilm”: “FYI The Mastersneaked at the Aero tonight in 70mm after screening of The Shining. Big surprise for the audience.” The fuck? No, really — it apparently happened. I realized that when In Contention‘s Kris Tapley, stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again, posted the same story around 1:58 am Pacific.
So who was there? Or who knows someone who was? What did they think? How did “the room” seem to react? Forget The Shining — what’s with “the silence”? How can any conscientious film lover have seen it and then gone to sleep and not posted anything anywhere? Not even a tweet?
“A source at the event tells me that, prior to the screening, personnel announced that there would be a ‘secret screening‘ following the event and that anyone who’d like to stay was more than welcome. When the lights came up after the closing credits of Kubrick’s icy horror staple, attendees were told the secret film was Anderson’s much anticipated opus (which will screen at the Toronto, Venice and maybe Telluride and Fantastic Fest film festivals next month).
“The film is being shown in 70mm, the director’s preferred format of exhibition for The Master and one that has reportedly caused issues in lining up both commercial and festival exhibition. Anderson [was] in attendance along with wife Maya Rudolph.
“Gotta love the guy. He doesn’t go the traditional route. Popping the film on unsuspecting cinema lovers (who else would be at a Cinematheque screening of The Shining?) is pure PTA.
“So here’s to you lucky folks seated in the Aero right now soaking up the latest from one of the best working filmmakers today. It makes me feel even worse that I’m way over here in some Holiday Inn north of Mobile, Alabama.”
Tapley allegedly left for Manhattan a day ago and…why he would me in effing Mobile of all places is beyond me. But that’s what he wrote. Very weird. Update: He’s taking the red-state route to North Carolina, etc. See KT’s comment below.
The Master opens on September 14 after showings in at the Venice and Toronto film festivals, and maybe FantasticFest. I’m sensing that it will also play Telluride based on a source that hinted as much, but it’s mainly a vague notion.
I haven’t yet seen the Jaws Bluray (8.14), but I gather it’s been nicely restored. Fine. The film itself is a decent-enough thing. But it has no undercurrents so it hasn’t aged all that well. Which is the mark of all hackwork — popular or unpopular in their day, but always diminished by time. The fact is that the two-hour “making of Jaws” doc, included on the disc, is much, much more entertaining.
I still think of Jaws as one of the two films (Star Wars being the other) that killed the ’70s and ushered in the infantilization of mainstream movies and murdered the idea of the gradual theatrical break, so no matter how much you might “like” this film, it’s nearly impossible to forget what it is, was and always will be in a metaphorical sense.
But God cherish the memory of the great David Zanuck, one of the smartest, most kindly and most perceptive producers you could ever hope to meet.
My favorite moment is still the zoom-in, track-back shot of Roy Scheider (borrowed from Vertigo) when he realizes, sitting on his beach towel, that the shark has eaten a little kid.
Explanation: Some guy has hacked into my staging software and is changing copy. No way did I mistype and call it Jews, twice. It’s always something.
