Do The Right Thing -- Stand Up For Excellence
September 25, 2024
I Would Have Preferred A More Challenging...Okay, A More Insulting Tone
September 25, 2024
Opposite Peas in Polish Travel Pod
September 25, 2024
Last Thursday (11.3) an official trailer for Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre's Lady Chatterly's Lover (Netflix, 12.2) appeared. The trailer is decently cut but it obscures a basic problem that I had with the film, which I caught a couple of months ago in Telluride.
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I’ve been complaining about all-but-unintelligible movie dialogue for several years now, and the almost uniform response from the HE commentariat has been that it’s mostly my fault — my hearing isn’t what it used to be so I need to get a hearing aid and blah-dee-blah.
That may be true to some extent but movie dialogue has nonetheless been increasingly hard to understand over the last decade or so, and it’s absolutely not entirely my fault.
According to Slashfilm’s Ben Pearson and an absolutely historic article that I was too distracted to read until today, a good amount of the blame is on actors, mixing boards, theatre sound systems, Chris Nolan, etc.
Pearson says the chief culprits are (a) ChrisNolan, who has made a fetish out of mixing his films so you can barely hear the dialogue, (b) self-conscious actors who deliver “soft, mumbling, under-their-breath delivery of some lines,” (c) a lack of respect for sound recording during principal photography, (d) too many digital tracks resulting in de-prioritizing dialogue, (e) mixing for cinemas vs. mixing for streaming.
One thing Pearson doesn’t mention is vocal-fry murmur, which Millennial and Zoomer actresses began to project back in the early teens. I first wrote about the vocal-fry plague eight years ago.
All I know is that I’m really looking forward to watching Tar at home with subtitles — something tells me this will be transformative.
…but I honestly would’t want to spend a weekend in a glass house topped by an ostentatious, big-ass glass dome, much less hang with the guy who owns or has designed it.
Most of us understand that avoiding gauche, declasse people and their environments is a basic requirement in life. If I’m going to fraternize with super-wealthy or super-opportunistic folks I want to stay someplace cool and approvable in an architectural sense. In a home, for openers, that doesn’t say “boy, I sure am wealthy!”
…to come out of The Banshees of Inisherin will be Kerry Condon‘s Best Supporting Actress Oscar. Otherwise it’s an Irish death march — a well-composed, essentially nihilistic film about a self-destructive island of lost souls.
Steven Williams and Stefani Robinson's Chevalier (Searchlight, 4.7.23) is a rare historical drama that doesn't, for a change, smack of presentism. It's the real-deal saga of a gifted young mulatto fellow from Guadalupe (Kelvin Harrison's Joseph Bologne, aka Chevalier de Saint-Georges) vs. evil snooty racist whiteys of Paris and Versailles.
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Regional friendo: “Saw Banshhes of Inisherin earlier today. Less than a dozen people in the theater.
“I think a lot of people are expecting one McDonagh thing — more In Bruges wackiness – and getting something entirely different. It’s a very downbeat film, not funny at all (okay, there are maybe one or two chuckle moments), and it quickly becomes obvious why it’s set during the Irish Civil War, which pitted brother against brother, friend against friend.
“What’s going on in Inisherin is the war in microcosm…the violence, the despair, the unforgiving nature. It takes place in an economically depressed setting, one that seems way behind the times with no electricity, no cars, no decent roads, where the police and the priesthood seem to rule over everything.
“Brendan Gleeson‘s character relies on his music to keep him from despair, but it doesn’t really help. Colin Farrell relies on his friendship with Gleeson to help pass the endlessly boring days. And Kerry Condon, truly the heart and soul of this film, knows she has to get off the Island or else turn into a bitter old hag, like the other women in the film.
“Can’t say I enjoyed the fecking movie, and I had some trouble with the fecking accents. But it’s deeper than I expected, and I appreciated where McDonagh was going with it. But boy, is it a downer!”
A friend wrote an hour ago about a movie theatre that decided against going dark during a showing of Till.
FriendotoHE: “This is just one more reason I watch films at home. Me alone at Till at Regal Cinema Hampton Bays on Long Island.”
HEtofriendo: “Uhm, what about that folksy, time-honored tradition of strolling into the lobby and asking theatre staffers to turn the lights out during a showing?”
Steven Spielberg is a big fan of Kirk Douglas and Stanley Kubrick‘s Spartacus (’60), and in this AFI interview clip (which appears to be 20 or 25 years old) he shares two or three things that he likes in particular.
One is the duel to the death between Kirk Douglas‘s Spartacus and Woody Strode‘s Draba — short sword vs. three-pronged trident and net. Except starting at 1:28, Spielberg’s memory fails him. This isn’t a felony (we all misremember stuff) but I’m amazed that the AFI crew didn’t stop him and suggest a re-take.
Spielberg recalls that Spartacus and John Ireland‘s Crixus had become friendly, which is true, but they don’t fight each other– Spartacus and Draba do. Spielberg nonetheless recalls that in the dark holding pen adjacent to the gladiator arena, Douglas is sitting across from Crixus…wrong. Douglas and Strode share the pen while Ireland and another guy are fighting. Ireland winds up killing his opponent, and then staggers away, exhausted.
The power of the sequence is that Draba, who has stoically kept his feelings to himself, had told Spartacus that “gladiators can’t make friends…I might have to kill you.” But when Draba has gained the upper hand in the arena and is one trident thrust away from killing Douglas, he instead tosses the trident at the Romans who’ve been watching them from above (Laurence Olivier‘s Crassus, John Dall‘s Glabrus, Nina Foch‘s Helena Glabrus, Joanna Barnes‘ Claudia Marius).
This morning I read portions of David Freeman‘s “The Last Days of Alfred Hitchcock,” a longish book excerpt which appeared in Esquire 40 years ago. From December ’78 to May ’79 Freeman worked with Hitchcock on a script of The Short Night, an espionage thriller what would have been Hitchcock’s 54th film.
I was struck in particular by two passages, one about the AFI’s 1979 Life Achievement Award tribute to Hitchcock and Hitch’s reaction in particular to a note from an ailing Frank Capra, and another about Hitchcock’s occasional random interest in young women during his final year or two.
I watched the AFI tribute on the tube that year, and my impression was that Hitch seemed barely “there” — no apparent energy or intellectual aliveness or curiosity even. He appeared, frankly, to be on the verge of slipping into a coma. I remember in particular that he didn’t seem to recognize Sean Connery when the star of Marnie was at the lecturn. It made me feel quite sad.
Until an hour ago I had never heard of, much less seen, Welcome Danger, a 1929 Harold Lloyd adventure-comedy that was also (I think) his first sound film. Which is "topical," in a sense, in this is more or less the historical turf of Damien Chazelle's Babylon (Paramount, 12.23), a film about the Hollywood changeover from silent to sound flicks.
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Last Thursday (11.3) an official trailer for Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre's Lady Chatterly's Lover (Netflix, 12.2) appeared. The trailer is decently cut but it obscures a basic problem that I had with the film, which I caught a couple of months ago in Telluride.
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