inland empire

Although I generally hate to wait until movies come out on DVD to catch up with them, I must say I'm glad I skipped seeing David Lynch's latest masterpiece, 2006's Inland Empire, in theaters, not because I think it would have been a waste of time, but because it's a work made for the TV screen. Many critics complained that Lynch's compositions (shot on inexpensive DV) were downright ugly, and they very well might have been when projected on film, but seen digitally, they are unmistakably ravishing and every bit as accomplished as anything Lynch has done.

Less accessible than even Lynch's latest puzzle of a movie, 2001's Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire resists any kind of simple characterization. I imagine that some of the plot details (what there is of them) will make more sense on repeated viewings--another reason the film is better suited for the small screen--but even now I can safely say it's one of Lynch's strongest works, most notably for its palpable sense of the uncanny as well as the unrelenting emotional hold on the viewer.

Laura Dern stars in the lead role, giving what may be the most heart-wrenching performance in any Lynch film (which, to anyone who has seen Blue Velvet [1986], Wild At Heart [1990], or Mulholland Drive, is saying a heck of a lot). As far as I can tell, the film is a more avant-garde and aggressive statement on Hollywood than Lynch's last film.

And lastly, watch out for the stunning closing credits sequence, set to the inimitable "Sinner Man" by Nina Simone.

paranoid park

Why Gus Van Sant decided to adapt a young-adult book about skaters is not necessarily clear, but, being that his latest film, Paranoid Park (2007), is at once more satisfying and formally astonishing than any of the entries in his "Trilogy of Death," we should all be glad that he did.

Taking Nelson's narrative about a teenager who, through some unfortunate circumstances, ends up killing a police officer while hopping on a freight train, Van Sant is able to revisit the territory he first walked on in 2003 with Elephant, cataloguing and dwelling on the melancholic wonders of youth. As photographed by Christopher Doyle (most notable for his work with Wong Kar-wai in films like In the Mood for Love [2000] and 2046 [2004]), Paranoid Park looks better than any other film likely to be released this year, mixing both luminous 35mm with grainy Super 8.

The last few years have given us several films about youngsters coping with crime, ranging from the mediocre--Mean Creek (2004)--to the brilliant--Brick (2005)--but Van Sant's endeavor is much more interesting, precisely because it's not pitched as a noir. One gets the sense that, even without the pivotal event, the narrative would be just as tragic; the best way I can describe it would be as "The Thin Blue Line (1988) meets Robert Bresson."

Expertly constructed and beautifully executed, Paranoid Park should convince even those who despise Gerry (2002) and Last Days (2005) that Van Sant is one of the most relevant American directors, and, along with Todd Haynes, the pride of Portland, Oregon.

syndromes and a century

As far as contemporary art directors go, it’s hard to think of anyone more inventive and original than Thailand’s Apichatpong Weerasethakul, whose latest film, 2006’s Syndromes and a Century, casts a spell on the viewer from its opening shot, which observes the interview of a new doctor for a rural clinic. It’s been said that the film is based on the director’s parents, both of whom were doctors, although it’s obvious that Joe (as he is affectionately referred to by his fans) has much more on his mind, namely the very essence of happiness and love.

Syndromes is divided into two equally ravishing parts. The first is set in the aforementioned clinic in the country and assumes the point of view of a female doctor as she goes through her day and, in what may be the most memorable sequence of the film, remembers an encounter with a horticulturalist. If all of this sounds a tad, well, boring or uninteresting, it’s only because words can’t describe the breathtaking way Joe manages to capture the quotidian, turning a simple static shot of a green field into a transcendent moment.

The second part of the film, in contrast to the opening hour, takes place in a city hospital, and once again a doctor is applying for a job. This time around he, not the interviewer, will be the focus of these sequences, allowing Joe to draw parallels between the two halves, even going so far as to restage several scenes we have already seen.

The film, like the director’s previous work, Tropical Malady, 2004’s lovely rumination on the romance between a country boy and a soldier, eschews the modus operandi of traditional narrative filmmaking in place of something altogether new. Syndromes and a Century borrows from the avant-garde, most notably in the enigmatic penultimate sequence in which we observe several objects at the modern hospital with an almost Tatiesque sense of wonder. It’s obvious that Joe is thinking of the comparisons between the old and the new, the rural and the modern, but none of these themes are ever hammered. He is nothing if not an extremely subtle filmmaker, getting his point across more by the feel of a particular scene—whether it be of an orchid on a tree, two girls sitting by a pond, or a dentist singing to his patient—than Brechtian didacticism. Engaging in equal parts as a spiritual and intellectual experience, Syndromes of a Century is an outstanding achievement and, in every sense of the word, a masterpiece.

the darjeeling limited

It's a little late so I don't expect to be able to fully explain how much I loved Wes Anderson's latest film, The Darjeeling Limited (2007). However, I should point out that the lukewarm reception the film got upon its release is completely insane. A lot of the arguments leveled against this gorgeous movie include the fact that Anderson is just rehashing old ideas; even if this is true, which is to say, if the film contains a lot of his trademarks (it does), then I still don't see how it can be at the fault of anyone involved in the making of this film. I would even go so far as to argue that it is a departure for Anderson, at least certainly on a formal level. A lot of The Darjeeling Limited is set onboard the titular train, which shakes up Anderson's usually tidy and rigid mise-en-scene quite a lot, even more so than during the Belafonte submarine scenes in 2004's The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou. The three lead performances (by Owen Wilson, Jason Schwartzman, and Adrien Brody) are simply stellar, with each of them playing off one another in crafting what may be the most successful blend of the melancholy and hilarious in all of Anderson's films, which is saying quite a lot. I assume that even critics of the film won't try to deny the sheer beauty of it; D.P. Robert D. Yeoman (who has shot all of Anderson's films, along with Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale [2005]) does a marvelous job in his use of a soft, almost Bazinian palette that at times reminded me of more naturalistic films like Vincent Gallo's The Brown Bunny (2003), another work likewise interested in male egos. Almost too beautiful for this world, The Darjeeling Limited cements Anderson's place in contemporary cinema.

no country for old men

I'm still not entirely sure what to make of Ethan and Joel Coen's No Country for Old Men (2007), a film so formally astonishing that I'm willing to recommend it even if the story has absolutely no emotional resonance, something I won't make too big a deal about after just one viewing. Surely there's quite a lot to be said about the immaculate construction of the narrative here, based on a book by Cormac McCarthy, as is evident in the thrilling set pieces scattered throughout (two of them among the best I've seen in any movie), but I'm not really sure it was all worth it in the end. Javier Bardem's chilling performance is something people will be talking about for some time, and it's almost certain that he'll take the Academy Award. I have a feeling my view on this one will change (for the better) when I see it again, hopefully in theatres. For now, I'll just say that it's a great suspense film, if not quite as viscerally gripping as Blood Simple (1984), to say nothing of the Coens' true masterpiece, The Man Who Wasnt There (2000), a film that had the nihilistic depth No Country was incessantly trying to find.

sunday update

Yes, it's technically no longer Sunday (at least not in my time zone), but I've never really been one to quibble over technicalities like that, or maybe I have, what do I know? In any case, what I'm really here to write about is whatever it is that I've been watching or reading or otherwise absorbing over the past week. The biggest discovery by far has been the first (and only) season of Freaks and Geeks, certainly one of the most brilliant shows to ever graze television screens, thereby insuring its quick and painful death. Whether or not it wowed critics in the same way that HBO's The Wire has is unknown to me (I was not really paying much attention to what NBC was running back in 2000), but I am aware of the sort of cult following it has acquired these past few years, and I must say that it is entirely justified. Both painfully funny and achingly sad, Paul Feig's high school saga is not only an excellent coming of age narrative but also a testament to the wonders of television. Although I'm just a little over halfway done watching Freaks and Geeks' 18-episode season, I can safely say that, Gilmore girls aside, it is the most touching portrayal of young life (or life in general, for that matter) that I've ever seen.

While we're on the topic of television, why not segue into an even more bizarre taste that I've developed over the past few weeks: Gossip Girl? Jacques Demy and his two best films, 1964's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and 1967's The Young Girls of Rochefort, are not without their uses in defending the CW's unexpectedly brilliant show. Sure, whoever directed the show's 13 episodes may not be quite as graceful or skilled as Demy, but the Shakespearean construction of the narrative is there, as are the missed opportunities and unfulfilled desires. The connection was made painfully obvious somewhere in the show's tenth episode, wherein one of the main character's stepfathers mentions her striking resemblance to Catherine Deneuve, the star of most of Demy's films, including the two mentioned above.

Having not actually seen very many teen drama shows, chief among them The O.C., I can't say that I'm very up to date on what these shows are supposed to do or achieve, but I do think it's quite obvious that Gossip Girl, with its luminous compositions, its extraodinary location shooting, and, perhaps most surprisingly, its engaging narrative, is nothing less than a tremendous achievement. Part of this is no doubt indebted to the fact that the show will only have one season (as far as we currently know). From the time I began to catch up with its 13 episodes, I knew that this intricately-constructed Upper East Side tragedy would have to be resolved in little over eight or so hours of television magic. This made me expect something different, something more akin to the pleasures of Freaks and Geeks (another show with only one season) or even a really good film, perhaps Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon (1975), another narrative likewise interested in class struggles and their effect on the individual. 

If there's something about Gossip Girl that I don't particularly like, it is, in fact, the entire gossip girl angle. I don't think it adds anything to the story, nor is Kristen Bell's narration that inspiring. In fact, I think more people would have taken the show seriously (not that it matters much when a show is this good) if the relation to the books--none of which I have read--had been restrained, given that these stories are nothing if not made for television and don't benefit in any way from their chick-lit background. Everything else, however, is simply lovely. And if it's not quite as life-affirming as any of Demy's movies, then maybe Gossip Girl is as fictionized an account of teenage life as it presents itself as, and it's just as well.

there will be blood

As with the two other great films of 2007--David Fincher's Zodiac and Todd Hayne's I'm Not There--Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood (which may very well be the most accomplished of the three) is a work so dense that I simply am not prepared to write about it after a single viewing. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by Daniel Day-Lewis' towering performance--to say nothing of Johnny Greenwood's score or Anderson's utterly-perfect mise en scene. I agree with much of what critics are saying about it, except maybe the idea that it is that huge a step forward from the director's previous works, as if Magnolia (1999) and Punch-Drunk Love (2002) were not the intense breakthroughs that they are. Maybe I'll come around upon a second viewing, but, in any case, There Will Be Blood is certainly worth watching and a film that I will be wrestling with (in a good way) for many years to come.