Shutter Island

Originally a David Fincher/ Brad Pitt project, both moved on to other things before Scorsese acquired the project, based on Dennis Lehane’s 2003 novel of the same name. The success of both Gone Baby Gone and Mystic River may have something to do with the adaptation of Lehane’s novel to the big screen. Thus far the critical reception has been a bit mixed.

Having read the novel in preparation for the film, originally scheduled as an October 2009 release, it seemed to me a rather average book for such an esteemed director to work with. Of course, if there is one director who has, through a long and commanding career, earned the right to do whatever he wants, then Scorsese would certainly be it. So as an adaptation to a page turning and layered novel, Scorsese’s adaptation is a perfect match; both book and film arriving in similar fashion.

The film is dark and moody, contained entirely to the Alcatraz-like mental hospital with occasional flashbacks to inviting external environments. A strong sense of deceit and uncertainty is developed immediately and the wonder of a massively foreboding asylum instructs an ominous reaction. Scorsese’s usual intensified style fits right at home with the psychological material found on Lehane’s pages. The stylish cinematography and cinematically dramatic sequences don’t aid in any sense of realism; a fitting mode of discourse for a story set largely in the architecture of the mind. And if you couldn’t gather from the trailers, there is much more going on here than what we see on the surface.

The film is not a word for word adaptation yet the overall plot is intact. As such, the book was moderately predictable with major twists and turn being expected. The precise details, on the other hand, were not glaringly easy to fill in. Here lies my main disappointment with the film; the absence of any obvious Scorseseian influence. Aside from the intensified continuity of constantly moving cameras and endless close-ups and abrupt moments of violence, this film could have been made by any number of Hollywood regulars. And perhaps it should have. This is not to say that Scorsese did not do an adequate job crafting an enjoyable albeit too long psychological horror film.

From the opening shot of a ship materializing from behind heavy fog, we know everything will be hard to see. Yet this is not only from the haze and destructive weather battering the island but, more prominently, from the secrecy surrounding the menacing stature of the compound. The environment may be one of the strongest developed aspects of the film. The island could be a haven of perfectly manicured lawns, an oasis of healing separated from the frantic mainland society. At the same time, it could be, and is, an escapeless and savage test of both mental facilities and physical abilities. The lavish decadence of the warden’s quarters contrast the cold, dungeon-like appearance of bare iron and moist walls found in Ward C. The brutal destructiveness of nature is an apt metaphor for the storm raging in the mind.

Shutter Island may be my least favorite Scorsese film if only for the reason that it doesn’t feel like a Scorsese film. I will not claim to have seen, or particularly liked, all of his films. Yet his newest feels the most contrived, as if he made for a bunch of horror film fans expecting the man to jump out of the shadows. Although, even the simple strike of a match manages to scare numerous audience members whose heightened tension was evident. But I feel like the arrival of a new film by one of the biggest directors is a moment to look forward to, and I want something more than another horror film.

Revisited: Goodfellas

The Mafia has been done over and over since the early days of gangster B-films to their re-emergence of legitimate and respectable A-films. And while Coppola’s trilogy (or rather the first two installments) has been the beloved hallmark on the organization it is a far cry from valid portrayal of the mob. Insert NYU graduate Martin Scorsese who grew up on the streets of Queens and watched Wiseguys conduct business from his window.

Goodfellas is not the epic poetry Scorsese identifies The Godfather as, nor is it supposed to be. Rather, it is a day to day of hanging out with a group of organized criminals as they exploit, murder, and dine. Naturally, at least for Scorsese, the film never slows, nor should it. Spanning three decades, dozens of characters float in and out, and many get killed in the process. Fluid and unceasing cameras sweep through the streets and nightclubs where the occupants conduct their business. And as is expected; business is good. On the surface the film appears as a testament to the rich and locally famous. Underneath, much akin to the seedy underbelly of any big city crime ring, lies the dark and savage brutality of guys who would sell out men who had been partners in crime for years. When everyone is looking out for themselves, no one is safe. Scorsese interjects the usual bouts of blatant blood-letting, often revisiting kills a second time and in the process revealing newfound information about its source.

Scorsese has dealt with the subject before. See Mean Streets (1973). He also returns to it rather quickly in Casino (1995) and more recently with The Departed (2006). So is this subject a cop out for a director who has now established himself as purveyor of Mafia films or rather is its reemergence better explained by his proximity and familiarity there of? Roger Ebert identifies Goodfellas as the best film of 1990. The Departed finally won him a directing Oscar after 5 nominations.

The first time I saw Goodfellas, some 4 years ago, I loved it. Having watched it 3 times since has not changed my opinion. The film’s broad scope combined with realism established through mise-en-scen­e achieves, to a great degree, a solid interpretation of Nicholas Pileggi’s source book. Working with the author, Scorsese adapted Wiseguys by bringing the most important elements to the screen and in doing so creating an epic-scale introspection into one of societies more interesting demographics. This film is easy to pass over for those not interested in a ‘fuck’ count of almost 300 or those who don’t want to see Samual L. Jackson’s head get shot and splatter across a bed or those who don’t want to see the greedy success of criminals praised with a two and a half hour “staged documentary.” But for the open-minded socially aware learners and thinkers, Scorsese’s film has rich text and honest entertainment.

Poster

Why is it that the Japanese poster for Scorsese’s next film is much more effective than any of the US designs? Is it that the oft-used color scheme has become an overused idea for dramatic films? Is it the unoriginal notion of plastering the stars image as half of its surface area? Or is it the unfamiliarity with the Japanese Katakana alphabet that lends a legitimate uncertainty and deception to a film/book that occupies the same themes? Perhaps none of these, perhaps all of them.

The movie poster is an art unto itself. And it is one that often seems obligatory and unmotivated. Here are the stars, here is a tagline, go see this movie. This is not to say many posters lack a creative and compelling design, lots do indeed expand the content of a movie. However, the ever-present commercial purpose of advertising one’s art seems to trump the potential to develop supplementary artistic support of the film.