Stripped (2001)

     The title of this 2001 film is rather straightforward, and discussing in depth the life of a stripper is a tantalizing prospect for any film viewer already admitting to their scopophilic intentions.  The director, Jill Morley, becomes a stripper to gain unprecedented access into the backstage world and mindset of the controversial profession.
    The filmmaker, an aspiring actress, stars front and center from the beginning of her film.  Her voice-over tries just a little to hard to sound sincere and interesting and instead passes into pleading and unwarranted.  She would have done better letting her subjects, and friends, speak for themselves.  Add to this her own personal confessions, akin to half of YouTube’s uploads, and we have a film that seems garnered to promoting its creator.   We could discuss the poor sound quality and handheld camera work that feels misplaced and unpracticed and we have a film that so screams amateur it is hard to get into the story itself.
    This is where the film really misses the mark.  It would be wildly appropriate for the dancers themselves, all girls and women who understand the profession they practice with such refined pondering that they articulate the psychology behind it, to tell the story.  Rather, Morley jumps into the dressing room stuffs a camera in their faces.  The fact that she too is a stripper warranted a sense of companionship; they do not see one another as competition but as friends.  But the story could be told much better without the filmmakers voice coming from behind or in front of the camera.  It is hard not to see it as a self-promoting product.
    We can, however, still absorb a bit of what is happening in this world.  The girls examine themselves, both physically and emotionally, in the context of how they make money.  They make no attempt to hide the fact that they make very good money by working their customers.  It is a game, a routine, a performance where the single dollar bill never leaves their mind; only he who has it matters.  Many recount years later how their sense of self-confidence and power is escalated with years of dancing.  For some, these years bear emotional scars, for others they are shrugged off.
    It is a bit difficult to decide whether the film exploits its subjects.  (Of course, the entire profession is exploitative. Thus the cinematic process of capturing this could be considered exploitation.)  There is not shortage of backstage and onstage nudity, girls discussing their bodies; essentially free shows with no payment to the dancers.  Perhaps a bit counter intuitive, this film could easily be made without ever showing the act itself.  It seems the film only has little more respect for the girls than the men who inhabit the dark and dingy bars.  The film is indeed interesting but misses too much.

Gates of Heaven (1978)

    The first splice of b-roll comes more than twenty minutes into Errol Morris’s debut documentary.  This is in the form of a backhoe excavating pet graves and is as matter-of-factly composed as the preceding interviews.  As apt introduction to the intriguing world of Morris films, the tight 4x3 framing includes all necessary elements and manages to strike a consistent quirkiness that will continue on in the filmmaker’s oeuvre.
    We are introduced to an eclectic grouping of Californians whom all have some stake in the then recent introduction of the much-needed pet cemetery.  Whether they be the family of keepers, the neighboring rendering factory whose business exists on the opposite end of the spectrum, the pet owners whose beloved family members end up in the ground, or the local woman with some connection to the cemetery that rambles for five minutes and leaves any semblance of a pet focused film in the dust.  Such stream of consciousness interviewing has been the epitome of Morris’s infatuation/obsession with interviewing people.  More than any other filmmaker, he has the uncanny ability to find the most interesting of characters.
    Gates of Heaven, fascinatingly, has not only maintained a state of social relevance, but may have even increased in its application to modern day American life.  In a world where Paris Hilton totes her Chihuahua around like a toddler made of gold, where airlines/hotels cater to pet owners, where we care more for dying animals than homeless people and probably spend the money to prove it, a film about the final resting place of our beloved companions could only strike the right chords.  Unless of course, it deviates from the story on the outset, allowing the characters to intermingle in their own thoughts and opinions whether they be pertinent to the topic or not.  Morris is undoubtedly smitten with such outcome and there is no reason the viewer should feel any different.
     Perhaps the promise Werner Herzog made to eat his own shoe should such a film be made (the fact that he did it at the film’s completion is irrelevant) figured in to seeing the film through.  Regardless, it is a story, or rather a narrative of our culture, that is relevant to understanding said culture and telling of our priorities.  Morris strikes a pertinent chord with his first feature length documentary and it is an oh so delicious taste of things to come.

Review: The Social Network

The Social Network
dir. David Fincher
run time: 2 hours
Columbia Pictures
rating: 5 of 5 stars

     David Fincher started out small, doing commercials, music videos, the types of things most directors start out doing: a way to get their name into the world, attached to some brilliant works. He got his feature debut on Alien 3 (1992), and has since produced some of the most brilliant thrillers of today: The Game (1997), Fight Club (1999), Se7en (1995). He is well known for the use of unique, digitally enhanced camera movement, taking the audience to different rooms through walls, over ceilings, next to objects – places where cameras generally can't go. But since Panic Room (2002), Fincher has appeared to change pace, taking on more serious movies such as Zodiac (2007), which is based on the story of the investigators of the Zodiac serial killers. He was also the director behind The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008), which received mixed reviews.

     While his unique camera moves have since diminished, and his highly fictionalized crime thrillers have been replaced by "based on true story" films, his works remain uniquely him, something quite apparent in his most recent film The Social Network (2010), starring Jesse Eisenberg, Andrew Garfield, Justin Timberlake, and Armie Hammer. This film only once indulges in that unique camera move, and then hardly noticeable, but the story, although a drama, is set up as a thriller.
     From the beginning of the movie the fast-paced editing, the speedy and realistic dialogue, and the inter-cutting between present and past make for a relentless blast of information, emotion, and drama. The intensity of the movie is enough to make one jittery afterward, sending the mind traveling a million miles a second. The story of Mark Zuckerberg's (Jesse Eisenberg) creation starts at the end of his relationship with his girlfriend, where she tells him he tries too hard be something he is not. After the break-up, Zuckerberg breaks some school rules to create a "Hot or Not" website that catches the attention the Winklevoss twins (both played by Armie Hammer) on Harvard's rowing team, an exclusive group Zuckerberg obsesses about throughout the film. The twins approach him with an idea for a new dating website, which includes that same exclusivity that Zuckerberg so obsesses over.

     The film then cuts to the present, where we learn Zuckerberg is in legal negotiations with the twins as well as with his best friend Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) about his creation "Facebook." The story unfolds from there revealing the shallowness of Zuckerberg, and the downfall of anything good that he may have had going for him.
      What comes as a large surprise, is the quality of the acting in The Social Network. Eisenberg plays the soulless Zuckerberg with a jittery, almost absent presence throughout the film. The character is a genius and knows it, using every opportunity that arises to demerit those around him. Garfield, on the other hand, plays the friend whose life is all but ruined by his relationship with Zuckerberg. This character is the only decent person in the movie, and Garfield pulls it off well. Few scenes are overacted, and none feel unreal. Even the performance as Sean Parker by Mr. Timberlake is exceptional. He plays the unbearable jerk, if you will, who steps in to be lauded by Zuckerberg and separate him from his best friend Eduardo. The other characters are, quite possibly, just as amazing; form Armie Hammer's two roles, as distinct as separate people, to Rashida Jones' quirky performance as Marylin Deply, no-one breaks the quality of this film's acting.
     As much as Aaron Sorkin's script, and Kurt Baxter and Angus Wall's editing do for the film, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's music gives considerable contribution. The diegetic techno music, as well as the non-diegetic score for the film are a herald of emotions that enhance the acting, the dialog and the editing in ways one would not expect such music to do.
    As Fincher has proven time and again, he knows how to choose a director of photography. Like Benjamin Button, and Fight Club before it, the cinematography in The Social Network is pristine, ominous, and quite appropriate. The often green or magenta lighting, along with the lower saturation, and super shallow depth-of-field contribute to the drama of the film, the intensity of the story. The opening sequence, just still shots of Eisenberg as he runs across campus, lets one know that the film is going to be a beautiful one. And by the time the rowing race comes, with its use of tilt-shift photography to make it all look like a miniature (as though the race is insignificant compared to the worth of Facebook), it is hard to ignore the beauty of the film.
     The implementation of techniques used in thrillers, the astounding screenwriting, the fast-paced editing, the low-saturation lighting and pristine composition, the unique score, and the absolutely mind-blowing acting make The Social Network one the year's best films, and likely to be praised as Fincher's best work to date.

I'm Still Here (2010)

    The existence of Casey Affleck’s pseudo-documentary about the disintegration of real life celebrity Joaquin Phoenix bears more significance than the content of the film itself.  Despite consistent efforts to suggest that the public at large was uncertain about Phoenix’s abrupt career change, only the most gullible of all would have believed what is now being called an elaborate hoax.  For many it has come as a big surprise the Affleck announced the documentary as false.
    The piece itself is inherently self-conscious.  It includes snippets of Phoenix’s public appearances as the Unabomber that seemed to mark the arrival of aspiring R&B artist JP.  The star constantly refers to the film as it is being made, and it addresses all the questions that the public had while it was being made.  In a world of post-modern media, plagued by reality television and Jackass inspired stunts, this film fits in, and is doubtless inspired by both.  Phoenix, as both star and character, is aware of what is happening both in and out of the film.  The character is conscious of the perhaps poor decisions precluding and following his acting status.  Naturally, he numbs his woes in cocaine and hookers.
    I don’t mean to suggest that no thought went into a film with such obvious immaturity.  The fact of the matter is, however, that this creative team had a chance to come up with something absolutely fascinating.  And those that have the desire will admire the Borat-inspired renegade.  And certainly Phoenix’s near self-loathing and acknowledgment thereof is neither anything to shake a stick at, nor something that other actors would be very willing to commit themselves to.
    Thus the concept and execution of the film is intriguing; very meta in story and natural in capture.  It is a plausible if not believable story of the collapse of a figure so steadfastly projected in the public eye that everything they do becomes significant.  Our celebrity culture celebrates just such acts of celebrity as pretending to be yourself for a documentary about your own collapse.  Social commentary or self-promotion?  I will say that I have confidence in both creative minds to be conscious of just what they were doing.
    When you get to the film itself, though, it seems rather drab.  Phoenix is overweight, verbally abusive, mentally jumbled.  His new pastime is getting high, whining in self-importance, and trying to get P. Diddy to produce his album.  Not the biggest of deals.  So when we examine the arena surrounding the film, that it is shrouded in uncertain truth (and inherently autobiographical to some extent), that it is real or not real, that we cannot pin down and define it easily, the whole project takes on more significance.  Unfortunately for the duo, Banksy’s Exit Through the Gift Shop does it so much better.

Between the Folds (2008)

     There’s much more to origami than the simple folded crane that the expert paper folders in this film must consider to be an outdated cliché.  For slightly less than an hour Vanessa Gould explores the depths of papers folding, traversing its real world application from its artistic beginnings.  ‘Life itself is folded’ becomes the hypothesis whether or not Gould started out with such intentions.  The budding leaves of a tree, even DNA itself can be recreated with squares of paper.
    Unless one partakes in the origami world, it is unlikely that they realize the old and new school mindsets exist even here.  The old folders have crafted their art for years, learning from one another and mainly from experience.  The younger generation is computer savvy and uses the underlying algorithms to aid in complicated constructions.  Their obsession is with complexity; the more folds the better.  And they are impressive indeed, two foot long dragons with a thousand scales, life like human figures, and of course animals.  One old folder’s interest can be found at the other end of the spectrum; simplicity.  He creates abstract designs with only a fold or two and is not concerned with the realism of the object.  How can a paper elephant even be realistic?
    We meet a folder whose hour-long creations produce movement; spinning like a top or popping in and out.  Manipulation of a 2-D plane allows it to exist in two additional dimensions.  We also meet a genius.  A boy with ponytail and glasses, taught and trained by his father with ponytail and glasses, who together solved an old problem; which shapes can be made by folding a paper and then making one single straight cut?  The answer: all of them.  But the boy’s interest lies not in folding papers, that is a hobby, he is more interested in real world applications like the folding of an airbag that results in the most logical and flat design.
    The mathematics involved in origami range from the simple to the complex, numerous professors have started using paper folding to teach.  It may sound absurd that something so simple as a paper frog that hops could hold answers to bigger questions about life.  But after all, folding is a unique property not inherent to all things, and as such, it can tell us much.  In this documentary that demands and deserves to be twice as long, Gould explores the nature of life as materialized in the art of paper folding.

Look (2007)

     The concept is great; construct a narrative entirely from surveillance camera footage.  The execution is quite good; overlapping storylines captured only from cameras that could actually capture such activities.  The acting leaves a bit to be desired and is really the only thing stopping this little film from being flawless.
    The film starts with assertive white font on a black background.  It informs us as to how often we are captured on cameras- 200 times daily- and how much surveillance footage is accumulated from the countless robotic eyes watching our actions.  It is a film that could only be set in the present.  Someday, its meager concept will be tame as everyone has their own reality show and 15 hours of fame.
    It should, if anything, be an eye-opening reminder of how public our lives are whether we intend them to be or not.  The opening shot is within a department store dressing room as two nymphets undress and the face-to-face mirrors reflect into infinity.  Their actions are then monitored as they navigate the store, the entire mall, and then back into a car as they exit the parking lot.  Public space is aptly named.  The cameras continue to observe as one of the underage girls seduces her reluctant teacher.  His arrest is captured by an eager student’s phone.  Or we see a set of candid camera killers whose crimes are preserved by ATM cameras and police car dashboards.  They are eventually identified by a keyboard playing stoner who works at a gas station.
    The great success of the film is undoubtedly its social relevance.  Candid camera and reality TV shows depend on the audiences’ inherent voyeuristic qualities.  Laura Mulvey must be salivating with the prospects of discussing Adam Rifkin’s 2007 film and the ripe cornucopia of scopophilia it offers.  If it were real, we would know the subjects were unaware of our presence.  But alas it is not, and the acting alerts us that the characters know they are being watched and their actions are choreographed.  We will forgive their actions, be they vile or illegal, for these reasons.  Unless, of course, they start throwing cats into dumpsters.

The Endless Summer (1966)

     Part documentary, part travelogue, part extreme sports film, Bruce Brown’s immortal 1966 creation follows two surfers around the world on their quest for perfect waves during an endless summer.  The film is incredibly archaic, a satisfying and occasionally cringe inducing reminder of the innocence and nostalgia of yesteryear.  The market now saturated with extreme sports docs capitalizing on whatever is in style, we would be hard pressed to find a film that shares the fascination and lightheartedness found here.
    Brown narrates the film with an eager and informative style befitting any travel film of the fifties and sixties where idyllic beaches and paradise lands are captured in grainy 16mm and populated by vintage cars and clothing.  Not only does he take liberty with the on-screen actions, but he seems to create an entirely non-existent back-story.  But it’s all in good fun.  The puns, both visual and verbal, floweth in full accord with complete disregard for political correctness or cultural sensitivity.  The innocence of nearly five decades passed is front and center as the surfers visit primitive cultures, deserted beaches, and sights uncommon to the average nuclear family.  It’s a relief that much of Brown's narration can be waived off as old school, today it would be seen as ignorant.
    The film is a breeze to watch.  Much of it consists of countless surfers navigating the lengths of their board with skilled agility and a showman’s confidence.  On the best of beaches, the length of their rides surpasses that of Brown camera magazine, minute upon minute of perfectly formed waves washing by the thousands onto an unpopulated beach.  The documentary is also a who’s who list of surfers from around the globe; Brown seems to take pride in naming each and every one, as well as their specialty.
    It is a document to years long gone, to a world long gone where the simple joys need not be validated and traveling country to country was as safe as riding the ocean waves without having to worry about being demolished by floating trash.  This film’s longevity is not surprising and is requisite material for documentary, sports, and surf enthusiasts.

Exit Through the Gift Shop (2010)

    The film’s credits read like a who’s who of (in)famous street artists and for anyone who has paid attention to the resounding noise this scene has made, the names will be very familiar.  They are captured in direct contact with the artists themselves, both in casual conversation as well as law-defying theatrics.  The opening images create a montage of reckless abandon, a society seemingly falling apart, yet one full of life.  For the viewer, it is an inspiring and exciting parade of juvenile delinquents brandishing their cityscapes with more life than the last million passersby.  Street artists escape authorities, install work, ooze creativity, and give the public a free show of body of works more developed than many others.  The opening sequence of internet clips and home footage is enough to inspire a heated debate about the legitimacy of graffiti vandalism, immediately offset by its vast commercialism and the branding of street art culture.  Hence this film.
    We rather quickly find Banksy himself addressing the camera, cloaked in anonymity (he is, after all, a Criminal), and reporting on the nature of his film.  We are introduced to Thierry, an obsessive and compulsive videographer whose camera remains open more than his eyes, who has a house full of thousands of tapes, and who just happens to have an artistic cousin that goes by Space Invader.  Thus our un-reluctant cameraman arrives conveniently at the near-birth of the street art movement and seems the perfect accomplice to document the temporary, illegal, and most culturally responsive of all art forms.  If you haven’t seen this film, stop reading.

Review: Scott Pilgrim vs The World

     British born director of Shaun of the Dead (2004) and Hot Fuzz (2007) Edgar Wright makes another impact in cinema history with his latest movie Scott Pilgrim vs The World. Based on Scott Pilgrim by Bryan Lee O'Malley, the story revolves around a 22-year-old Scott Pilgrim as he grieves over his ex-girlfriend, and pretends to enjoy his time with his new girlfriend, a 17-year-old Knives Chao, a young girl obsessed with everything Scott Pilgrim.
     Scott is in a band, which is currently trying to make a name for itself. Knives is their most loyal (and probably only) fan, as they head into a Battle of the Bands. Scott's life with Knives seems to be going well, until (as a dream foretells) he runs into the girl of his dreams: Ramona Flowers. He stalks her a bit before he can convince her to go on a date with him. Soon after, he decides to break up with Knives.
     Unfortunately, dating Ramona comes with a few... seven to be exact... minor problems. He must "defeat" Ramona's seven deadly exes. This is where this movie really stands alone. For the duration of the movie so far, there have been a few instances of "extra" reality: drawings and video-game-like pop-ups on the screen add something... extra to the action. But the moment the first ex shows up, All reality seems to slip away, as Scott flies around, punching and getting punched without actually getting hurt. Essentially, the film turns into a video game with earned points flying out of the other characters, and evil exes, or their minions turning into coins when destroyed.
     Scott fights the evil exes in various ways: by wit, by strength, by music, and by martial arts. It's truly an amazing and unique image, and it's really up to the viewer whether it's a good thing. It can, at times, be distracting, and since it steps so far out of reality, one may sometimes wonder what is actually happening. It's a worthwhile experience for anyone who enjoys comic books, video games, or just something new and fresh in a film.

     With 5 movies under his belt since Juno, Michael Cera, seemingly type-cast in roles of heartbroken nerds, makes a slight leap from his usual character. Although this new character is as charming and witty as the others, it does step out of the norm with the flashy and quirky action hero qualities he exudes by the end of the film. Anna Kendrick (Up In The Air, 2009) plays a minor role as Scott's sister and adds a fun twist to the nerd lifestyle with the older but caring sibling. Other roles as the exes include Brandon Routh, Chris Evans, and Jason Schwartzman. While I wasn't particularly fond of most of their acting, it worked in the whole scheme of the movie.
     The visuals were striking, the score was brilliantly composed, and the sound design for the movie was quite perfect. The video game aspect of the movie is pulled off at every turn of the road. Surprisingly, the film turns out to be a fun one, enjoyable as well as exciting and intriguing.
The movie comes out this Friday, August 13, 2010.

Review: Inception

     Christopher Nolan's Following is a masterful labyrinth of a film. It is also his first feature, and a trend-setter for his later films. Memento (2000), Insomnia (2002), Batman Begins (2005), The Prestige (2006), and of course The Dark Knight (2008) are his repertoire. An oeuvre of epic proportions. Each film is a mind-bending look into our fears. That we committed our worst crime, that we become the villain we so desperately try to take down. Inception is no exception.
     Dominic Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is the best extractor in the field. He can enter a person's dream and steal their most valued ideas, thoughts and secrets. Lately he's been performing corporate espionage, stealing people's thoughts for a profit. But he is running from his past, trying to escape the accusations of murder, all the while hoping to find a way home. His most recent client, Saito (Ken Wantanabe) has the answer: If Cobb can do the opposite of his job and plant the idea in the son of Saito's business enemy to break up his father's business, Saito will make some calls allowing Cobb to return to America.
     To plant an idea, one must enter into the deep subconscious of one's mind (here being a dream within a dream within a dream). This is where Nolan provides the brunt of the suspense in the film. In order to get out of a dream you need what's called a kick (essentially free fall in the real world) so that you are ripped out of your dream. In order to get out of the dreams within dreams, you need to have a kick in the first dream world. And in order to get out of the dreams within those dreams within dreams, you need a kick in the second dream world. The question is, can the characters achieve all their goals before the kicks occur? Each level of dreams is twenty times faster than the level before it, so that if you're asleep for 1 minute, your dream world is twenty minutes long, and the dream level before that is seven hours long etc., which gives the actors plenty of time, as long as they are deep in the subconscious.
    The film is entirely comprehensible, and fully engaging. The characters literally make the movie-goer excited for what's happening and what's about to happen. And of course, we're never let down. Each dream level is fascinating and enthralling, mesmerizing and beautiful, dangerous and scary. Nolan keeps the characters as entertained as the audience, throwing them into the worlds of dreams, where anything could happen next. It is hard to find fault with the cinematography, the CG or the sets. It's nothing new, but it retains a certain air of appeal.
     With a lineup of actors as good as this, it is surprising to find that none really blew the ship out of the water. DiCaprio was alright, giving a Shutter Island (Scorsese, 2010) performance (without the accent), Ellen Paige was good, but nothing extraordinary. Ken Wantanabe Cillian Murphy and Tom Hardy all did admirably, yet they weren't as prominent of characters and therefore didn't have much billing time. Marion Cotillard may never live up to her Edith Paif portrayal, while Tom Berenger and Michael Caine had such small roles, it was hard to tell if they did well or not.
    While the story was astoundingly complex and layered, with conflicts up the wazoo, there was little there. What you see is what you get with this film. There's little deep to talk about, since the deepest part of the human conscious is materialized, something that isn't quite possible. As soon as we see that to be trapped in the mind is as simple as building your own worlds, we lose all wonder and astonishment. The mystery of the mind is simplified too far for the film to have anything worth discussing afterward.