Film, Literature, & the Human Condition

The short film Vincent, created by Tim Burton while he was a conceptual artist for Disney, is perfection. It must be obvious, despite its overtly dramatic and macabre nature,  that this is a highly autobiographical work. Not autobiographical in events, I don’t believe Tim Burton has dipped his aunt in boiling wax, but autobiographical in feelings. Because of this, the film is universal and speaks to all of us whether we realize it or not. For some, it may take a stretch to recognize the base similarities between what Vincent (a.k.a. Tim Burton) feels and what every other person on this planet will experience more often than they choose to acknowledge. I am of course referring to our feelings of alienation from the external world. Vincent finds solace in his imagination, fueled by the baroque of Vincent Price and Edgar Allan Poe. He embraces madness and torment as a kind of catharsis. And watching Burton’s film should give us a certain cathartic release. However, it might be presumptuous to believe everybody will respond to it the same way I have. For all intents and purposes, movies are like Rorschach tests. It would be particularly interesting to gage different people’s reactions to Vincent. Regardless, the title character struggles through considerably intense bouts of darkness and gloom, and at the center of his melancholy lies a very thoughtful examination of loneliness and isolation. (continue reading…)

When Star Wars was released back in 1977, it unleashed a cultural phenomenon, one that only cultivated with the release of its two sequels. Over the years, these films have achieved a level of recognition both for the breadth of its popularity and for its cinematic brilliance. To some people, the Star Wars universe transcends beyond movies. I am one of those people, but not in the sense you may think. If you tried to start a conversation with me about the different makes of starships or models of lightsabers, my expression would turn into a chasm of obliviousness. My favorite of the original trilogy of movies is The Empire Strikes Back, because it most deeply explores the reason I am drawn to this world, going into a profound meditation about some of the themes that were introduced in the first film. It begins exploring the mystery and power of the Force. George Lucas only gives us vague impressions of what the Force is exactly. It could be a religion judging by the way both the Jedi and Sith lead their lives in accordance to it, but the Force is not something they worship. It is created by life, not the creator of life. It is closer to philosophy, but there is still an inherent spiritual element that elevates it to something more. Whatever the Force may be, in the space of three movies, it made a simple, yet powerful statement about existence, that the universe thrives on a conflict between two equally matched spiritual forces, one good, the other evil. And we need to pick a side. (continue reading…)

Yes, I believe comic books are literature. I also believe the inimical relationship between Batman and the Joker is one of the most complex struggles between two characters in all literature, a struggle that has not been so profoundly explored until the brilliance of The Dark Knight. Everything from the writing, the directing, the cinematography, the music, and of course, the acting goes to extreme lengths to serve this purpose. The tragic loss of Heath Ledger is depressing not just because an artist with so much to offer is no longer with us, but because the depths of the enigmatic Joker must now remain a mystery. His performance was absolute and nobody else should continue with the role. What Ledger was doing onscreen is something beyond our understanding. He gave us hints towards a deeper inquiry of this character without revealing too much. The Joker revels in chaos, but you can sense maybe there’s more driving him than we can know, that something has pushed him to an inner turbulence which now explodes externally as total anarchy. This is the great conflict between Batman and the Joker. If someone wanted to better understand the symbiosis of protagonist and antagonist, they can simply look to this film. Not because it is a battle between hero and villain. It’s much more, more even than good versus evil. The Batman has rules. The Joker has no rules. The Batman’s outer shell is dark and serious. In contrast, the Joker is light and jocular. The Batman fights to stay in control of himself. The Joker concedes powerlessness against himself. Most dynamically, Batman seeks to preserve life and won’t kill anyone. The Joker wants to destroy life and is not afraid to die. (continue reading…)

When I managed to stumble across a copy of the screenplay for The Matrix Reloaded, I intended to merely sift through it. I wound up reading the whole thing in one sitting, forgetting I had even seen any of the movies and in a way, I really hadn’t. I admit, I watched the entire Matrix trilogy with only a minuscule understanding of what was happening. I followed the narrative, cared about the characters, and was obviously blown away by the cinematic scope and impeccable craft of these films, but I say minuscule because I had essentially reduced the movies to simple pop entertainment. After reading the Wachowskis’ words on paper, it became one of the greatest things I had ever read and I rewatched all three movie with a higher appreciation for what it was they set out to accomplish. The Matrix trilogy is a work of complex literature that deserves to have papers written on it and be discussed in institutions of higher learning. While the films stand on their own and create a unique set of philosophical questions for its universe, the themes are very relevant, deriving inspiration from modern philosophy like Simulacra and Simulation by Jean Baudrillard to older works such as Plato’s Republic. But it’s the heart of movies, the theme of fate vs. free will, and how the Wachowski’s discuss it that elevates the world of The Matrix to something grander. From the allegories to the religious, philosophical, and mythological references, the Matrix trilogy is more than just a set of sci-fi action films, it’s a source of intellectual stimulation that builds and builds on its ideas until the spacetime continuum threatens to collapse in on itself. (continue reading…)

James Cameron, in my opinion, is one of the few directors that can get people to come to his movies solely on the merit of his name. He has made only seven films in nearly three decades, and each of them is highly innovative, pushing the envelope not simply in effects, but in implementing effects for unique dramatic and narrative purposes. Every one of his movies, in some way or another, has made a breakthrough in filmmaking technique and in 2009, Cameron is once again set to rattle the world of cinema with the release of his long awaited sci-fi epic, Avatar. Besides the advancement in photo-realistic motion capture animation technology, which Cameron himself supervised specifically for the film, he is also utilizing the Fusion digital 3-D camera system that has been developing for years. Aspects of traditional filmmaking, such as miniatures, live action shooting on high tech soundstages, and filming in real environments, make this project a seriously ambitious endeavor. And, like I mentioned before, these superlative technical elements are not merely some gimmick as the narrative scope of Avatar is in the pure Cameron fashion of challenging ideas which reach towards a mythic level of storytelling. Film geeks, myself included, are already salivating, but our wait has been prolonged another few months since the release date has been pushed from May to December of 2009. Until then, we are to make due with what James Cameron has already given the world, but trust me, the breadth of his films thus far is enough to keep us occupied a plenty. From his concerns of a nuclear holocaust to the complex relationship between humanity and technology, James Cameron has woven a rich tapestry of both science and art. (continue reading…)

Stanley Kubrick was an artist with huge ideas. When he set out to make a science fiction film, nobody could have anticipated what was coming. His subject is extraterrestrial life, but there are no depictions of humanoid aliens. There is no perfunctory dialogue to give us an exposition of the events taking place. There are no sleek flying saucers or cacophonous photon beams to jettison spacecrafts through the galaxy. Most importantly, there isn’t a fantastical narrative full of colorful planets or creatures. 2001: A Space Odyssey is not just a work of fiction, it is a work of speculation, of glorious notions, of intellectual prowess, and of tranquilizing beauty. (continue reading…)

Clint Eastwood is the ultimate polymath of the filmmaking world. He started as an actor, but slowly evolved into a director, then a producer, then a film composer, and on the title song of his film, Gran Torino, he sings. He’s pushing 80 years old and shows no signs of slowing. Judging from his demeanor in Gran Torino when his family presents him with the prospect of a nursing home, I imagine merely uttering the term senior citizen in his proximity would be hazardous. While I think other artists his age would rather spend their time playing the grandfatherly figure in a lighthearted comedy or direct a cliched Bucket List kind of movie, Eastwood continues to dredge through brooding existentialism. Since the start of his career, he has been apt at exploring the darker sides of human nature. Most of the characters he’s played are antiheroes or at least anti-establishment, and the characters put under his directorial microscope have their most flawed attributes showcased. The interesting thing about Clint Eastwood’s films is in the way he chooses to see people as individuals. While he has examined characters of diverse cultural backgrounds, he does not ascribe their behavior to anything but who they uniquely are, not ethnically, but as a person. Like I said, the aim of his art is to dissect human nature, trimming away everything, all excuses for a character’s immorality, until there’s nothing left to speak for it except their own human integrity. (continue reading…)

Stanley Kubrick is known as a filmmaker who created pictures which can readily be described as cold. Of the group of movies he is most famous for, I’d say the closest thing to an emotional resolution comes at the end of A Clockwork Orange, and the nature of that resolution is quite heathenish. It explains everyone’s view that Kubrick’s perception of the world was emotionally shutoff. However, many forget Paths of Glory and its conclusion which, although forlorn, is curiously warm and affecting. Even though it ends with a song, the final moments are not optimistic by any means, nor do they provide a sense of closure. In fact, the scene at first seems disharmonious with the rest of the film, but the obscurity of it in and of itself appears to serve as a quiet discussion on the whole institution of war. Institution may not be an appropriate word, but in Paths of Glory, Kubrick is exploring the lives of men who are existing in a world of violence, and then condemned to death by the army they are serving because they have survived. It should make no sense at all, yet the entire picture painstakingly shows us how it makes perfect sense. It’s not easy to perceive these harsh truths. So Kubrick leaves us with the final note of a timid German girl singing on stage for a group of drunken, rowdy soldiers, and when she starts to sing, and when the hoots and whistles from the soldiers poignantly fade away, we are left with the sound of her sheepish voice and the German words of The Faithful Hussar. We have no clue what the scene is supposed to represent, but it certainly strikes at our emotions. (continue reading…)

In July of 2009, Michael Mann’s newest film, Public Enemies, will be released starring Johnny Depp as John Dillinger. What a sentence that is. When some people think of Michael Mann they immediately get a picture of excess in style. This is a total misconception, although his film adaptation of Miami Vice serves as perfect evidence for that argument. I don’t believe Public Enemies will have the same problems as Miami Vice since the iconic status of John Dillinger and Melvin Purvis most certainly overtakes that of Crockett and Tubbs. We can be rest assured that Enemies is a return to the richly thematic world of Michael Mann as experienced in Heat. A central idea Mann runs with in his movies is that each person is a universe unto himself. An individual is all alone behind their eyes, alone with their thoughts, and alone in their journey through existence. In Heat we get two characters who are polar opposites: one is a criminal and one is the cop chasing him. The singular connection they share is each other, likewise it is very difficult for either of them to function in the world without consideration to what the other is up to. Robert De Niro’s character understands this very well, which is why he chooses to maintain a very dogmatic way of life. Al Pacino, on the other hand, does not possess the same rigidity and allows himself to invest emotions very explosively. He can handle the consequences because he is used to living that way. Robert De Niro’s character is the more interesting of the two, and when he turns weak enough to invest his emotions, even in just a minor capacity,  it throws his entire constitution out of whack and makes him vulnerable. And in the world of Michael Mann, where fate is rendered through a system of cause and effect in direct control of the characters, vulnerability is very dangerous. (continue reading…)

Coraline, which is directed by Henry Selick, is based upon a wonderfully dark book by Neil Gaiman, the man behind The Sandman graphic novels as well as many other fantasy works. Words like masterpiece or classic should usually be kept in their holsters and drawn only when they are absolutely imperative to a work of art’s description, when it is difficult to describe it with conventional thought processes. Coraline is an unusual film. I can tell you it’s in the same vain as Nightmare Before Christmas or Corpse Bride, both of which are connected to Henry Selick, but Coraline is apart from those works because it will touch viewers more deeply. Like the dreamscapes of Nightmare Before Christmas and Corpse Bride, this film is cultivated within a dark and gloomy tapestry, however it is about real people and that makes its relevance to us very powerful. Its primary audience is children, which will undoubtedly cause some to question Selick’s technique, but adults will be touched by it as well because a lot of the feelings implicitly discussed in Coraline will engender pangs from the universal wounds left by childhood. (continue reading…)