Film, Literature, & the Human Condition

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…)

I’m not sure if it’s fair to call the great Yukio Mishima crazy. He was definitely an intensely charismatic figure who broadened his horizons to encompass as many facets of cultural literacy as his time allowed. By the end of his life, or at the time he chose to end it, Mishima had written 40 novels, 18 plays, 20 books of short stories, 20 books of essays, one libretto, and a film. That his oeuvre consisted of deep insight into the elements of what makes us human only boggles me to comprehend what had happened to him that lead to his self-imposed doom. Despite his commitment to the Bushido, I cannot understand the force driving him to his death when his fertile mind I imagine still had much to offer. I doubt it was boredom or even a lack of satisfaction. Though his sexuality has been a subject of much speculation, Mishima was still happily married with two young children. In the breathtaking film, Mishima: A Life In Four Chapters, Paul Schrader embarks on a complex examination about the statements Mishima was trying to make and attempts to answer these questions. He doesn’t answer them with answers though. It’s not that simple with Mishima. Schrader’s intricately structured film rather blurs the line between Mishima’s life and Mishima’s art. He slowly shows us that maybe Mishima saw no distinction between the two and that his existence was just another tool for him, like pen and paper, to express his art. Or more so, Mishima saw his life as his magnum opus and the graphic violence of seppuku was the most effective conclusion he arrived at for his greatest artistic accomplishment. (continue reading…)

Two years ago, when I heard there was going to be a remake of The Pink Panther, or rather a new addition to the series, it gave me pause. Peter Sellers was those movies. There was nothing to bother watching if not vitalized by his charismatic presence, yet alone the brilliant comic performances he gave.  The filmmakers knew this very well, which is why the first Panther movie following his death was an ill-conceived attempt to manufacture his presence with archival footage of outtakes and deleted scenes from the previous film. When I found out the iconic Inspector Clouseau would now be portrayed by Steve Martin, I didn’t know what to think. Steve Martin himself is a genius whose style is inimitable. After much deliberation, I reserved myself to conclude it was going to be good and built up a significant amount of anticipation leading to its release. Well, you must know what happened next. The truth is not all the original Panther movies were great.  After the first two, I think the quality waned a bit, but it didn’t matter because there exists a modicum of films, mostly sequels to films you love, that you don’t judge with the normal criterion. In the Pink Panther films, all you needed was the Henry Mancini score and Peter Sellers. However, after I watched the new one, I realized there was something else, a particular conviction the movie should have. It doesn’t matter because prior to realizing that, I had already begun viewing it as just another film. (continue reading…)