Monday, February 21, 2011

True Grit (2010) - by Faro



There are many engaging characters in this wonderful film, but there is no mistaking who is at the heart of it all. Young Mattie is the narrative engine of this story of revenge, and is also the key embodiment of the title. Not that the other characters lack grit, because without some measure of it they would not be able to survive in the untamed and undomesticated land that they all inhabit, but none are as steel-eyed in their resolve as 13 year old Mattie.

Amidst all the natural wildness and rough and violent masculinity stands this barely teenage girl, with ramrod poise, armed only with her certainty of her self and her wit. Unsurprisingly, she conquers them all. The men around her showcase their grit in their old scars and fresh wounds, and shout of their strength and skill with frequent violent boasts. In comparison, Mattie has no external armor to rattle, no battle trumpet to sound before her fights. Her youth and her gender are critical to underscoring and heightening her personification of a profound True Grit. To paraphrase Erasmus and Plato, she acts as an inverse Sileni Statue. These were ancient statues of crude and bawdy satyrs that had tiny golden statues of gods hidden inside of them. She, inversely, is a young lady that carries within her the passion and tenacity of one of the vengeful Furies.

As the film begins it seems perhaps that she bases much of her strength in the law, as she frequently quotes that her actions are based in and supported by the “force of law”. The men around her smirk at these pronouncements, because they know that in these wild lands Force is the Law. They are wrong to smirk, and we are wrong to assume that she finds strength in anything other than herself. Case in point – when she finally wrangles Rooster Cogburn to her cause he says that she cannot join him in the hunt, and that she ought to trust him because he is a “bonded marshall.” Her response reveals how well she understands that there is no law in this land, “That weighs but little with me… I will see the thing done.”

Sure enough, she rides with him and she sees the thing done… in fact, she does it herself. Revenge is accomplished, justice is served, but if one chooses to live by the sword one rarely escapes being cut. Young Mattie loses her steed and loses an arm, and everything fades to black.

The films short coda to all this action comes as a rude shock to many, with Mattie revealed many years later as a weathered, one-armed spinster. She briskly relates to us how the unlikely friendships that we have just watched being forged quickly disintegrated and disappeared. Time slips away, connections are lost and lives are ended, and the culture changes. She learns that Cogburn, at the end, was no longer a Force as Law in an untamed land but was relegated to performing in a traveling ‘Wild-West’ show that was surely a milquetoast caricature of the West they had shared.

During this seemingly disheartening conclusion, that comes so jarringly on the heels of a story of such excitement and joy de vivre, the Coen brothers play the old hymn “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.” This is more than a simple stab of dark humor at the expense of their one-armed heroine. It is macabre humor, there is no doubt of that, but the key is to realize that it is a joke that Mattie would appreciate. This is her coda and she still stands straight and tall and strong, and in this bitter conclusion we should not miss the sweet… we should not miss that she is once again a Sileni Statue, but in a new context.

She is no longer a fresh-faced youth, but she is still a woman in a man’s world that demands her to act a certain way, and thankfully she still refuses to act in any way but her own. She remembers her friends and their adventures without dissolving into weeping tears and self-pity. She proudly mentions her refusal to submit to the cultural constraints of marriage, and she issues a sharp retort to a minor character at the end for his lack of manners. If we look carefully it should be wonderfully and joyfully clear that her resolve to act fairly and demand justice remains undimmed. In these last difficult years of her life she is perceived (by her society and by many of us upon first viewing) as lonely and forlorn, but inside of her is the gleaming gold of True Grit that she always maintains regardless of the hardships she encounters.

The tender hymn that scores this coda speaks to the fellowship and the safety that is found in the eternal presence of God and his everlasting arms. Mattie does not need this hymn, and that is why the Coens play it for her… to highlight and underscore her True Grit. She always believed in herself, made her own justice, spoke her own words, and earned her own friendships. She may have lost an arm during her adventures, but it is clear that she never lost any of life’s precious moments worrying about arms that never existed.

PS- Some will point out that she often quotes Scripture in the beginning of the film, and thus must be a believer. Nonsense. The real test of her mettle is found in that she does not once cry out for God during her trials. She merely quotes the Bible during her earlier conversations, as a rhetorical and lyrical text that she knows to be deeply embedded in her culture. Not to suggest that she speaks disingenuously, as I suspect she has a healthy respect for the justice driven narratives of the Old Testament. She is not an iconoclast that would rail against the fundamental structures of her society. I bet she would find such a notion distasteful. But I can assure you she never wasted a Sunday in church praying to a God she has never spoken with… for Mattie is woman of straight words and real actions.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Alfie (2004) - by Faro




Alfie is a man without a plan. He is aimless and haphazard, and his showy self-confidence is thus thin and unsupported… a paper playboy that falls at the slightest breath of troubled wind. If one is going to flout social convention and be something a bit more than a witless knave, then one must have a plan and a philosophy. This requires a bit of thought and consideration, and constant re-evaluation as the world shifts around you. A random and half-assed philosophy concocted around a Word of the Day Calendar is hardly sufficient. With such inattention to the larger structure of things Alfie ends up looking like a well-dressed fool who is unaware that it is fear of women, as well as lust for them, that truly motivates him. It is hard to spend two hours with someone who is so profoundly unaware of themselves.

But that is not the worst of this silly movie… the worst is that the structure of the screenplay is only moderately tweaked from the original Michael Caine vehicle from 1966. What was edgy and fresh then comes across as hackneyed and hollow now. We actually have advanced the national conversation concerning sex and race and gender a bit in the last 40 years, and a proper remake should have completely upended the original script to provide fresh insight. Instead, we watch this movie with the growing realization that we have slept with this person before, and there was a reason we lost their phone number.


Monday, January 3, 2011

Tron:Legacy (2010) - by Faro



Everything is as it should be… this sequel pays due respect to the past, but also brings a whole new technological precision to the action that is a real pleasure to watch. And though it could have sunk the whole enterprise if it had not been executed so efficiently, the strange gamble of having Jeff Bridges compete with himself, the aging Zen Buddhist versus the perfectionist program, actually infuses the film with a lovely touch of strangeness.

Nonetheless, the film as a whole fails to deliver the most salient value of the first Tron. When we first saw Tron it gave us a visual paradigm that no one had ever seen before, and it offered an evocative structure to the world of computers that we were only just starting to engage with and understand. The sequel, because it must follow the general aesthetics of that which came before or risk angering the faithful, therefore has no such imaginative leap to share with us. It is a continuation, an updated version of a beloved program, a slicker and sleeker model of something that was a revolution of vision when it first appeared. So, we are pleased… but we are not impressed.


Monday, December 13, 2010

Black Swan (2010) - by Faro




The jittery camera that spends most of the film perched just behind Natalie Portman’s razor sharp shoulders instills us with a profound sense of dread and paranoia that mirrors the emotional state of her character. As we watch her, we fear what she fears. That someone is always just about to pounce on her. Perhaps it is the evil Von Rothbart, perhaps it is her stultifying mother, perhaps it is her lascivious teacher, perhaps it is her decadent rival, perhaps it is her critical audience of which we are a part… but of course it is actually just herself that she fears, and with good reason. Peering over her own shoulder, whispering defeat and deprecation into her own ear, stoking the fire of obsessive perfection that burns like a chemical fire in her belly and eats away at all that is integrated and balanced inside of her. The acrid smoke of that toxic fire clouds her mind, and she is maddened by the constant irritation of it, so she scratches and scratches and scratches at her milk-white paper-fragile skin till she bleeds with hate and envy and fury and it covers her hands and her eyes and she can no longer sense what is real and what is fear and what is sex and what is power.

In the end she achieves the perfection that she desired. There is no longer anyone over her shoulder. The camera comes round to the front and puts her face directly in the center as the thunderous applause radiates like crystalline light thru her skin. She is perfect, she is innocent and wise, the virgin and the whore, she is whole… even if that whole is just a violent juxtaposition of dichotomies that leaves a ragged wound at their juncture.

When we are not obsessed, but rather have the opportunity for calm reflection, we know that art is about struggle and confusion as much as eventual creation. We know that artistic objects are a distinct structure and moment in time as a result of that process. For the obsessive, perfection can only be found when there are no loose ends, no frayed edges, no degradations, no decline… the moment must happen exactly as planned and then end as the curtain falls. Following this logic it is best for the object to also end in that moment, to be a perfect object of art for a moment and then to disappear amidst the applause. This is the danger of caring only for the perfection, rather than loving the struggle that strives to create it. The danger of denying the hot pulpy mess of life for the sharp ice of precision. Yet before we judge her, remember that this is the kind of self-destruction that we always applaud. And remember that she is smiling as the screen goes white…



Monday, December 6, 2010

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt.1 (2010) - by Faro


(This review was scribbled on the inside of a popcorn bucket whilst at the Acme Theatre in Riverton, Wyoming.)

If we are honest with ourselves... we must admit that all of the books are often unnecessarily busy and at times suffer from a glut of undistinguishable details, but rarely has that flaw of the text been so manifest in the film versions. Sadly, such is the case with this latest installment of the Harry Potter franchise, as it crams in as much as possible into every moment and yet still seems a bit tepid and unmemorable. Lovely plot subtleties, like the magical GPS-tracking tag applied to the taboo name of Lord Voldemort, are left out in favor of far too many wand-action scenes that don’t quite convince me of their lethal qualities.

But no matter, this is the penultimate moment of Harry Potter after all and we have been on this magical rollercoaster ride since 1997. We have already invested so much time and energy into this narrative that the momentum of the whole experience carries us up and over and thru all the minor messes and mistakes of this movie into a place that is beyond judgment… into a place where we just sink back into our plush chairs and enjoy the world and the characters even if we can’t always understand what is what or why at any particular moment.

We can enjoy the barely discernible but palpably painful conflict etched into Snape’s face during his few brief moments on screen. We can enjoy the excellent imagistic rendering of the story of the Deathly Hallows. We can enjoy the unhinged malevolence of Bellatrix, as she chews up every scene that she enters. We can enjoy that Hermione has grown into even more of a delicious peach of a young lady.

And finally, and perhaps best of all, we can enjoy the inclusion of a small scene that is not from the original text. When Harry and Hermione are left alone after the explosion of Ron’s jealousy, a deep and profound despair settles on them both. It is painful, it is lonely, and there are no words. The tension and distance between Harry and Hermione is horrible. Anyone that has been in a long-term relationship knows this feeling; a thousand torturous miles compressed into a bedroom.

But, take note!, the Boy-Who-Lived shows a way to defuse that sickly silent separation that inflicts all of us at some point. Harry does the only thing that one can do in a moment like that. He creates a new moment and a new feeling out of nothing except his will to do so, no magic involved. He turns on the radio and dances with her. It is an awkward and sincere attempt at producing joy ex nihilo, and for a few brief turns around the floor it works. Sadly, the poor boy doesn’t know how to seal the deal… but of course, that isn’t how the story goes, as much as we would like it to.