I’m back, and i’m feeling weirdly reflective after this year's festival. I saw an odd bunch of films this year, but somehow not odd enough for me? For Tribeca I decide pretty haphazardly, influenced by how much I can get into for free while volunteering for the festival (tip: of the three festivals I’ve worked, Tribeca gives you the most chances to see movies by far; if you hang out on the rush lines of venues on the last Sunday in the evening, you might see volunteers giving away screenings vouchers that they’ve accumulated. It’s far from a reliable plan, but if you’ve been working all festival there are only so many films you can see in a weekend!) This year though, I was kind of surprised at how little I ventured out of my comfort zone, or even into independent fare. I didn’t catch anything particularly weird like Der Samurai; three of the films I saw have well known names, and one of them is coming out in a month. I kind of regret delving into smaller and/or foreign fare; Lucifer in particular is one that I’m sad I missed.
It begs the question: what am I looking for in film festivals? Is it to see sneak previews of upcoming films? To broaden my film horizons? To see weird shit that probably won’t get major distribution (or that will run for a week at Lincoln Center where I’d inevitably miss it)? Tribeca so far has given me the most choices in what I end up seeing, and this year I’m not sure I used my choices wisely.
One thing I can definitely say I did was watch more documentaries than I usually do; typically they’re not my cup of tea. I generally chose smaller fare than the most buzzed about docs (In Transit, Thank You For Playing, Transfatty Lives), but I did catch some interesting stuff.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Tribeca Film Festival coverage - The Canal & Der Samurai
Horror has always been a genre that I've been iffy about, and the first two films I saw at the Tribeca Film Festival, Ivan Kavanaugh's The Canal and Til Kleinert's Der Samurai turn out to show exactly what makes the genre so hit and miss for me. One is my least favorite film that I saw at the festival, and the other is my absolute favorite (which includes award winners such as Zero Motivation and Point and Shoot), and by comparing the two it's clear what makes a psychological thriller work, and how Der Samurai lives up to the genre and The Canal doesn't.
The Canal follows David, a film archivist who discovers that the house he lives in with his wife and child was the site of a grisly murder where a man violently murdered his wife after he found out she was cheating on him. The story hits hard for him, as he has suspicions about his own wife, and when she goes missing and he digs up more disturbing crimes committed in the house, he begins to suspect that something paranormal is occuring. Der Samurai follows a young and inexperienced police officer, Wolski, on patrol in a small German town, who is currently appeasing a wolf that has been threatening the area. On one night, he encounters a katana-wielding figure in a dress wreaking havoc on the community who is quite interested in him.
The first difference between the two films is that The Canal doesn’t effectively heighten tension; David grows more and more frantic, but what he’s reacting to doesn’t change very much. There’s a lot of energy directed to him trying to convince others of the danger he perceives, but as the film progresses there’s not enough of an escalation to make me invested in whether the malevolent forces David is afraid of are real. Der Samurai starts strong with the minor but upsetting threat of the wolf who ransacks yards and who can only be appeased by raw, dripping meat, and from there continues to up the ante and stakes all throughout the film. The Samurai at first is simply unnerving, then progresses to increasing levels of violence as well as psychological warfare. Wolski, an officer who is barely taken seriously by the neighborhood malcontents, is suddenly thrust into a rapidly escalating situation involving a figure who seems inexplicably drawn to him
Secondly, in a psychological thriller, the main character should have some sort of connection to the impending threat, something which shakes up the protagonist's self image and puts them on edge. There is initially a specific figure that David is afraid of who could provide for a foil; the man who murdered his wife in the house David now lives in. But while the film briefly flirts with the implication that David has much in common with the killer, the main source of terror is linked to the house itself after he finds a plethora of articles about other murders, suicides, and occult rituals that have taken place inside, weakening the psychological elements in favor of gore and jump scares. While Der Samurai is far from short on the gore, the Samurai is closely linked to Wolski from the beginning; he sees Wolski as an equal and seems to believe his violent and impulsive actions are a favor towards Wolski. The Samurai is a physical threat to the town, but more importantly, he is a threat to Wolski self-image, and that is the real drive behind the film.
Thirdly, The Canal treats David's occupation as a film archivist as a gimmick to be picked up and dropped; there is a very awkward line in the opening of the film that connects people whose images we see in archival film to ghosts. While the film attempts to make a further connections that the ghosts David fears only can be captured on film, it's not explored nearly enough to be relevant to the story. It's an interesting idea that's not really developed enough to be particularly significant. On the other hand, Wolski's position as a cop is crucial to his character and the film; the Samurai uses Wolski's ineffectiveness as an authority figure and reluctance to use deadly force as a weapon to tease and enrapture Wolski throughout the film. The Samurai's recklessness, wanton violence, and transvestism constrast with Wolski's hesitatance and struggle to live up to the masculine ideal of the cop.
I'm not going to say that Der Samurai is a perfect film; the final confrontation is oddly campy, even for a film with mutiple beheadings and a slow dance in front of a funeral pyre. But it has so much more depth than The Canal and it's a shame that it hasn't been picked up for distribution.
The Canal follows David, a film archivist who discovers that the house he lives in with his wife and child was the site of a grisly murder where a man violently murdered his wife after he found out she was cheating on him. The story hits hard for him, as he has suspicions about his own wife, and when she goes missing and he digs up more disturbing crimes committed in the house, he begins to suspect that something paranormal is occuring. Der Samurai follows a young and inexperienced police officer, Wolski, on patrol in a small German town, who is currently appeasing a wolf that has been threatening the area. On one night, he encounters a katana-wielding figure in a dress wreaking havoc on the community who is quite interested in him.
The first difference between the two films is that The Canal doesn’t effectively heighten tension; David grows more and more frantic, but what he’s reacting to doesn’t change very much. There’s a lot of energy directed to him trying to convince others of the danger he perceives, but as the film progresses there’s not enough of an escalation to make me invested in whether the malevolent forces David is afraid of are real. Der Samurai starts strong with the minor but upsetting threat of the wolf who ransacks yards and who can only be appeased by raw, dripping meat, and from there continues to up the ante and stakes all throughout the film. The Samurai at first is simply unnerving, then progresses to increasing levels of violence as well as psychological warfare. Wolski, an officer who is barely taken seriously by the neighborhood malcontents, is suddenly thrust into a rapidly escalating situation involving a figure who seems inexplicably drawn to him
Secondly, in a psychological thriller, the main character should have some sort of connection to the impending threat, something which shakes up the protagonist's self image and puts them on edge. There is initially a specific figure that David is afraid of who could provide for a foil; the man who murdered his wife in the house David now lives in. But while the film briefly flirts with the implication that David has much in common with the killer, the main source of terror is linked to the house itself after he finds a plethora of articles about other murders, suicides, and occult rituals that have taken place inside, weakening the psychological elements in favor of gore and jump scares. While Der Samurai is far from short on the gore, the Samurai is closely linked to Wolski from the beginning; he sees Wolski as an equal and seems to believe his violent and impulsive actions are a favor towards Wolski. The Samurai is a physical threat to the town, but more importantly, he is a threat to Wolski self-image, and that is the real drive behind the film.
Thirdly, The Canal treats David's occupation as a film archivist as a gimmick to be picked up and dropped; there is a very awkward line in the opening of the film that connects people whose images we see in archival film to ghosts. While the film attempts to make a further connections that the ghosts David fears only can be captured on film, it's not explored nearly enough to be relevant to the story. It's an interesting idea that's not really developed enough to be particularly significant. On the other hand, Wolski's position as a cop is crucial to his character and the film; the Samurai uses Wolski's ineffectiveness as an authority figure and reluctance to use deadly force as a weapon to tease and enrapture Wolski throughout the film. The Samurai's recklessness, wanton violence, and transvestism constrast with Wolski's hesitatance and struggle to live up to the masculine ideal of the cop.
I'm not going to say that Der Samurai is a perfect film; the final confrontation is oddly campy, even for a film with mutiple beheadings and a slow dance in front of a funeral pyre. But it has so much more depth than The Canal and it's a shame that it hasn't been picked up for distribution.
Monday, March 31, 2014
The Unknown Known
Anyone expecting Errol Morris' documentary consisting of interviews with former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld to either condemn or redeem him will be disappointed. The Unknown Known has little interest in judging him, but instead simply asks "Who is this guy?" It seems like an odd question, and possibly an irrelevant one considering his massive impact on our government and the "War on Terror", but it leads to insights that are much more interesting than a more confrontational interview would reveal.
Much of the film is narrated by Rumsfeld himself; reading selections from the thousands of memos he wrote or recorded during his entire career. The most interesting ones focus on language and definitions; showing Rumsfeld's obsession with not necessarily information, but the phrasing of information. He talks us through various parts of his career (though with some omissions) but what Morris is really focusing on is Rumsfeld's version of these events. Occasionally he will refute something Rumsfeld says, to his face or by showing a clip that proves him wrong, but mostly Morris is content to just let Rumsfeld's statements hang in the air, instead focusing on his mostly paradoxical demeanor. The poster of The Unknown Known asks "Why is this man smiling?", and that's a question that the viewer will often be wondering. Rumsfeld's dopey smile appears at the most inappropriate times, as if he considers his checkered career sort of as an inside joke.
When I was a kid and the Monica Lewinsky situation was making headlines, I remember President Clinton was lampooned for dodging a question by asking for the definition of "is." That ridiculousness is Rumsfeld incarnate; he redefines words to suit his agenda, and then retroactively changes those definitions when criticized as if his first definition never existed. His media presence during the Iraq war was all about dodging questions by nitpicking at journalists' word choices; their questions, when interpreted through the "Pentagon dictionary", were nonsensical, and therefore he did not have to answer them. Cue goofy smile.The Unknowwn Known is an attempt to unpack the man behind the buzzwords and philosophy, and see if there's anything there. It turns out that Rumsfeld unwittingly provides an answer himself when asked why he agreed to the film, and while I won't spoil it, I will tell you: it ends with that damn smile.
Much of the film is narrated by Rumsfeld himself; reading selections from the thousands of memos he wrote or recorded during his entire career. The most interesting ones focus on language and definitions; showing Rumsfeld's obsession with not necessarily information, but the phrasing of information. He talks us through various parts of his career (though with some omissions) but what Morris is really focusing on is Rumsfeld's version of these events. Occasionally he will refute something Rumsfeld says, to his face or by showing a clip that proves him wrong, but mostly Morris is content to just let Rumsfeld's statements hang in the air, instead focusing on his mostly paradoxical demeanor. The poster of The Unknown Known asks "Why is this man smiling?", and that's a question that the viewer will often be wondering. Rumsfeld's dopey smile appears at the most inappropriate times, as if he considers his checkered career sort of as an inside joke.
When I was a kid and the Monica Lewinsky situation was making headlines, I remember President Clinton was lampooned for dodging a question by asking for the definition of "is." That ridiculousness is Rumsfeld incarnate; he redefines words to suit his agenda, and then retroactively changes those definitions when criticized as if his first definition never existed. His media presence during the Iraq war was all about dodging questions by nitpicking at journalists' word choices; their questions, when interpreted through the "Pentagon dictionary", were nonsensical, and therefore he did not have to answer them. Cue goofy smile.The Unknowwn Known is an attempt to unpack the man behind the buzzwords and philosophy, and see if there's anything there. It turns out that Rumsfeld unwittingly provides an answer himself when asked why he agreed to the film, and while I won't spoil it, I will tell you: it ends with that damn smile.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
NYFF - The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is a fun, uplifting ride with just enough substance to justify its wish fulfillment. Ben Stiller plays the titular character, a quiet everyguy who regularly loses himself in spectacular fantasies. He's into a woman at work but can't figure out how to talk to her, there are massive layoffs at his job at Life Magazine and the man in charge is a giant douchebag, and he has nothing interesting to put on his Eharmony dating profile. When a coveted negative from a famous photographer that only will communicate with him goes missing, he has to bite the bullet and go out on his own to find the photographer and save his job.
Emotionally, Walter's character arc is pretty predictable, but it's an incredibly fun ride, from the ridiculous fantasy sequences (one in which he and the smarmy executive duke it out in a superpowered fistfight across the city is particularly funny), to the characters he meets while traveling the world on his colleague's tail, to his constant correspondence with an Eharmony tech support staff member. The obvious message is that Walter goes from daydreaming about adventures to actually going on them, breaking out from his role as a meek everyman into something special, but I think the addition of the romantic subplot and Walter's waning job security add a little more heft to it. For one thing, although his love interest, Cheryl, isn't much of a fleshed out character (though magnitudes more so than the interest in About Time), she and Walter first bond over a common interest; she's intrigued by the mystery of the missing negative and actually interested in his work. Her son, Rich, also warms up to Walter because they share an enthusiasm for skateboarding. It's nice to see a character that starts off with reasons for the supporting characters to fall for them; even an average person has some sort of interest or unique talent, though they might not realize it.
Of course, an average person getting to travel halfway around the world in search of the most important item for his company is wish fulfillment at its finest, especially when succeeding means showing up a cartoonishly obnoxious boss. But the film is funny and charming enough that for the most part, it doesn't really matter, and the fact that it's both about living up to your full potential through taking risks and recognizing your previous experiences are more unique than you may give them credit for.
The reviews so far have been pretty polarized; and I think it mostly comes down to whether you're okay with a film that is so unabashedly wish fulfillment. It was also apparently hyped up as an Oscar contender, which it's probably not, but it's a sweet, funny movie that's touching without feeling manipulative. The only solid complaint I have is that the executive played by Adam Scott is pretty over the top in his assholishness, and his beard is ridiculously distracting, but that's a really small quibble.
Emotionally, Walter's character arc is pretty predictable, but it's an incredibly fun ride, from the ridiculous fantasy sequences (one in which he and the smarmy executive duke it out in a superpowered fistfight across the city is particularly funny), to the characters he meets while traveling the world on his colleague's tail, to his constant correspondence with an Eharmony tech support staff member. The obvious message is that Walter goes from daydreaming about adventures to actually going on them, breaking out from his role as a meek everyman into something special, but I think the addition of the romantic subplot and Walter's waning job security add a little more heft to it. For one thing, although his love interest, Cheryl, isn't much of a fleshed out character (though magnitudes more so than the interest in About Time), she and Walter first bond over a common interest; she's intrigued by the mystery of the missing negative and actually interested in his work. Her son, Rich, also warms up to Walter because they share an enthusiasm for skateboarding. It's nice to see a character that starts off with reasons for the supporting characters to fall for them; even an average person has some sort of interest or unique talent, though they might not realize it.
Of course, an average person getting to travel halfway around the world in search of the most important item for his company is wish fulfillment at its finest, especially when succeeding means showing up a cartoonishly obnoxious boss. But the film is funny and charming enough that for the most part, it doesn't really matter, and the fact that it's both about living up to your full potential through taking risks and recognizing your previous experiences are more unique than you may give them credit for.
The reviews so far have been pretty polarized; and I think it mostly comes down to whether you're okay with a film that is so unabashedly wish fulfillment. It was also apparently hyped up as an Oscar contender, which it's probably not, but it's a sweet, funny movie that's touching without feeling manipulative. The only solid complaint I have is that the executive played by Adam Scott is pretty over the top in his assholishness, and his beard is ridiculously distracting, but that's a really small quibble.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Some thoughts on The Breakfast Club
I watched the Breakfast Club last week for the first time; I've never really been interested in the 80s teen movies, but I was convinced to try it out, and I ended up a bit frustrated. The thing about The Breakfast Club is that it has a really good message that's completely mismanaged. The David Bowie quote at the beginning foreshadows a lot of heavy handed showing instead of telling; most of the dialogue, especially in the first half, is too on the nose, and Vernon is way too cartoonish of a character. There's a lot to be said about teachers who take their shit out on students and have a disgusting amount of disdain for them, and how the bad teachers can really get away with it because god teachers' jobs are hard and teenagers are monsters, but Vernon's confrontation with Bender in the closet is just ridiculous. Nobody actually says stuff like "nobody will ever believe you" or "don't make a fool out of me", they just do or say nasty things because the balance of power is already established.
It's not as if it entirely misfires; seeing how everyone arrives at school and what they have for lunch are great examples of when the film does show instead of telling, and Andrew and Brian's monologues are genuinely moving. Brian's story in particular is something that really hit home because while I've generally accepted that the media's idea of high school has really little to do with what I actually experienced, that was the exact sort of shit that I ran into. I can't say that anybody wanted to kill themselves because of their parents' pressure about their grades, but I knew people who were afraid of what their parents would say if they brought home a 94 instead of a 95. I knew people who wanted to kill themselves because of the atmosphere of my school (you all are little cheating grade grubbing shits who can't think outside of standardized tests and if you don't get it it's because you're not trying hard enough); hell, I wanted to kill myself in high school, and I knew someone who did kill himself. That monologue was something raw and real that resonated pretty deeply with me, and even though the gravity of it dissipates when we learn that the gun was just a flare gun, there's a real connection made between the characters and the viewer. And then the movie immediately cut to an 80s dance party. Not to say that most of the interludes of the kids fucking around is bad, but there's such a mood whiplash that it's annoying and distracting.
I already knew I was going to hate Allison's makeover, and I'm sure it's been talked about to death so I won't harp too much on it, but I feel like her and Claire's issues were so lazily written compared to the others. I can't even recall if we knew why Claire got in detention. We kind of don't need to know with Bender since we see that Vernon might put him in just for breathing, and the fact that Allison is either so lonely she'd go to detention on purpose, lie, or both says something about her, but Andrew and Brian's confessions really tell us something about them and their status. There's a lot of talk about Claire being the popular girl, but I feel like instead of focusing on that, the film decides to focus on her prude/virgin/tease status. What's really frustrating is that Allison explicitly points out that it's complete bullshit...and yet then everyone still focuses on it. Her virgin/good girl status is focused on while the actual issues, the pressure of popularity and her feeling like a pawn in her friends' and parents' lives, fall to the wayside. Allison and Andrew hooking up after her makeover is frustrating, but I feel at least they had more of a healthy connection than Claire and Bender. It seems like in the end Claire's just sort of the prize for him; the first thing she does for himself is get together with him? Really? In general it really does bother me that most of the characters' arcs seem to be resolved by getting together with someone else.
Even with my problems with the film, I can see why it's become a classic. The idea that teenagers' emotions and problems matter even if they don't have adult responsibilities yet is something that is often mocked in today's media, so I imagine as a teen in the 80s, seeing a mainstream film acknowledge your troubles and fears must have meant a lot. The film also has very believable and sympathetic characters, and the message about breaking away from your cliques and letting go of judgement is definitely important. I just wish that The Breakfast Club delivered consistently on its potential.
It's not as if it entirely misfires; seeing how everyone arrives at school and what they have for lunch are great examples of when the film does show instead of telling, and Andrew and Brian's monologues are genuinely moving. Brian's story in particular is something that really hit home because while I've generally accepted that the media's idea of high school has really little to do with what I actually experienced, that was the exact sort of shit that I ran into. I can't say that anybody wanted to kill themselves because of their parents' pressure about their grades, but I knew people who were afraid of what their parents would say if they brought home a 94 instead of a 95. I knew people who wanted to kill themselves because of the atmosphere of my school (you all are little cheating grade grubbing shits who can't think outside of standardized tests and if you don't get it it's because you're not trying hard enough); hell, I wanted to kill myself in high school, and I knew someone who did kill himself. That monologue was something raw and real that resonated pretty deeply with me, and even though the gravity of it dissipates when we learn that the gun was just a flare gun, there's a real connection made between the characters and the viewer. And then the movie immediately cut to an 80s dance party. Not to say that most of the interludes of the kids fucking around is bad, but there's such a mood whiplash that it's annoying and distracting.
I already knew I was going to hate Allison's makeover, and I'm sure it's been talked about to death so I won't harp too much on it, but I feel like her and Claire's issues were so lazily written compared to the others. I can't even recall if we knew why Claire got in detention. We kind of don't need to know with Bender since we see that Vernon might put him in just for breathing, and the fact that Allison is either so lonely she'd go to detention on purpose, lie, or both says something about her, but Andrew and Brian's confessions really tell us something about them and their status. There's a lot of talk about Claire being the popular girl, but I feel like instead of focusing on that, the film decides to focus on her prude/virgin/tease status. What's really frustrating is that Allison explicitly points out that it's complete bullshit...and yet then everyone still focuses on it. Her virgin/good girl status is focused on while the actual issues, the pressure of popularity and her feeling like a pawn in her friends' and parents' lives, fall to the wayside. Allison and Andrew hooking up after her makeover is frustrating, but I feel at least they had more of a healthy connection than Claire and Bender. It seems like in the end Claire's just sort of the prize for him; the first thing she does for himself is get together with him? Really? In general it really does bother me that most of the characters' arcs seem to be resolved by getting together with someone else.
Even with my problems with the film, I can see why it's become a classic. The idea that teenagers' emotions and problems matter even if they don't have adult responsibilities yet is something that is often mocked in today's media, so I imagine as a teen in the 80s, seeing a mainstream film acknowledge your troubles and fears must have meant a lot. The film also has very believable and sympathetic characters, and the message about breaking away from your cliques and letting go of judgement is definitely important. I just wish that The Breakfast Club delivered consistently on its potential.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Only God Forgives
I went to a Q&A with Nicolas Winding Refn about a week before I saw Only God Forgives, and he told an anecdote about how at Cannes, a woman had come up to him and told him that she thought the film took place inside a vagina. Refn was surprised, but told her "I think you might be right!" At the time it seemed like a funny little story about weird interpretations, but after seeing the movie, I think she was definitely on the right track, because Only God Forgives is, ultimately, about a man who is still attached to his mother, like the umbilical cord was never cut.
Ryan Gosling plays Julian, a underground boxing manager/drug runner living in Bangkok. His cruelly overbearing mother, Crystal (played by Kristin Scott Thomas), comes from the U.S. after Billy, her other son, is killed by a man seeking revenge from the rape and murder of his daughter. Unconcerned with the circumstances of Billy's death, Crystal demands bloody revenge on those responsible, and expects Julian to do it. Her hold on him is absolute; in her first scene her touch is more like a python coiling around its prey than a mother interacting with her child. She lashes out at whatever comes her way, whether it's a mildly unhelpful hotel concierge or Julian's sort-of-girlfriend Mai, and insists that the world's rules bend to her whim.
On the other side of the story is Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm), a cop who indirectly allows the murder victim's father to brutally murder Billy. He too, rules his world with an iron fist, punishing criminals through torture, amputation, or death. Despite his gruesome methods of justice, he has more compassion than the tyrannical Crystal; we see him apologize to his wife for coming home late and look after his child after a night of brutality. Crystal believes it's Julian's responsibility as Billy's brother to kill Chang, and Julian is stuck between the obvious danger of going up against Chang and the intense pressure from his mother.
Julian is paralyzed by women and their sexuality; he watches his girlfriend masturbate as his hands are bound, he rarely speaks, especially around his mother. The image of his hands flexing into fists, is a recurring theme; the only way he can assert himself is through violence, and his mother even has control over that. Many of the interiors, particularly in Julian's scenes, are a deep red, as if he is literally still inside his mother, and connecting her to the bloody violence of the film. Instead of dialogue, the soundtrack takes precedent, seamlessly linking a dark, heavy score with Thai karaoke songs that take on an oddly sinister air when sung by Chang.
There have been very mixed reviews for this film, and a lot of it are making the misstep of comparing it to Drive because of Ryan Gosling playing another taciturn character who has violent tendencies. This is not a sequel or spiritual successor to Drive, and the only similarities are purely superficial. (One of them is actually coincidental as well; Luke Evans was originally supposed to play Julian, but he dropped out due to scheduling conflicts with the next two Hobbit films, so Gosling took on the role.) Only God Forgives toes the line between narrative and experimental film; if you go into this film thinking about Drive, you will leave confused and disappointed.
Ryan Gosling plays Julian, a underground boxing manager/drug runner living in Bangkok. His cruelly overbearing mother, Crystal (played by Kristin Scott Thomas), comes from the U.S. after Billy, her other son, is killed by a man seeking revenge from the rape and murder of his daughter. Unconcerned with the circumstances of Billy's death, Crystal demands bloody revenge on those responsible, and expects Julian to do it. Her hold on him is absolute; in her first scene her touch is more like a python coiling around its prey than a mother interacting with her child. She lashes out at whatever comes her way, whether it's a mildly unhelpful hotel concierge or Julian's sort-of-girlfriend Mai, and insists that the world's rules bend to her whim.
On the other side of the story is Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm), a cop who indirectly allows the murder victim's father to brutally murder Billy. He too, rules his world with an iron fist, punishing criminals through torture, amputation, or death. Despite his gruesome methods of justice, he has more compassion than the tyrannical Crystal; we see him apologize to his wife for coming home late and look after his child after a night of brutality. Crystal believes it's Julian's responsibility as Billy's brother to kill Chang, and Julian is stuck between the obvious danger of going up against Chang and the intense pressure from his mother.
Julian is paralyzed by women and their sexuality; he watches his girlfriend masturbate as his hands are bound, he rarely speaks, especially around his mother. The image of his hands flexing into fists, is a recurring theme; the only way he can assert himself is through violence, and his mother even has control over that. Many of the interiors, particularly in Julian's scenes, are a deep red, as if he is literally still inside his mother, and connecting her to the bloody violence of the film. Instead of dialogue, the soundtrack takes precedent, seamlessly linking a dark, heavy score with Thai karaoke songs that take on an oddly sinister air when sung by Chang.
There have been very mixed reviews for this film, and a lot of it are making the misstep of comparing it to Drive because of Ryan Gosling playing another taciturn character who has violent tendencies. This is not a sequel or spiritual successor to Drive, and the only similarities are purely superficial. (One of them is actually coincidental as well; Luke Evans was originally supposed to play Julian, but he dropped out due to scheduling conflicts with the next two Hobbit films, so Gosling took on the role.) Only God Forgives toes the line between narrative and experimental film; if you go into this film thinking about Drive, you will leave confused and disappointed.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
The fallacy of video games vs. the world
I really wish that people who want video games accepted as an art medium think the only way to do it is prove that all other media is inferior. Ranking media is really irrelevant; people get their feathers ruffled by "what is art" and the high/low art concept when really they should be focusing on serious analysis of their medium of choice. Instead of arguing what makes video games better than traditional media, gamers should be discussing what makes video games unique from traditional media. The tactile (or I guess simulated tactile) immersion of the player into a world and character through interactivity is what should be discussed; how do the best of games use this in artful and innovative ways?
Instead I feel like gamers try and prove that video games are the only true medium, and seem intent on dismissing any other medium if it doesn't have interactivity, as the picture below from this cracked article unfortunately illustrates.
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