NAIVE CINEMA

No, I guess not

2010-10-31T13:49:00.000-07:00

Well, this blog is going out with a whimper. As much as I'd like to continue writing in here, it's been too much to keep up with on top of school, work, and my meager attempt at having a life. The fact that this front page has posts from half a year ago is a little embarrassing and I'm not going to pretend to keep up with it anymore. Thank you for those who've been reading every once in a while. I'll continue blogging little odds and ends through my tumblr (kazuwabe.tumblr.com) so please check in on me there. So long!

Back on Track?

2010-09-29T15:20:00.000-07:00

I took a vacation from the blog over the summer, and now that school has started and I am going to be busy (instead of just lazy, which was the excuse for not keeping up during the summer) I'm not sure I'll do much better. In any case, news that Arthur Penn passed away yesterday reminded me of all the films of his that I wrote about for class and this blog. He was a great, under-appreciated director who changed things for American cinema (with Bonnie & Clyde) and then got overshadowed by the rush of great directors during the '70s.

Bonnie & Clyde is my favorite, but it's a predictable pick. There are other greats, including Little Big Man (1970), Night Moves (1975), and the interesting early effort The Left-Handed Gun (1958), but the one I champion the most is the problematic, Sam-Spiegel-interrupted, fascinating The Chase (1966) starring Marlon Brando, Robert Redford, Angie Dickinson, Jane Fonda, and Robert Duvall (what a cast, huh?) A lot of these can be found in the backlog of this blog with small write-ups.

(Arthur Penn, 1922-2010)

A Huston Sampler, Pt 2

2010-05-11T21:44:00.000-07:00

The second half of my John Huston experience consisted of three films (again all literary adaptations) that range from mediocre to great, at least in my initial encounters with each. Though I often like to, I did not watch these films in chronological order, but in an order that coincidentally went from least good to best, which is the order I will approach these reviews.

Wise Blood is perhaps the only book I have read before watching Huston's adaptation (I read The Treasure of the Sierra Madre after seeing the film), written by Flannery O'Connor. I received some pleasure from the novel -- in the collection of absurdities that coalesce into the character of Hazel Motes -- though it's larger significance was largely lost on me and I found the drilled repetition of shrill hysteria from mostly all the characters to be a bit tiresome at times. I was thus quite interested to see how Huston would interpret O'Connor's work, especially in handling what is often a very ambiguous tone. I received, however, no such insight from Mr. Huston's film.

The novel is focused on a very serious son of a preacher named Hazel Motes who denounces his religious upbringing and purposefully sets out to sin and prove to himself that he is not afraid of God. He goes to a town nearby where he has never been and sleeps with a prostitute, but during his stay he encounters a blind preacher with whom he becomes obsessed. He sets out to undo the preacher by preaching against him and forming the Church of Truth Without Jesus Christ Crucified, meanwhile becoming entangled with the preacher's strangely amorous daughter and a local weirdo that works at the zoo. Eventually Motes uses extremist methods to prove his lack of faith, including self-flagellation and self-denial -- which are, of course, Christian methods of extreme faith. Whether Motes eventually becomes saved and at peace or pathetically doomed by the novel's end is somewhat lost on me, though I am sure it is a mixture of the two.

And perhaps the original text was lost on Huston, too, for the film was incredibly literal. There is a consistent use of religious imagery to playfully comment on the way that Motes cannot escape Jesus and religion despite himself, but the deeper meaning behind the rather simple ideas that religion is a hoax and Motes is delusional and doomed is absent. In O'Connor's novel the characters are so ridiculous that they go beyond realism to become absurdist symbols. Huston's film, however, is so literal and takes so much stock in treating the very unrealistic characters as real that it tends to fall flat. Which is a shame, though, I admit that my lack of understanding of the source text doesn't give much reliability to my criticism in comparing the two works.

Unlike Wise Blood, much of the action of Malcolm Lowry's novel Under the Volcano occurs within the head of the drunken protagonist -- or at least that's what I understand, as I have not read the book. But it is apparent in the film, which, if nothing else, is a showcase of Albert Finney's incredible talent. Not only does he have to grapple with a character that is severely drunk most of the film, but he has to make that character interesting, human, and likable enough for his death to be a tragedy. It is probably difficult to play a drunk without hamming it up a great deal, but Finney never overdoes it, and his performance in itself makes the film worth watching.

Finney plays Geoffrey Firmin, a British ex-Consul living in Mexico, drunkenly passing one day after another until his wife, Yvonne, shows up one day with the intention of saving their marriage. Geoffrey's inability to quit drinking and what seems to be layers upon layers of past hurt make Yvonne's attempt seem hopeless. The appearance of Geoffrey's half-brother, Hugh, with whom Yvonne had an affair, makes things even more difficult. The film starts in the morning and ends at night on the Day of the Dead.

As far as plot goes, there isn't much of one. The characters are also slim -- mainly three. Even the time of the film is limited to one day. All of these restrictions make Under the Volcano a difficult film to make, but Huston manages to keep us interested enough in Geoffrey's tragedy to keep watching. We are drawn to see what brought this man, who may have once been great, to the miserable state he is in in which he can say without irony that "Hell is my natural habitat." There are other issues in the background of the film -- such as the Spanish Civil War, Hugh's feeling of emasculation, etc. -- but they are not given enough time or space to be drawn out. We wait to see if Geoffrey can overcome enough of his resentment of Yvonne in order to love her, as we know he does, or if he will self-destruct, as we know he will. As Huston films it, Geoffrey is a very troubled but sympathetic character, and it is no wonder that Huston would choose to direct such a character as he reached the last years of his life.

The earliest of the three films here, Fat City (1972), is one of my favorite Huston films. It offers a precursor of sorts to the down-and-out alcoholic Geoffrey Firmin of Under the Volcano with Tully, played by Stacey Keach, a boxer way past his prime with a drinking problem and an inability to commit to anything. Upon meeting a young, promising boxer played by Jeff Bridges, Tully decides to give boxing another go, rejoining with his old manager, who he blames for his fall from grace. After a cut in pay for winning a big match, Tully ends up where he started, broke and having problems with his barfly girlfriend Oma, who is an even worse wreck.

Beautifully filmed by Conrad Hall, in that '70s haze that distinguishes the decade in American film, Fat City is really distinguished in its look. The weather-beaten buildings and faces of northern California give the film an authentic feeling of locale -- the sun is out but it doesn't make things shine; it dries things and makes them fade. Huston pays special attention to wrinkles in a face or the stains on the wall, establishing not only a type of realism in the film, but a visceral feeling of texture in person and place. It's hard to forget the opening scene of Tully in his trashy motel room, disheveled in his underwear with an empty bottle of whiskey on the bureau.

While this is appears to be a boxing film, it's more of a character study of the self-destructive sort. (You could even qualify it as a noir, as Film Noir of the Week does.) Tully is contrasted heavily to Ernie (Bridges), who takes everything -- a boxing loss, an unexpected pregnancy, poverty -- with a shrug and a willingness to keep trying. They have more or less the same circumstances, though decades apart, but Tully ends up unable to accept what he's been given. His resentment of his manager is briefly mentioned in the beginning, but ends up being a big deal for Tully towards the end of the film and it becomes clear that he cannot let go of being wronged, he can't accept the fact that he gets shit upon when he thinks he deserves better. This harboring of resentment and sense of entitlement guarantees he will keep floating on and on with no great change.

Here is a lovely video featuring scenes from the film set to the music of Lucinda Williams:

A Huston Sampler, Pt 1

2010-04-15T23:35:00.000-07:00

Over the last several weeks I have been watching a mix of John Huston films, at first coincidentally and then quite intentionally. I have always been interested in Huston, though up until this series of viewings I had only seen The Maltese Falcon. And while I love that film, my fondness for it is all Bogart and Lorre, not necessarily Huston, who I otherwise remembered as the actor who played Noah Cross. Even so, I've had a vague awareness of Huston's myth as a Hemingwayesque man's man kind of artist -- a cigar-chomping, hard-liquor-guzzling, self-destructive gambler that womanizes and hunts large game and WILL FIGHT YOU BECAUSE HE DOES NOT GIVE A SHIT -- an archetype of the American character that has always been intriguing to me (which Robert Altman seems to fit as well). Knowing this, I was especially interested to see the portrayals of masculinity and the internal conflicts of the protagonists within his films, both of which were nicely introduced by Key Largo, the film that I began with.

Key Largo, adapted by Huston and Richard Brooks, is a Bogart and Bacall vehicle (their last) in which Bogart plays Frank McCloud, a returning vet paying a visit to the family of a deceased war buddy in a Key Largo hotel only to find himself stranded in the middle of a hurricane with a posse of gangsters led by Johnny Rocco, played with gusto by Edward G. Robinson. McCloud is played with Bogart's trademark mix of cynicism and goodness, a man who does the right thing despite himself -- the reluctant hero. Though McCloud is a war hero, distinguishing him as brave, he doesn't want to bother with Rocco or his gang, making him looked down upon by Nora (Bacall), her father, and even the gang. As Rocco's abuse of the hostages gets worse, particularly the way he whispers dirty, inaudible things into the ear of Nora (a fantastic screen gesture I'm surprised not to have seen before), McCloud gets fed up and decides to take the gangsters out, reliving his war experience on a boat shoot-out. Only after he does this does he completely win Nora as a prize for his bravery and display of masculinity.

What makes the film more psychoanalytically interesting is that Nora's father, with whom she lives alone, is in a wheelchair, making him unable to act. Thus, McCloud's virility and violence allow him to take Nora's father's place in Nora's life as the true masculine figure. Ironically, the hyper-masculinity McCloud has to show by the film's end is not too different from the hyper-masculinity displayed by Rocco throughout the entire film, who waves his gun around in an perpetual state of threat. McCloud's smarter than that (at one point he says: "You don't like it, do you Rocco, the storm? Show it your gun, why don't you? If it doesn't stop, shoot it.") but, eventually, using a gun is the only way to get things done.

Next, I watched The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, made in the same year (1948), which is probably Huston's masterpiece, or at least a masterpiece of American Hollywood filmmaking. Adapted from the novel by B. Traven (which I read and with whom I became very intrigued), the film concerns the attempt of three down-and-out Americans living in Mexico during the 1920s to strike it rich by prospecting for gold. The story exploits the greediness brought out of hungry and desperate people that have a taste for gold. The adaptation is faithful to the feeling of desperation and madness that permeates the original text. Again returning in a lead role, Bogart plays Dobbs, whose shit life leaves him bitter, short-tempered, and ready to burst at a moment's notice. He is paired with Tim Holt as his less-manic partner in poverty and the very excellent Walter Huston as the wise and weary old-timer prospector. It's pretty clear from the beginning of the film that Dobbs is doomed, especially when he overhears Howard (Huston) explaining how gold can change a man's soul, though not for the better. As Dobbs Bogart is fantastic, bringing to surface all of the snarling nastiness his screen persona hints he is capable of and then amplifying it to the point where you nearly detest him.

This is probably the manliest movie I've seen since Clouzot's Wages of Fear, which paired together would make a great double feature. While the latter focuses on the bond that forms among men being manly in the face of peril, Huston's film investigates the dark, dangerous edges of that masculinity, particularly in the way the need to assert authority can lead to murder. Of course, it is his lust for gold that makes Dobbs the slimy creature he becomes, but it also seems to come from some need to compensate for his deficiencies as a man. In the film, Curtin (Holt) is taller, handsomer and has better eyesight and is thus a better shot. Curtin also saves Dobbs's life at one point, reminding him that he is not self-sufficient enough to survive the work of prospecting. Howard, though much older and less physically fit, possesses a wisdom that allows him to lead the group, putting Dobbs in his place enough to grate on him to the point of resentment. Meanwhile, Dobbs is a slightly stooped, not entirely handsome man with no particularly strong skills other than his ability to become angry within a second's notice. He is always the first to whip his pistol out in order to intimidate, and it's clearly in order to assert some qualities he naturally does not possess. It becomes hard to read a subtext such as this in the novel, but the way Huston plays the scenarios out on screen with the actors makes it a viable interpretation, or at least I think so.

Bogart pairs up with Huston again for The African Queen, again as a rough-and-tumble sort, but this time in Africa during the eve of WWI. There's not much I have to say about this movie except that it's a lot of fun, even if it's a highly conventional Hollywood romp with two big names hamming it up big time. The inclusion of a strong, female character is interesting though. It is she, Rose (Hepburn), who decides with absolute conviction that she and Charlie (Bogart) are to blow up a German vessel with the small ship they have, a suicide mission if anything. And though Charlie is a rough man's man character, his subservience to her in fear of offending her with his coarseness and his nearly-impotent attempt to refuse her command is a twist on male roles in the world of Huston (at least that I've experienced so far). Though once they fall in love she becomes more of a gushing, supportive wife, which I guess makes things less interesting. In any case, a good adventure movie. I heard that production was held up several times because Huston kept going away to hunt big game, which I certainly hope is true.

In the next post I'll go over the later films I saw, which include Wise Blood, Under the Volcano, and Fat City.

Sticking Around

2010-04-06T20:38:00.000-07:00

Would just like to let you know that I'm still married to Blogger, though now I have a little something going on on the side with Tumblr. Meaning: I'll have this blog for a while, as I re-registered the domain name -- but! I also have an outlet for my blogging impulses at kazuwabe.tumblr.com. Let's see how I manage with both, though I'll probably just end up doing a lot of nothing.

I've been watching some John Huston movies and getting some mixed results. Hopefully will come up with something to write about soon -- particularly regarding a new favorite:

Yatta!

2010-03-12T17:35:00.000-08:00

In a twist of fate, NYU Tisch accepted my application to their graduate film studies program! My spirits are high (until I have to figure out how I can afford it).

To Serve the Public

2010-03-01T16:58:00.000-08:00

An ill-tempered customer demands to be let into the sold-out show at "The Theater."

About two months ago I started a job at a certain well-established movie theater in Manhattan that hosts some films festivals and screens art-house, repertory, foreign, and esoteric films throughout the year. Let's just call it "The Theater." Well, since I started at "The Theater" -- ushering, selling snacks, working the box office, what-have-you -- I've been re-learning the pleasantness that is dealing with the public and serving their various insatiable needs.

Now I'm no stranger to the public, not in the least. In order to earn some measly pocket money throughout college I took on several part-time retail jobs. I slaved at a bookstore (Barnes & Noble), a cafe (Barnes & Noble cafe), a restaurant (Red Robin), a clothing store (J Crew), a mall kiosk (selling some kitschy shit), and one summer I even worked at a women's sandal store, making custom-fit sandals for women! actually bending down on one knee and touching women's crusty feet! in an orange apron! in the middle of the hallway at the mall! It's safe to say that these jobs did nothing for my human dignity (and not much for my wallet either), but they did thicken my skin against the inconsiderateness and the many idiocies customers are capable of.

Even so, I was a little taken aback by the certain type of mania that specifically exists in film goers. I'm not talking about Average-Joe-weekend-blockbuster film goers, but cinephiles -- people for whom movies mean everything, for whom film-going is a lifestyle in itself. They are people that will wait in line an hour before the start of the show for a weekday afternoon matinee that maybe 30 people total will come to so they can get their specific seat; people who will insist on having the side of the ticket stub that is blank on the back so they can scribble notes (the usher is supposed to keep this side in "The Theater"); people who will yell at you without a second's hesitation for eating candy too loudly -- cinemaniacs. I was aware of these types from a documentary called Cinemania (featuring some regular patrons of "The Theater"), but seeing them in person is something else. It's fascinating. Some are nice enough, just a little kooky. Some I wish would fall down a deep, deep well.

Anyway, it's not only cinemaniacs that come to the theater, but all levels of cinephiles and, every now and then, an average multiplex movie-goer who would give a clueless shrug at the mention of a name like "Fassbinder." But when they are all together waiting in line at a ticket window for a sold-out screening of some dead foreign director's rare film they can be terrifying! A week ago I swore that a lynch mob was going to form -- they were so angry! Never mind that they showed up at the last minute and didn't buy tickets ahead of time, they want what they want and they want it now! And how dare you make them wait! How dare you that the tickets do not materialize in their hands within a nanosecond of shouting the request through the box office window! Of course when the system freezes it's our fault and we do it on purpose because we intend to make them angry (we are basically asking for it!). Anyway, it's tiring to even recount the specific happenings, but let's just say I have seen hell and it is in the form of a mob of angry cinephiles.

During the worst times it's hard to think that these people even like movies; it seems they just like demanding things and belonging a place they can complain about. As if the movies are secondary to the privilege of acting like a baby and getting away with it. BUT. I know that's not completely true. I know that a lot of these people are tired and maybe have boring or underwhelming lives and the movies are their only escape, or that they are incredibly lonely and when the film is playing they feel part of something or at least a little wanted, or that they have a chemical imbalance in the brain and need medication that they forgot to take -- there is still a love for the movies somewhere deep in the hearts of these cinephiles, a love that is masked by grouchiness and anal retentive behavior in public. At least that's what I'll keep telling myself for now.

A Handful of Hope, a Fistful of Hell!

2010-02-20T21:49:00.000-08:00

The Criterion Collection, that beautiful oasis of DVD treasures, is releasing some films that I have been wanting for a while in premium editions. At the top of the list is this Nick Ray film produced by James Mason, Bigger Than Life, a '50s psycho-melodrama about an overworked father that gets hooked on a pill that unleashes his hyper masculinity and turns him into a terror for his wife and young son. Here's a great little intro by the producer and star, Mr. Mason:

Red Riding, Part 1

2010-02-16T09:26:00.000-08:00

It's been over a month since I have written anything on here, something that I hope doesn't turn into a habit this year. Perhaps I have unconsciously translated my New Year's resolution of taking myself less seriously into "don't even try." Well, whatever the case, I am compelled to return to this dusty blog in order to sing praises for the last movie I saw in theaters, which was the first installment of the Red Riding trilogy.

The trilogy -- originally made for British television, premiered at the NYFF, recently distributed in the US, and currently playing at IFC -- is composed of three separate films (titled by years 1974, 1980, and 1983), each with different directors and characters, but all revolving around the same set of mysteriously connected murders somewhat relating to the Yorkshire Ripper. IFC was offering a roadshow edition of the trilogy -- all three in one sitting -- but time and patience disallowed me from giving that a go. Instead, I decided to sample the first part to see how it went from there.

Directed by Julian Jarrold (Becoming Jane, Brideshead Revisited), the first Red Riding film stars Andrew Garfield (Boy A) as Eddie Dunford -- a baby-faced, hotshot rookie journalist with a strut in his walk and enough naivety to seek answers when others stop caring. He seeks out connections between various murders of young girls that happened within years of each other, thinking one man is behind everything -- at first in order to prove himself as a journalist, but eventually out of genuine curiosity and then sheer obsession. Encouraged by his friend and colleague, Barry, whose conspiracy theories Dunford laughs off, Dunford digs deeper until he meets his femme fatale, Paula (the excellent Rebecca Hall), the grieving widowed mother of one of the murdered girls. As can be imagined, the corruption and plain evil that Dunford becomes aware of grows to gruesomely overwhelming heights until it reaches a fantastically exciting and fatal climax -- of which we are immediately hinted at within the first few minutes of the film in Double Indemnity fashion.

In noir fashion, the projected canvas is filled with shadows, with menace. Jarrold (I guess) made a very interesting decision to shoot in Super 16mm, giving the film a grit to the image that complements the seedy subject matter. But what left the biggest impression on me in this film is the fabulous camerawork by Rob Hardy -- smooth camera movements and meticulous framing that borders on the self-conscious and pretentious but that gives the film an overall affective style. The acting is top-notch from all the characters, each stomaching their own share of despair. One could say that Mr. Garfield is a bit too young-looking for the lead role, and I would be inclined to agree, but I think he does a fine job despite that (or maybe I am just identifying with looking much younger than your age and getting shit for it). He is able to convincingly go through the protagonist evolution of cocky rookie to obsessed professional to scared shitless loneman to vengeful badass convincingly, and the important part is that he is likable, allowing us to make each transition with him. Ah, the joys of a familiar genre done with style!

I am not sure if I will see parts 2 and 3 (movie tickets are expensive!) although I'd like to, but we'll see. If anything, I know I'll have a nice DVD box set to put on my Amazon wishlist eventually.

Great Western Movie Images, Pt 2

2010-01-10T18:59:00.001-08:00

The Wild Bunch
dir. Sam Peckinpah

Resolutions

2010-01-05T20:11:00.000-08:00

Welcome to 2010.

I had somewhat given up on making resolutions at the beginning of every passing year. After a few years of breaking, forgetting, and compromising them I realized that it was just another way of disappointing myself. After a while, however, I realized that setting no goals in fear of failing is, well, kind of a lame way to avoid being accountable for myself.

I think the main problem was that my goals were always: a) too many b) too unrealistic c) too vague. They would usually pinpoint the faults in my character (and there are many) and aim to address every one -- basically in summation making my goal every year to be perfect.

This year, I've decided to make one general goal, which is this: don't take yourself too seriously.

I feel like I have a lot to prove sometimes -- to others, sure, but especially to myself. As I am in the void that is post-college pre-career life I have been filled with a quiet anxiety about the future and where I fit into it. Thoughts about what next step I should take constantly pass through my mind, to the point where I sometimes can't fall asleep at night unless I exhaust myself in front of the tv/computer/a book first (you might say I'm doing that right now). I have expectations of myself that I constantly fear not fulfilling.

And sure, it's a normal thing for many people my age or that are in my situation, but I tend to internalize this anxiety. I take myself too seriously to show it to others, to admit that I am incredibly vulnerable, unsure, and, well, maybe not as smart/talented, etc. as I expect myself to be or become. In turn I say little about my hopes to others in fear that I don't achieve them and appear foolish. To say plainly, for example, that I want to be a writer. To say plainly, for example, that I would like to teach film studies. Like my omission of resolution-setting, I tend to throw my shoulders up when asked "what do you want to do?" because I don't want to have to be accountable to those goals or be subject to the quiet judgment of those I tell ("Everyone thinks they're a writer." "Are you really smart enough to get into an ivy league grad school?"). Sometimes I shrug because I really don't know, and that's the ultimate truth about most things, but the uncertainty can be an excuse to make no plans or to avoid failure. That's when it's a problem. It's really all about the fear of failure, public failure.

I am certain I am hard-wired with a certain personality type, but I also think there's room for improvements or changes.

What does this have to do with Naive Cinema? Well, nothing! That's the point, I guess. As an action step for this new year's determination I am letting my guard down a little bit on this site. I never claimed to know anything about the movies (hence the blog name), but at the same I never really put myself out there. My face is absent from this blog, just in case my opinions are wrong or my writing is weak -- the only "person" accountable to this site's content is the avatar of Tony Perkins and a list of my favorite books/films/bands. I used it as a way to appear to be humble or not vain, but it's a false excuse. And to be honest, the lack of personality on this site makes it rather dry at times (I have been wanting to correct that for a while now, even apart from this whole resolution thing). So, as a corrective, I am claiming here and now that this blog will no longer just be about movies, but about me, Kazu Watanabe, and movies -- and everything else. Expect more rants, general reflections, and probably more bad poetry.

The domain name naivecinema.com expires in March and I don't think I'll be repurchasing or continuing it. I don't have enough to say about cinema (yet) and to restrict all the content on here to purely movies is a bit of a drag. I am not sure how I have 26 followers when only half of them are people I actually know. Maybe it was the picture I posted of Jayne Mansfield's nipple slip. In any case, I hope people who have been reading this will continue to read it. I do love an audience.

And, to seal the deal, here I am, eyebrows and all:

“If you're not failing every now and again, it's a sign you're not doing anything very innovative.” -Woody Allen

Top 10 for 2009 Redux (with some thoughts)

2010-01-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

2009 was, somewhat unexpectedly, a year full of animated/3-D/adult-children's films. From early on in the year with Coraline to the yearly dosage of happiness that comes in the form of Pixar, to young, white male directors taking on children's classics (Where the Wild Things Are and Fantastic Mr. Fox, respectively) to the amusement park-like spectacle that is Avatar. Though I was still keeping up with arthouse films as well as the occasional big budget Hollywood fare, my theater-going experiences have been predominantly filled with talking animals, monsters, and children. And it's strange, because reflecting on all of these kiddie films, I always had a good time.

But is this a step forward or a step back?

There is a sense of abandon when you put on these aesthetically ridiculous 3-D glasses and sink into the plush megaplex seats, a surrender to the impulses of your inner child and the need to be filled with awe and wonder. Yet, where do these movies fit into the larger picture of Cinema (yes, with a capital "C"), and how much does the need to be thrilled like a child matter? At times I find it increasingly difficult to gauge what I think of a movie that I enjoyed in the way I enjoyed Avatar, which thrilled me the way a roller coaster would, but when analyzed critically is an amalgamation of cliches that depend entirely on its visual prowess. Or what can I say about Where the Wild Things Are? Is it good according to how much it makes me feel like a child when watching it?

Am I being dumbed down? Does giddiness and ooh-la-la graphics compensate for a lack of narrative bravery or creative editing or framing or shots? Or am I just being hyper-critical and missing the point?

Perhaps its a trend of nostalgia for simpler times and simpler entertainment amidst the complications of economic strife and the ever-increasing mess of a 6+ year war. Perhaps Pixar has shown other movie makers that old-fashioned storybook charm (and cutting-edge graphics) can still make money. Perhaps it's just coincidence. In any case, the surplus of kid cinema makes it difficult to determine what makes a movie good, or at least one better than the other -- as if every movie should make me giddy instead of thoughtful. It's not a new problem, but I feel the distinction between feel-good and just plain good movies is even more blurred this year.

So I present my list for fave movies of 2009, the criteria of which I haven't completely figured out yet. Kid cinema and serious cinema holding hands.

1. Inglourious Basterds dir. Quentin Tarantino
Tarantino writes a fantastic character that is played by an even more fantastic actor (Christoph Waltz, God bless you) in a bloody, messy film that is filled with movie love. Maybe the most cinematic film I've seen all year, Tarantino uses the language of film in ways that many film directors have long forgotten. Great set pieces, great tension. And Christoph Waltz, Christoph Waltz, Christoph Waltz!

2. Fantastic Mr. Fox dir. Wes Anderson
Of all the kid cinema I've enjoyed this year, Mr. Anderson perhaps got it the best. Maybe he has the advantage of his auteur name and attached stylistc/thematic expectations, but I felt the tone was exactly right. It didn't simply allow for the expression of his quirks, but it balanced adult themes of family life and aspiration with the endearing qualities of stop motion animation. And it was very, very funny.

3. Up dir. Pete Docter and Bob Peterson
God, I don't know what to say. I'm almost sick of seeing Pixar films in my top 10s. It's like I almost resent Pixar for being so consistently able to steal my heart year after year. Yet here it is, another glorious winner.

4. Two Lovers dir. James Gray
One of the last films I saw this year, and one of my favorites. I think my response to it was so strong because I was desperate for something earnest, something serious. It is character study and a bit of a romance drama and the narrative is nothing revelatory, but the subtle style in which it is filmed and acted is a big breath of fresh air. A ballsy film that aims to be romantic and serious cinematic art -- and, in my opinion, is exactly that. It also presents the idea that life is often a compromise, though not always a terrible one, an idea I love.

5. The White Ribbon dir. Michael Haneke
Exquisitely shot and composed, with a austere kind of beauty reminiscent of Bergman, Haneke's film is haunting and enigmatic. Perhaps overloaded with Meaning and Art, but who cares -- the mystery and brutality of this small town is fantastically engaging.

6. The Hurt Locker dir. Kathryn Bigelow
An incredibly tense and terrifying modern war film in which heroism and insanity are fed by the same adrenaline glands. I started to sweat at some points of this film, and the theater was quite chilly.

7. Adventureland dir. Greg Mottola

Surprisingly well-done with authentic pieces of dialogue and emotion. Not to mention a killer soundtrack that bookends with The Replacements.

8. Anvil! The Story of Anvil dir. Sacha Gervasi

The most emotionally-charged film of the year for me, certainly. I love stories that have to do with the very American ambition for success -- and how it can repeatedly fail to pay off. A movie about the bonds of friendship, living with integrity, and the guts (stubbornness? stupidity?) to keep trying.

9. Public Enemies dir. Michael Mann
Though it is absolutely flawed and ultimately a little disappointing, I couldn't help but be incredibly taken in with this odd, inappropriate(?) take on a '30s gangster period picture. The tone was so strange, so somber, and at times flat, that it made it even more intriguing to me. I would definitely see this a few more times.

10. A Serious Man dir. Coen bros.

Runners up: Coraline, Where the Wild Things Are, Star Trek, An Education, Police, Adjective, The Headless Woman, Bright Star, Avatar

Top 25 films of the Decade (2000-2009)

2009-12-28T16:57:00.000-08:00

Needless to say, this was an incredibly difficult list to compile. I often only see a film once and have to thus rely on the instincts of my first impression, which often morphs over time (i.e. I have found myself gaining appreciation for a film without seeing it again, and vice versa.) Anyway, the point is that I had to trust my instincts. The criteria I used to determine the top 10 was whether it: powerfully impacted me emotionally, overwhelmed me with its mastery of form and content, or was able to have me enjoy it repeatedly. In all, this is a subjective list of favorites, movies that I love for one reason or another. I had trouble distinguishing ranking past the top 10; numbers 25-11 are listed alphabetically.

Adaptation (2002) dir. Spike Jonze
The Assassination of Jesse James... (2007) dir. Andrew Dominik
Brokeback Mountain (2005) dir. Ang Lee
In the Mood for Love (2000) dir. Wong Kar Wai
Inglourious Basterds (2009) dir. Quentin Tarantino
Let the Right One In (2008) dir. Tomas Alfredson
Letters from Iwo Jima (2006) dir. Clint Eastwood
Napoleon Dynamite (2004) dir. Jared Hess
The New World (2005) dir. Terrence Malick
Rachel Getting Married (2008) dir. Jonathan Demme
Revanche (2008) dir. Gotz Spielmann
Spirited Away (2001) dir. Hayao Miyazaki
The Squid and the Whale (2005) dir. Noah Baumbach
Synecdoche, New York (2008) dir. Charlie Kaufman
Talk to Her (2002) dir. Pedro Almodovar

10. Zodiac (2007) dir. David Fincher
One of the most well-made and cinematically thrilling films of the decade, absolutely. An obsessive police procedural that frustrated, frightened, and fucked with me.
9. Ratatouille/ Wall-E/ Up (2007, 2008, 2009) Pixar
Yes, I'm cheating. And it won't be the last time, so deal with it. Anyway, these Pixar films each made me feel so good that I always feel like a giddy kid upon leaving the theater. I have trouble picking a favorite (though it's probably Wall-E), so here's the last three.
8. Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind (2004) dir. Michel Gondry
A great, fun film that has the perfect use of magical realism, emotion, and quirk. All of the plot twists happen at exactly the right time and are conveyed beautifully through images.

7. High Fidelity (2000) dir. Stephen Frears
My most personal pick. Perfect casting with a completely pleasurable script and subject matter. When I was in high school and saw this film I felt, "Yes! That's what I'm like! Yes, I love lists! Yes, my taste compensates for my lack of personality!" Those sentiments are still true today. "Books, records, films - these things matter. Call me shallow, but it's the fuckin' truth!"

6. Yi Yi (2000) dir. Edward Yang
A rather long Taiwanese family drama that manages to touch on all of the complications of modern family life -- hostility, love, regret -- that ultimately add up to a bittersweet experience.

5. The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) dir. Wes Anderson
This is still the definitive film of Wes Anderson's style, themes, and characters. It also created the stylistic template from which dozens of other indie films will copy. I have seen it too many times to understand why I like it so much at this point, but given some distance I think that this movie firmly establishes that Anderson is a singular cinematic talent.

4. Mulholland Drive (2001) dir. David Lynch
My memory of this film remains like that of a dream -- existing in fragments of images and attached feelings that don't make sense together. Revisiting it, I realize that it was also constructed that way. This was a game changer. It made me re-evaluate the power and function of movies.
3. Gosford Park (2001) dir. Robert Altman
A late masterpiece by one of my favorite American directors. This movie has so much going on in it in terms of characters, plots, and moods that it seems impossible that it should come out so well in the end. It's a delicious play on Agatha Christie mysteries and Renoir's Le regle du jeu. Altman reigns!

2. There Will Be Blood (2007) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
This film blew me away when I first saw it in the theater. My memory of it remains incredibly strong, and though I could name some faults in it (Paul Dano, for one), the overall force of it overrides all of that. Thank God Paul Thomas Anderson makes movies.

1. No Country for Old Men (2007) dir. Joel and Ethan Coen
A perfect movie as far as I'm concerned. I have little else to say about it. A perfect movie that I am deeply in love with.

Great Western Movie Images, Pt 1

2009-12-18T13:49:00.001-08:00

McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1970)
dir. Robert Altman

Quick Takes

2009-12-15T19:21:00.000-08:00

Since my TV has been broken for the past week (repaired and returned today!) I have been making trips to the theater more often than usual. Here are some quick reactions to two 2009 Golden Globe-nominated films.

Invictus dir. Clint Eastwood
Has the visual flair and mastery of narrative expected from Eastwood, but with the inspiration dial at 11. Though it doesn't completely go Disney, it dances dangerously close at points -- especially with one terrible song choice in which the word "colorblind" is used. Strong performances from Freeman and Damon (both nominated for Globes, though Damon will probably be dropped from consideration for the Oscars), but nothing revelatory. It's a feel-good film if you let it be, especially when considering the actual Mandela and his history.

An Education dir. Lone Scherfig
A completely pleasant surprise. A very pretty and well-directed film penned by Nick Hornby. The story pulls you along in familiar narrative avenues and then makes quick detours that complicate and enliven what could otherwise be a very typical teen drama. Carey Mulligan is a great discovery, and I look forward to seeing more of her. Alfred Molina also does an exceptional job. Peter Sarasgaard is at his charming best (except when his shirt is off), along with his Wildesque dandy best friend. Also a great discovery is director Lone Scherfig, whose choices I felt were unusual and compelling, particularly in choosing not to show what would normally be climactic scenes, favoring the reactions to them instead.

Ode to Written on the Wind

2009-12-12T08:53:00.000-08:00

In continuation of my attempt to capture what I love about my favorite movies through crude poetry. Part 1 with Stagecoach is here, Part 2 with McCabe & Mrs. Miller is here.

My wishes whip against me
like the winds that used to blow
by the river and make you laugh
as they tossed my hair.

What I wouldn't give to be there
instead of here,
picking up greasy gas station boys
just to prove I can love enough,
with a bottle of stuff
from daddy's drawer.

You son of a bitch!
Can't you hear me tango
with your picture
every night in my best dress?

You stupid fool!
Can't you see the color
of my lipstick
matches the blood in my heart?

So I sit inside the window's ledge,
staring at the edge of the lawn
where you have already driven off
with someone else's daughter -

and I lie by the river
alone with my wishes
written on the wind.

Me & Orson Welles (and, unfortunately, Zac Efron and everyone else)

2009-12-10T09:34:00.000-08:00

It's been a terribly lackluster week for me movie-wise since my month-old Samsung HDTV burned some fuse after a power outage in the neighborhood. After carrying the awkward, heavy thing on the subway and into a UPS to ship back to the manufacturer for repairs, I am left with nothing to watch DVDs with (as, you see, my laptop is also broken and in need of repair). My Netflix lie on the table untouched, shedding money with every day that passes. The only option I have is to watch Instant Play films on my wife's 10-inch netbook, from which I am typing, but I haven't been that desperate (yet).

So I went to the movies, in need of some large-scale moving images and all-encompassing sound. I decided to see Richard Linklater's Me & Orson Welles, as I love Welles -- the man and the myth -- and was sure that I could soak up at least some of his spirit through Christian McKay. The movie opened with some rather nice '30s period details and a golden tint with Zac Efron in the middle of all of it, on a train and reading Shakespeare. I repressed a laugh and decided I would give Mr. Efron the full benefit of the doubt, trying my best to shed the stigma of his Disney tween associations. The scene continues as he wanders through the magic that is New York City in the '30s, taking in the awe of the bustle and skyscrapers. He sees a group of loud actors outside of the Mercury Theater and steps inside the crowd, insisting on playing a drum roll on the snare drum brought out by one of the actors. And that drum roll properly prepares the entrance for the star of the film, which is Christian McKay, donning Welles' consciously-arrogant smirk and vocal affectations.

It's McKay who carries the entire movie with charm and ability, completely nailing the Welles mannerisms -- his wit, ego, and brilliance. McKay's performance is supported by a very likable Jo Cotten (James Tupper), clownish Norman Lloyd (Leo Bill), and frustrated, gentlemanly John Houseman (Eddie Marsan). And if the film were up to these characters -- the actors and crew of Mercury Theater -- then this film would probably have had enough sparkle to make it a great film. Instead, we are forced to tolerate Zac Efron and Claire Danes as narrative centerpieces, as well as Zoe Kazan's pointless character, who lack the charm, lightness, and talent necessary to sustain McKay and the rest of the film.

Efron does his best, appearing earnest at times, even cracking his voice with adolescent nervousness, but he is so unconvincing and uninteresting that it completely fails to take off. Danes is a better actor, but she was completely miscast. It was hard to feel a thing between them at any point of the film. A lot of this has to do with the writing, which, aside from Welles' character, is contrived and lightweight (the ending should induce immense eye rolling). Even so, replacing Efron and Danes with more interesting or convincing actors (and getting rid of Zoe Kazan and that whole sub-plot altogether) could have made this a really good movie, instead of a vehicle for a really good Orson Welles imitation by McKay, which is what it is.

Happy Birthday Woody

2009-12-01T07:45:00.000-08:00

Woody Allen, b. December 1, 1935

Vehicles of Doom

2009-11-20T13:17:00.001-08:00

Bonnie and Clyde's bullet-ridden getaway car

Artist's Inspiration

2009-11-17T06:03:00.000-08:00

Salvador Dalí with his favorite Marx brother, Harpo, playing Dalí's gift of a barbed wire harp.

Remembering Robert Ryan

2009-11-07T15:22:00.000-08:00

I was delighted to find that Robert Ryan was recently featured with a cover story in the Chicago Reader, which also has the full text of a letter the actor wrote to his children relating his childhood and life in Chicago. There is also a list of highlights from his filmography.

Ryan is an actor who I've seen in several films before I ever really learned his name -- Crossfire, The Wild Bunch, The Professionals -- but who I always noticed on screen for his physical presence and the hard look conveyed through those squinting eyes and stoic profile. There's a lot of good little tidbits on his Wikipedia page, including his being a pacifist liberal Democrat who fought for civil rights issues who played criminals, soldiers, and even an anti-Semite (for which he was nominated an Oscar), running completely contrary to his personal beliefs and politics.

Don't know what's true on Wikipedia, but there's a great little paragraph written by Nick Ray in his semi-autobiography I Was Interrupted:

"With Bob Ryan there was always quick intellectual reception. I cast him opposite Wayne [in The Flying Leathernecks] because I knew that Ryan was the only actor in Hollywood who could kick the shit out of Wayne. That conflict was going to be real, so I'd have two naturals. I created the situation and enclosed them in a tent, using the space for tension, so you could expect that the moment Duke dropped his right, Ryan would stiffen, and pretty soon they'd bring the tent down around them. But the tent didn't collapse, and instead became the setting for 'No man is an island,' another expression of tension and space."

I could imagine Ryan gritting his teeth having to work with the Duke when their politics were antithetical to each other. Apparently Ryan was also a prize-winning boxer as a Marine, so him and the Duke having it out would have made for a pretty good brawl I think.

It's hard to pick a favorite performance, though I would have to say that his portrayal of the burnt-out cop in Nick Ray's noir melodrama On Dangerous Ground sticks out in my mind. He is pissed and tired and disillusioned and vulnerable to the soft touch a blind Ida Lupino. As a runner up I would pair his performance in The Wild Bunch or maybe Lang's Clash by Night, which he plays against another one of the best -- Barbara Stanwyck.

Enjoy this clip from Clash by Night:

The Invisible Man says...

2009-10-31T09:17:00.001-07:00

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Jimmy Stewart feels the Rage

2009-10-29T13:32:00.000-07:00

Last night I watched a great Western by director/actor pair Anthony Mann and Jimmy Stewart called Bend of the River -- also starring Arthur Kennedy as black-hatted gunslinger, Julia Adams as a pretty girl/arrow victim, and Rock Hudson, in a somewhat arbitrary-though-fun role, as a fancy gambler. The film thematically deals with betrayal and whether a man has the ability to change who he is, played out primarily through the relationship between two ex-outlaws who are contrasted against sweet-natured settlers and antagonized by gold-hungry opportunists.

Although most westerns focus on the relationships between men -- with female characters filling out more-or-less static roles as Latinas/whores and virgins/tough-but-sweet lasses-- Mann's westerns seem to push the male relationships further emotionally and psychologically more than any other westerns I've seen. There is a level of intimacy that exceeds the buddyisms or Western code of honor in films such as The Magnificent Seven or The Professionals; Mann's protagonists stare into each other with an intensity that rivals the heat of any romantic melodrama.

In Bend of the River, that intensity is created between the relationship of Glyn McClyntock (Jimmy Stewart) and Emerson Cole (Arthur Kennedy), who understand each other completely within an instant of seeing each other. That understanding is deepened by their both being outlaws on the run from their past, by having saved each others lives, and by deep looks into each others eyes. The relationship between McClyntock and Cole seems to be so deep that when Laura (Julia Adams) gets together with Cole, McClyntock's hurt (expressed again through his eyes) seems to suggest that the pain is from the loss of Cole more than the loss of Laura, though we are supposed to believe the latter. And when Cole finally betrays him, McClyntock loses it.

It is that moment of losing it that I especially love to watch in the two Mann/Stewart films I've seen. In The Naked Spur Stewart is in rage mode almost from the beginning of the film through the end. In Bend of the River it marks a climax in which Stewart becomes a killer that's gone over the edge. These states of rage work so well for two primary reasons. First, because they are triggered by betrayal after emotionally and psychologically vulnerable moments in which Stewart's character places a degree of trust in others, against his better judgment. Second, because of Jimmy Stewart's baby blues. They are a shade too pale to be romantic eyes. Instead, they are faded out and worn down, eyes which had once been shining and clear, but have now been dulled by the repetition of disappointment and disillusionment.

Those intense moments of rage caught in the eyes of Jimmy Stewart are just one of the purely cinematic pleasures I get from the right combination of actor, director, and genre -- pictures don't do it justice. Watch for the 1:13 mark on the trailer below.

Art of the Long Take: Gun Crazy

2009-10-14T17:50:00.001-07:00

Here's a clip of one of my favorite films, J.H. Lewis's 1949 B-picture Gun Crazy, a predecessor of Bonnie and Clyde. It is a perfect use of the long take -- extending the anticipation of the robbery, limiting our POV to include us among the thieves, heightening the thrill of escape by trapping us in the back seat. From what I understand this scene was largely improvised, giving this particular shot an almost documentary-like feel and sense of immediacy. This is pure New Wave fodder: lean, artistic style, on location shooting, improvisation, the backs of heads. Love it.

Notes on Almodóvar's History of Cinema

2009-10-12T13:36:00.001-07:00

This past weekend I attended a talk with Pedro Almodóvar hosted by Richard Peña titled "Pedro Almodóvar's History of Cinema" as part of NYFF. While the details on the event were somewhat vague -- will he talk about the history of cinema? about all of this films? about his favorite films? -- I thought it'd be interesting nonetheless, as Almodóvar is one of my favorite contemporary directors, and I generally love hearing outspoken directors (Scorsese, Tarantino, e.g.) talk movies with pure cinephile enthusiasm. I took the liberty of taking some notes on what clips were shown and what was discussed to give you an idea of the event.

The night opened with a clip from John Cassavete's Opening Night. I found a YouTube clip. If you click on the 7:50 mark and play it to the end, you'd get the scene we were shown.

What is particularly attractive to Almodóvar in this sequence is the dynamic of the relationship between director and problematic actor. Almodóvar mentions that a director must be everything for an actor -- friend, father, lover, psychiatrist, etc -- but sometimes he must also be the executioner, meaning he must know when the actor needs tough love or a bit of a slap on the cheek. Almodóvar goes on to mention that this sequence perfectly demonstrates the idea that the actress must overcome her demons by herself through the metaphor of the white, empty walls through which Gena Rowlands's character stumbles.

Peña then brings up a story about Dreyer's cruelty of Falconetti in the making of Passion of Joan of Arc for the sake of getting the right emotion and right shot for the film, asking Almodóvar if he thought sometimes cruelty is necessary to make great art. Almodóvar replies by saying no, that a director shouldn't be purposefully cruel or play God in a way that abuses power, but then goes on to say that such cruelty is often the result of a director's intense obsession with getting the right shots and completing the film according to his vision. He goes on to mention how it was not uncommon for stuntmen to die for the sake of some shots Howard Hawks wanted ("and he wouldn't even wait a minute after the stuntman died to get on with the next shot if it was finished") . He then goes on to mention how the director will seek revenge through cinema, citing how Hitchcock had Tippi Hedren attacked on screen for a shot in The Birds with such severity that she had to be taken to the hospital, suggesting he let it go that far because she wouldn't sleep with him.

Opening Night is especially present in Almodóvar's All About My Mother, as is All About Eve. The next clip shown is of a beginning scene in All About My Mother when Manuela and her son sit down to watch All About Eve. Almodóvar goes on to speak about the dressing room for an actress being a "holy asylum for the feminine world," much in the same way a kitchen is for a mother or a bathroom is at a party. These are places in which there can be no lies, in which women are completely themselves and have no time or patience for pleasant formalities. This idea was inspired by All About Eve and found its way into All About My Mother through Huma Rojo. Almodóvar then went on to speak a little bit about Joseph Mankiewicz and his theory that Mankiewicz wanted to create a perfect film through All About Eve in his attempt to outdo his brother Herman Mankiewicz, particularly after Citizen Kane. I don't exactly remember if this was Almodóvar's own idea or an echo of urban legend. Either way, first time I heard of it.

Almodóvar goes on to explain that All About My Mother is Opening Night and All About Eve put together and injected with the idea of motherhood, which is very important for him. Another clip from Opening Night was played in which Gena Rowlands's character's fan gets hit by a car in the rain, a scene which Almodóvar almost directly lifted for All About My Mother. The primary contrast is that Almodóvar heightens the tragedy for his film by making it a son who is killed and his mother made witness to the scene. Almodóvar goes on to explain how the decision to shoot that scene the way he did, through the son's POV falling gently, was a spontaneous decision and one which he is very pleased with.

The next clip shown was from Ingmar Bergman's Autumn Sonata. If you start from the 1:40 mark in the clip below and play it through the end you'd get what we were shown.

The main idea that Almodóvar extracts from this film, particularly this sequence, is the way in which films can often express our deepest feelings better than we can articulate them. He uses this idea in his film High Heels, which was shown next. I couldn't find a clip on the internet, which is too bad. For those who've seen the movie (unlike me) it is a confrontation between a daughter and mother in which the daughter cites Autumn Sonata to express how she feels about her mother's treatment of her. It is an overly dramatic scene with screaming set in an empty building.

Peña goes on to say how Almodóvar's scene is like the acted-out subtext of Bergman's scene, to which Almodóvar agrees. Almodóvar talks a bit about his love of Bergman, mentioning that one dream of his is to film one of Bergman's abandoned scripts. The first Bergman film Almodóvar saw was The Virgin Spring, which he saw as a child of 10 years. Almodóvar points out that Bergman, like Cassavetes, wrote great roles for women. He suggests that perhaps this comes out of the fact that both of them made films using women they've had relationships and children with. Almodóvar feels the biggest influences Bergman has on him are theatricality and use of long monologues within his films, which the High Heels clip particularly demonstrates. Also, Bergman's affection for extreme close-ups of the face in long take, which he says is absent from mainstream Hollywood filmmaking and editing nowadays.

The second biggest influence in High Heels is Douglas Sirk, whose boldly colored melodramas are always cited as a source of Almodóvar's art. Almodóvar mentions that what he particularly takes from Sirk in High Heels is his use of Lana Turner, by which I guess he means Imitation of Life. The relationship between the mother and daughter characters in High Heels is inspired by Lana Turner and her daughter Cheryl Crane. Not only is the mother in High Heels a diva and neglectful mother, but her daughter also kills a man for her mother's attention and love, to free the person she loves most. Lastly, Almodóvar says the third influence in High Heels is the black humor of fellow countryman Luis Buñuel, though I missed notes on this.

The last part of the evening was centered around the idea of men within Almodóvar's films, or at least it was supposed to be. Almodóvar refers to Talk to Her, since his protagonists in that film are men, though the subject becomes very mixed after screening a clip from The Incredible Shrinking Man. The clip shown was of the man within the dollhouse being terrorized by the cat, I think for the first time. Here is something close:

Almodóvar says he loves this film and thinks it did a lot to convey the American psyche during the period, much more than 'A' Hollywood pictures. I don't remember exactly what the discussion was about after that -- I think Roman Polanski was brought up, as well as the French Cultural Minister. Anyway, then a clip from Talk to Her was shown, which is the film within the film The Shrinking Lover, which is used in Talk to Her as a suggestion of Benigno's rape of his patient. I couldn't find a whole clip, but here's the beginning part (from Mr. Skin no less).

Following that clip Almodóvar gave what is probably the best short anecdote I've heard all year. He starts explaining how everything had to be made in a studio, including the huge prop vagina (which the tiny man enters in the film), then he says that Warren Beatty asked him where he was keeping it. Hahaha. "It's true!" he says. And with that, the night ended.

Overall it was a nice experience, though hardly as comprehensive as I would have liked, since only three films were really talked about of Almodóvar's and only three other films had clips shown. I know that Almodóvar has a lot more movie love to share (for example, in his latest Broken Embraces Fritz Lang, Louis Malle and Romy Schneider are mentioned), but I suppose that would have extended the night much too long (for some people).