Five Years, Five Peeves, Five Reasons to Go On

When we make the decision to publicly announce our fondness for the cinema, write about it in an open diary and allow others to engage us in a discussion of our opinions, we take a risk.  We take a risk that not only will someone, perhaps many people, disagree with us but that, at some point in the inevitable future, someone will violently disagree with us.

It's the chance you take when you become a writer of, or commenter on, opinion on classic or current cinema.  The toughest part, excepting sociopaths with a bloodlust for online sparring, is stating your opinion without denigrating the opinion of another.  Writers who spend much of their time insulting other writers' points of view develop a reputation for such behavior and, unforunately, that reputation often secures them well-paying writing gigs (because contrarianism pulls in the readers, I guess) while those they insult slog along writing with little to no exposure.

Obviously, I'm not going to point anyone out as an example, rather, I just want to assure that I am not that way, personally.  I don't believe getting into any kind of situation where you're writing pieces entirely about another writer, and the argument that you're having with him or her, is very constructive and yet, I see it happen often enough to know it's not relegated to rare instances of ire that flare up under extreme circumstances.  However, I have also noticed that this tends to happen almost entirely among paid writers, which would lend credence to the suggestion that, perhaps, they're simply doing it by request, as it were, to pump up the ratings.

When I look around the film websites and blogs, I see a lot of disagreement among cinephiles without ever seeing much vitriol and that's a good sign.  It's a good group of people, for the most part (that's my favorite generic caveat, by the way, because it allows for everything while saying nothing),   Mainly, I see people with a passion for discussing film, and engaging each other daily in an exciting back and forth of tastes, opinions and beliefs.

The thing is, I don't take part in most of it.  I use to, for a short period, way back at the very beginning but I really don't anymore.  I found that arguments in comment sections took up too much of my valuable time, cut into my writing and generally made me feel depressed.  When I first started blogging, I started by direct confrontation, that is to say, I originally blogged about politics.  Then, slowly, I worked film into the mix.  Eventually, I let my true love of cinema take over, got rid of all the political stuff and the crazy comment sections it inspired, and became a classic movie blogger.

Not long after, I took up movie arguing and did so, often, on Dennis Cozzalio's great page, Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule.  I spent so much time arguing with people there I had little time for anything else.  Then I migrated over to Jim Emerson's Scanners and argued with people there but that was tougher because the comments had to clear approval first so an ongoing argument required a lot more patience.

Finally, after a few good rows at different blogs, I decided, "I got to cut this shit out.  I'm not doing anything but arguing."  But it's still there.  It's still lurking under the surface, pent up and ready to explode.  I see opinions all the time that bother me to no end and I say nothing, so snugly nestled in my own complacency am I.  And it bothers me because I feel I'm not being honest but when I want to express it, it comes out angry and snarky and there has to be a way - has to be - to say it without raising anyone's defensive alarms.

So now, I'm going to try.

Let's begin.

1. THOMAS KINKADE HAS WON AND WE, ALL OF US, HAVE LOST

I have a problem with a lot of modern cinema.  I don't like the way most of it looks, I don't like the way it's edited (too choppy and frenetic) and I don't like the way it's acted (so painfully naturalistic that a wide range of performances are thoroughly interchangeable).  And I have that feeling with a frighteningly high percentage of modern movies.  But mostly, I have a problem with the way the movies look.  And when I say I have a problem, I mean even with movies I like.  We all know I don't like CGI very much (I even do a series on special effects before CGI took over) and this is a big problem because it's now everywhere, in practically all movies.  Take Hugo, directed by Martin Scorsese.  I use this movie as an example because it was a movie I liked and thus, I can assure you it is not me reacting to a movie I hate or using it as an excuse to hate the movie.  No, I liked Hugo but I hated most of the look of it.

The opening pre-title-card sequence in Hugo takes us through all the mechanisms of all the clocks in the colossal train station that Hugo, the boy who lives, orphaned, inside the clocks, maintains daily.  It twists and winds its way through in a way that I know that camera actually couldn't so I know I'm not watching an actual set and scene presented on celluloid but a CGI construction.  This is thoroughly unimpressive to me.  The more elaborate CGI shots get (this one was reminiscent of the pathways taken by the winding camera that opens Fight Club) the less impressed I am by them.  It's like this:  When I'm watching Broadway Danny Rose, and Danny and Tina and Lou are walking along the hallway towards the camera as they discuss Lou's career and just before they get to the camera Lou announces he's leaving Danny for another agent and Danny freezes right in front of the camera, that hits me hard.  It's a great, emotional moment that hits the audience in the chest as squarely as it hits Danny.  Later, looking back on it, you can be impressed by how perfectly they timed their conversation with their approach and savor the fact that it was all about a vision that director and cinematographer had about how the scene would play out and look and then, by God, they rehearsed it, prepped it and did it.  With Hugo, CGI animators were given a frame presentation of how and where the "camera" (the monitor screen on the computer designing the scene) would be and began to busily draw and render and create the scene.   And the scene is quite elaborate, which is why, conversely, it is unimpressive. That walk in Broadway Danny Rose, that's impressive!  It's simple, not complicated.  It's not a Rube Goldberg construction designed to wow us beyond belief but an elegant play between actors and camera that performs its task so beautifully and, seemingly, effortlessly, that we cannot help but be moved.  By contrast, at the end of the opening sequence in Hugo, when they finally get to him looking out the glass from behind the clockface and show the title, I thought, "Thank god that's over."

But it's also the look.   Again, with Hugo, which I continue to use because I did like it, the skies all look like someone contracted Thomas Kinkade to do one of his famous paintings of light for every backdrop.  I'm tired of the glossy, overly detailed design of most modern film.  It's like we left modernism behind and re-adopted Late Baroque because we were tired of all that pesky streamlining and restraint and wanted every sky, in even the grittiest of dramas, to look like a Kinkade painting in every gaudy, gauche and garish detail. Most of the scenes in the movie, whether inside the clocks, inside Georges Méliès studio or the train station, all had an overly glossy, tinkerbell dust, magical realm feel to them.

Okay, it's Hugo, right? It's a children's story and we shouldn't expect it to look like The French Connection or Midnight Cowboy. That's true and I understand that but why, I would ask, is the glossy, Kinkadish look necessary even for a children's story? You can make something look fantastical (Willy Wonka, Return to Oz, every other movie ever made before CGI) and give it a nice matte finish with flourishes of light and shadow without making everyone nauseous at the same time.

Finally, my biggest problem, aside from the general look of movies these days, is the fact that I do often feel quite alone in this and since the whole reasons I got into blogging was to talk about movies with everybody, it's a problem I have a difficult time comprehending, much less solving. I feel alone because when people see Rise of the Planet of the Apes, they say, "Oh, the CGI doesn't look as bad as it does in the ads or the trailers. In fact, it was really good." Now, see, the problem here is that, when I saw it, I started to think a mix-up had happened and somehow I saw the rough-cut, not the finished product because, oh dear Jesus was that CGI bad! You want to talk about being taken out of the film? I was taken out of the film. Ninety percent of this movie looked like a fair to competent rendering of a cut scene on the latest PC game technology. Caesar, the lead ape character, never, ever, ever, EVER looked real to me.

But that's not the problem. The problem I'm having is I don't understand why everyone else isn't bothered by the awkwardly, physically wrong feel of CGI representation and movement of living things. How is it that anyone thought the apes in the movie looked good?

Let me say it again from a different angle. I don't doubt Rise of the Planet of the Apes uses the most advanced CGI technologies available to it, I'm saying that even the best CGI representations of mammals look like crap. And when I say "crap" I mean, doesn't look visually connected to the rest of the action. In other words. optically printing a stop-motion creation over a live-action scene looks more "together" to me than a CGI overlay. Everything starts to look airbrushed, like the actors are real and they're walking around with this fantasy-art performance piece, and the physics, the mechanics of motion, never seem quite right either. Close, yes, but far enough off that they distract. And it's as frustrating to me as when I go to someone's house and they're watching an Academy-ratio movie or tv show on a widescreen tv, stretched out, and don't notice or care about the difference.

So the look of movies, clearly, bothers me. It bothers me to the point where I have to start saying it so people stop wondering why I rear up when I see certain visuals.

But let's look at problem number two.

2. I'M BORED, BORED, BORED TO TEARS WITH THE POST-SEVENTIES TEMPLATE OF ACTION/ADVENTURE/FANTASY

The modern template for action adventure movies comes from, primarily, Steven Spielberg and James Cameron. It's an influence so great that you can see the setups and payoffs from Jaws, The Terminator, Aliens and Jurassic Park used again and again and again. These two directors, unlike the lead-footed, ham-fisted George Lucas, have a real feel for action. Both of them shoot and pace it extremely well. The problem is, a lot of people who don't have the same feel have followed in their footsteps and are too unimaginative to take it anywhere else. Zack Snyder seems to think ramping (slow down, speed up, slow down, speed up) is an innovation so special it must be employed everywhere and always. Edgar Wright, not an action director but certainly a notable contemporary sometime-fantasy director (Shaun of the Dead, Scott Pilgrim vs the World) employs whiz-bang techniques in his stories like the hyper montages that show scenes of action!/no action/stillness/action!/no action/action!/no action and then the scene reverts to normal. It's his calling card and unfortunately, that's exactly what it feels like, a calling card. It doesn't ever seem to add anything to the surrounding movie.

Both of these directors have their supporters and I certainly don't think they are undeserving of such support. For right now, I'm simply calling out specific techniques. I think Snyder did a fine job as director of The Watchmen, even if I didn't love the movie, though I did like it, and as for Edgar Wright, I like Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz both very much. But the top director (top offender, I suppose I should say) for me in this area is J.J. Abrams. I liked Star Trek and Cloverfield but, on the whole, Abrams style seems nothing more than Spielberg warmed over. Maybe that's why when most everyone else loved Super 8, I did not. It came up on Facebook when a posted a status update on how much a certain scene made me angry but then, I admitted to liking it a little or, at least, certain parts because I didn't want to have to explain all this but the simple truth is, if I never see that movie again, it won't be soon enough. I'm glad Abrams has such a nostalgia for seeing Spielberg in the seventies but I'd rather he just watch Spielberg movies from the seventies than try and emulate them and give me the ball-washing tripe of Super 8.

Let's use this to segway into number three.


3. WHEN WAS THE BAR LOWERED AND WHY WASN'T I TOLD?

Let's go back to Rise of the Planet of the Apes.  As of this writing it stands at 83 percent on Rotten Tomatoes.  Personally, I hate Rotten Tomatoes but that's for another post.  Maybe.  For now, that means that 83 percent of critics reviewing it liked it enough, even if just barely enough, to recommend it.   It's average rating is a better indicator and it's a high 7.1 out of 10.

When did this happen?  When did a movie like Rise of the Planet of the Apes start getting 83 percent on Rotten Tomatoes?  It's average at best and I don't mean that as a bad thing.  What I mean is, it does what you would expect it to do, fairly well, although it is a bit predictable.  It has most of what one would expect (Intended-to-be-touching scenes between ape and grandfather figure slipping into dementia.  Caesar wondering if he is a pet, not an independent individual.  Animal shelter owner revealed to be uncaring asshole. Shelter's animal keeper and feeder a sadistic monster.  Caesar pulling together the other apes through strength and compassion, showing himself to be an enlightened leader who won't kill.  Corporate CEOs blinded by greed who get their comeuppance in the end. And the list goes on.) and doesn't exert itself trying to provide much more.  There's one predictable set-up and payoff every ten minutes or so, I'd say.

What entertainment value I drew from the origin story in the first few reels quickly gave way to the big action/battle climax for the last third as the apes make their way to their adopted redwood forest home.  The movie tries to draw out some profundity, I suppose, by revealing the evils/sins/dangers(?) of animal testing but for the most part, it's just an average, if well made, adventure/sci-fi movie.  And yet, it's got 83 percent.  Shouldn't we reserve the upper levels of our ratings for the truly upper levels of cinema?  Shouldn't four stars, or five or whatever the top amount given is, be doled out three, maybe four times a year?  I understand liking a movie and thinking, "Hey, it's pretty good, nothing great but kind of fun," but that's not what I'm getting here.  I'm getting reactions that should be reserved for much better movies.

I feel the same way about so much more.  Toy Story 3, Inception, the last several Harry Potter movies... wait, let's go back.  Toy Story 3.  There exists in the bizarro movie universe of moral equality a category of de facto villain where a movie doesn't really have one, or need one, but creates one anyway using questionable methods. TS3 does this in spades.  A discarded toy, Lotso, a bear that hugs a lot,  becomes this movie's de facto villain.   He was left behind, lost and replaced and became embittered, convincing the other toys left with him that they were purposely and maliciously replaced.  This sense of abandonment has made him bitter and provides the perfect opportunity for TS3 to above and beyond and really explore this angle for kids.  How a misunderstanding can lead you down the wrong emotional path but with friends (read: therapy through companionship) you can work through it and come out on top.

This doesn't happen.  Instead, Lotso becomes psychotic and rather than try to provide any kind of emotional resuscitation, the film makers go for a cheap, mean, nasty joke.  In the end we discover (and here comes the "joke") Lotso is tortured for the rest of his existence by being enslaved in bondage to the front of a truck.  Ha, ha, that's so morally filthy it's funny!  Oh wait, no, it's just morally filthy.

When I saw this,  I wondered, "Why didn't anyone bring this up?"  But, of course, I, myself, was equally guilty of not bringing it up.  I knew what would happen if I did so I didn't.  I knew I would get, "You're crazy for saying that a toy, who only turned out bitter because he was lost and replaced, shouldn't be tortured at the conclusion of the movie.  Sorry Greg, but they should in no way teach redemption by having the Lotso bear recover from his bitterness, they should get a cheap laugh by showing us that he will spend the rest of his existence in bondage.  What's wrong with you, Greg?!"  And I will get that, I promise.  I won't get, "Uh... oh, wait.  Yeah, that is kind of screwed up."   What I'll get is an apologist philosophy that roughly goes, "Sure, that part's bad but don't throw the baby out with the bathwater."  And I'll think, "But that's its lasting and final image of Lotso bear and it's really kind of repulsive."  And then I'll think about how it's like reading a book on child rearing where they give you 10 pieces of advice and two of them involve beating your child.  And when you criticize that, you hear, "But, hey, those other 8 pieces of advice are pretty solid."

And yes, TS3 does have that other 80 percent that does work reasonably well.  I understand that, I do.  It doesn't work well enough for me, of course, and if I had given a proper review to the movie, I would have slightly split in favor of not recommending it for that plot choice as well as, if not more so, for doing little more with these characters than was done before.  In the end, it felt redundant to me more than anything else but I guess I just wish the Lotso choice bothered more people than it did (this has happened with Pixar before, only worse, as explained in this earlier Cinema Styles post).

The point is, it seems to me the vast majority of films released should fall in the mid-range.  We should only be getting "This film is GREAT" or "This film is AWFUL" a few times a year.  Most movies are well-enough made and there are plenty of entertaining ones each year but let's not hand out top ratings and glowing reviews just because a movie does what it's supposed to do.  Let's reserve that for movies that do so much more than that.  For the ones that really stun you.

Onto number four.

4. HALF OF US LIKE THESE DIRECTORS, HALF OF US HATE THEM

In a way, this one is a kind of hanger-on from the last one, only reversed.  Half of the folks I know and love like the movies in number three and probably half don't.  Or maybe only a small percentage don't.  But when it comes to directors, it's a different story.  I once did a whole post on how some people love David Fincher and others hate him while some love Christopher Nolan and others hate him and how both hate each other for liking the other.  I don't like doing this with directors and so, quite simply, I don't.  But others do.

For instance, take a look above.  Note my extreme distaste for Toy Story 3.  It was directed by Lee Unkrich.  He directed (co-directed, technically) Monsters, Inc and Finding Nemo.  I like both of those films.  See, I didn't hate them because they were directed by him.  Conversely, I didn't love Toy Story 3 because it was directed by him, either.  Or take note above of my unenthusiastic response to the filmic stylings of Zack Snyder and Edgar Wright and then, recall, that I liked some of their movies.   This is important because I get really tired of hearing about the Coen brothers being "frauds" or "hating their characters" or some such thing.  Or "it's the same old Woody Allen."  Or "here goes Fincher again, hating women."  Or maybe that's Woody.  Or it could be Christopher Nolan, who's so bad with action (and, actually, he really is, but he's good at other things) that we should hate everything he ever does.  Oh wait, I wouldn't want to leave off Quenting Tarantino.  "Dumb, predictable, talky Quentin Tarantino."

And it goes in the exact opposite direction, too!  Steven Spielberg?  "Never made a bad movie, ever." "Paul Thomas Anderson's a genius!"  "Todd Haynes is my personal hero!"  "Lars von Trier is God!"

The point is, seriously, just shut up.  If you purport to love the cinema and don't take it on a film by film basis - Just. Shut. Up.   Again, back to Toy Story 3.  I don't like a lot of Pixar but sometimes, I do!  So I keep watching them!  Wall-E, for instance.  I didn't like the second half but I did like the first half.  And, importantly, I didn't dislike the second half for any moral reasons, like the Lotso resolution in TS3, simply that I felt it took a very powerful and moving story and ramped it up into a high-energy chase/slapstick production that worked against, not with, the first half.

I also don't like every Coen brothers movie I see but I do like several and love some.  But mother of mercy, I've come across bloggers and critics on this here interweb who practically hate the Coen brothers.  They hate them!  I mean, there's some mediocre, badly done shit out there in movie land and we can be thankful that the Coen brothers at least give us quality films, on purely technical terms, because they are very skilled film makers.  To say otherwise is to be completely disingenuous.  Take TS3, again.  Do I hate its philosophy towards Lotso?  Yes.  Is it incompetently made on the technical level? No, of course not.  It looks beautiful.  Not even that Kinkadey.  So when the complaints against the Coen brothers lapse into how they're bad film makers, I just move on to someone else not trying to convince me the world is flat.

But for the record, the "I hate the Coens/Spielberg/Allen/Tarantino/Fincher/Nolan/Anderson, etc." statements are bullshit, plain and simple.  Cinema doesn't operate on averages, it operates on individual movies.  Stop using sweeping statements against directors as a lazy way to "critique" their movies instead of taking on the movie directly and honestly.

5. THE BACKLASH BANDWAGON

So sick of this one.  I'm sure I don't have to describe "The Backlash Bandwagon" to you but, actually, I'm thinking of it a little differently than you may be so, if you'll bear with me, I would like to explain.  This isn't about everyone loving a movie and then, over time, more people voice their suspicion that it was over-rated.   That's common and is often piled onto the "backlash" trash heap but it's really not the same thing, just eventual re-assessment.   Backlash is something much harsher, much meaner and more clearly shallow, transparent and phony.

Let's go back to Avatar.  When it was released, it received a fair amount of praise (Don't deny it, it did.  Look it up.)  Then it started making money.  Lots of money.  TONS of money!  And then a backlash occurred in which, essentially, it was called garbage.  It was horrible.  It was one of the worst movies EVER MADE!  Same thing happened with The Dark Knight.  Again, it received very good reviews and then a second side declared, not that it was, perhaps, over-rated (I felt it was) but that it was awful.  Abysmal.  Bottom-scraping flying rodent fecal matter.  And then everyone started yelling at each other and, even now, just bringing the title up can unleash a whole big mess o' smug from both sides of the movie aisle.

With both, I fell on the side of unimpressed but not hateful.  Here is my original review of Avatar.  I praise James Cameron's expert direction of action, critique its many character and story elements as poorly written but, on the whole, can only describe my response as middling, not vitriolic.  I never gave a proper review to The Dark Knight but I felt much the same way:  I didn't like it, but the "I hate it" camp seemed a little too extreme for my tastes.

There's a milder form of backlash that also occurs that I dealt with directly in this post last year on Black Swan (I'm nothing if not consistent about my online irritations).  It's the one where there isn't so much as an overload of money or attention or praise, like The Dark Knight, but a movie that some think is great, like Black Swan, but others find not so great and express this by ridiculing either the movie, its supporters or both.  It's happened many times, most recently with The Artist.  I saw a comment from one critic that even described it by typing "movie" with the quotes there to signal us that, despite using a camera and a full cast and crew, The Artist somehow didn't even qualify as a movie anymore.  I have seen some real hatred thrown at this very skillful, very well-performed, very entertaining movie and it feels all out of proportion.  I hate to keep going back to it, but look at Toy Story 3.  That has a story element that actually morally offends and still I can find the balls to say it's not a bad movie, just misguided in that element and redundant overall.  But when people don't like Black Swan or The Artist, why is there a need among some writers to insult the intelligence of those who do?  If you'd like a true template for how to handle this kind of thing properly, go to Ferdy on Films and read Marilyn Ferdinand's review of The Artist.  She didn't like it, explains why and avoids calling anyone who did an idiot.  We should all take a lesson.

FIVE YEARS, FIVE REASONS TO GO ON

I've been at this now for five years and in that time, the pet peeves I list above have gotten worse, at least to my eyes.  Maybe that's nothing more than a perception problem on my part.  Maybe it's the same as ever or has even improved but I'm so tired of dealing with the same old, same old, that it feels bigger to me now.  Maybe.  I do know that in my online experience I've started one blog after another and joined up with a few others to boot.  I've done movie blogging, political blogging, humorous blogging, photo tumbling, group blogging and even a short stint at entertainment news blogging.  I've stuck with two: Cinema Styles and If Charlie Parker was a Gunslinger There'd be a Whole Lot of Dead Copycats.   I was also lucky enough to be asked to join the group of great movie bloggers at TCM's Movie Morlocks for which I am eternally grateful.

That's three reasons enough, right there, to keep right on going, despite the frustrations and irritations that sometimes yank me backwards like a dog being choke-chained but there are a couple more, too.  One, I wouldn't want to not converse with the online community of film lovers and friends I've discovered in this time and two, I've never learned more about the movies than I have in the last five years.  Before that, it was all isolated knowledge that seemed pretty impressive in a room of people who didn't spend every waking moment thinking about, reading about and talking about cinema.  But once I got online, I realized I was a novice.  Hell, I realized we all were and if we didn't learn from each other, no one else was ever going to fill us in on the 99 percent of film history ignored by the film history books.

If there's any vow or resolution to be made here it's only that I be more honest with myself and everyone else about how I feel about modern cinema and not worry about getting into arguments.  But if I'm to be honest now, right now, I have to admit that I probably won't.  Instead, once a year or so I'll write a piece about how annoyed I am at this or that and do my best, the rest of the time, to write about those movies that bring me joy.  If that's the deal I have to make to keep this blog going, I suppose I can live with that. After all, to not write about, talk about and share my love for movies would be to not live at all.  And that's not a choice I'm willing to make.

The Blogathon That Never Was

When Arbogast on Film died (apparently burning in Hell) so did a blogathon.  Years ago, Arbo and I discussed doing a blogathon that went against the grain of most blogathons.  We were tired of all the blogathons about big time directors, actors and/or movies.  How about a blogathon about an actor who got, at best, bit parts, a couple of failed tv shows and years of good, quality, reliable, steady work?  How about a blogathon about Lawrence Pressman?

No, seriously.

It started when I brought up Ladies Man, a failed sitcom Pressman starred in that lasted one season in 1980, in a comment thread whose attached post I can no longer remember.  I watched Ladies Man and, yes, I liked it, or rather, I liked Pressman in it.  I liked him in 9 to 5, too.  Other parts got mentioned:  His role as Dr. Hellstrom in The Hellstrom Chronicles (he had the lead!) was mentioned by Marilyn Ferdinand and a few others chimed in to mention other small parts where Pressman stood out in their memory.

Arbo e-mailed me and said we should do a whole blogathon and if only a few people posted, who cares?  I tried to make it something bigger ("How about a blogathon for all bit players?!") but Arbo thought that defeated the purpose.  He was right.  We never did the blogathon.

The point of all this is not that I want to go ahead and do that blogathon now - the moment is past and the momentum is gone - but that the very idea of it inspired me to start doing The Wanderers, posts on actors without Oscars (or even nominations) and barely any name recognition.  It was that blogathon that got me to thinking, "Would I rather talk up the same classics and heroes of cinema or bring some under-appreciated and under-known artists into the limelight?"  The answer was obvious.  Illumination is more enticing than elaboration.  So thanks, Arbo, for guiding me, in your small way, towards the true spirit of the film blogger:  A personal journey through the history of film that acknowledges the classics but spends more time shedding light on those players in the shadows that enriched our cinematic history without ever getting the recognition they deserved.

The Investigation Ends...

I had planned on taking December off from Cinema Styles and fully intended to keep those plans, until this happened...

Arbogast on Film, one of the finest written film blogs you will ever have the pleasure of casting your eyes upon, is "laying himself to rest."

Arbogast on Film was one of my first online blogging haunts and it wasn't long before a comment exchange with Arbo became one of the most entertaining breaks of the day.  Eventually (rather quickly, actually), I struck up a friendship with Arbo that extended into the real world.  Long before Facebook took over, we sent each other family pictures, texted random street scenes and talked about writing, blogging and the movies.

I'll miss Arbogast on Film, and even though I know I can still read all of his great writing elsewhere, and dig into the Arbogast archives when need be, it won't be the same knowing Arbogast is gone for good.   I love Arbo's writing and one of the things I love most about the man was his ability to say that which not only couldn't be said, but which most people would run from rather than utter.  A visit to Arbogast on Film, or a visit from Arbogast to your blog, often meant boundaries would be pushed and the plain truth would be spoken, polite company be damned.  Also, his wit, scathing and mocking and keenly honed, was, simply put, a lap ahead of the competition.  I enjoy good wit, cherish it, look for it in anyone of whom I intend to give my time.  Arbogast on Film had it, in gaudy supply, emanating from every word.

I designed that banner up above, as well as the banners for his superb annual October tradition, 31 Screams.  I was happy to do it.  Just to be associated with his blog in even such a small way felt good, like I was a part of something bigger.

I'll miss you, my friend.  The mystery of cinema will never be the same.

Happy Holidays...

From Cinema Styles to you and yours.

As is probably evident, I'm taking December off from Cinema Styles but I'll be back in the New Year with plenty of movies to talk about.  In the meantime, I've got Christmas to celebrate with the family.  Until January, accept this gift from the lovely Miss Leslie Caron and enjoy the holiday season.

Performing a Public Service:Cab Calloway in The Blues Brothers

Whatever one may think of John Landis or Dan Aykroyd as either artists or people, they both deserve kudos for preserving a modern day performance of Minnie the Moocher by Cab Calloway on film in The Blues Brothers (1980).   Aykroyd wrote him into the script and Landis gave him full attention for a lavishly filmed performance on stage.  Watching the movie the other day on Netflix, and seeing John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd perform with Cab Calloway, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Steve Cropper, Donald "Duck" Dunn, John Lee Hooker* and Ray Charles, I wondered to myself, "Did they appreciate the talent amassed for this film that would never be together again?"

Of course they did.  How could they not?  I've never been a cult-follower of The Blues Brothers like many others (though I do like it) but I'm glad it exists.  I'm glad it's out there and so many performers who weren't connected to film got a chance to be preserved on film forever after.  Besides, where else can you find Charles Napier, Carrie Fisher, Twiggy, John Candy, Paul Reubens, Steve Lawrence and Henry Gibson all playing bit player back-up in the same place at the same time?   If there were ever a film whose preservation of talent on celluloid surpasses the importance of the film itself, this might be the one.

*He doesn't actually perform with them but he's there just the same.

The Movie's Good, I Just Don't Like It

"Greg said it's not about that so shut up, stupid!"

The laws of film criticism would seem to dictate that when a movie is good, demonstrably good, we should like it or, at least, appreciate it in all its glorious excellence.  I'm not talking about those recent brouhahas and kerfuffles and, dare I say it, foofaraws that erupted after that guy wrote that piece about how he didn't like those movies that were supposed to be movies he liked but he found them boring and then a bunch of critics were all like, "I hate you!" and went running to their rooms and then some other guy wrote another piece where he even mentioned some friends of mine (in a very positive light, of course) and talked about how everyone needed to chill or whatever word the kids are using these days to denote "ignore your intellectual outrage and keep your mouth shut like a good little soldier."

So, yeah, anyway, it's not about that.

No, it's about a movie that seems well-done in every possible way but is still quite unlikeable.  The writing is literate and tight, the plot works well, the acting is uniformly good, the direction clear and efficient, the musical score, editing, photography, sound, etc. are all top-drawer, as my non-existent prep school friends would say (their names are "Chip" and "Skip").  And yet, I simply don't like them.  And I don't mean "it's not my cup of tea" (Chip and Skip again), I mean, "Damn!  I really hate this movie!"  See, that's kind of confusing because when a movie has everything going for it, it seems like somehow, someway, I should like it.  But that's not the case nearly as often as it should be.

Back in 1996, everyone in the world of film criticism (well, it seemed that way but it was before aggregate shit sites like Rotten Tomatoes so what in the hell do I know) was lying on the floor recovering from spasms of nirvana after watching The English Patient.  Seriously, I'd read a review and the critic would be all like, "English Patient? Touch me... there."   So I saw it and found it to have fantastic acting, a really tight script, good clean direction and breathtaking cinematography.  And, brother, did I hate that fucking thing!   And I don't really know why because I've never taken the time to go back and watch it again which I probably should because it seems like I'm constantly hating or loving movies that I end up reversing my opinion on in weeks, days, sometimes hours.  I do this because, as best I can tell, I've got some kind of mental problem but, you know what, that's for another post.

So, again, I can't claim The English Patient is bad.  I think everyone involved should be proud of their accomplishments on it.  It's not easy to make a movie, really it's not and something like The English Patient shows the kind of skill and talent that we should all be so lucky to possess.  It takes time, patience and a butt-load of money and I'm not here to dismiss any of the movies discussed in this post, just say that, inexplicably, I don't like them while acknowledging they're all well-done.

"This movie is bullshit! Good popcorn, though."

What got me thinking about this again was my recent viewing of The Road.  Is it well done?  I'd say, exceptionally so.  The post-apocalyptic landscape is, for one, so convincing, so dead, so grey, so lifeless that I'd swear the art director and set designer had somehow seen the coming end of the world and replicated it for the film (how they would have done this I'm still working out but I'm strongly leaning towards a time-helmet of some kind).  The lead performances by Viggo Mortensen and Kodi Smitt-McPhee are both excellent and the story has a lean, efficient quality to it.   A no-frills kind of feeling that is perfectly fitting for such an enterprise.  And yet, by the end, I couldn't help but think the entire viewing was a complete and utter waste of my time.   I've felt that way ever since.  Here's what I got from it:  Nothing.

Maybe there's a slickness involved that I just don't connect with.  It's possible.  All the films that produce this kind of reaction in me feel perfectly done in some vague, technical way.  In fact, a lot of Best Picture winners fall into this category for me as well as almost the entire career of Ron Howard.  I see a Ron Howard movie and everything in them seems just right, you know?  As in, no chances taken, no going outside the constraints of the familiar, no bold exploration of new ideas.  They all have that prepackaged feel to them.  A sort of "Paint by the Numbers" where all the colors are right and in the right place but it feels forced, stiff, dead.

By contrast, when I watch something like Stroszek, it feels like Werner Herzog was making it up as he went.  And that feels great!  It's like he said, "Okay, let's film you driving away.  No! Wait!  Drive the truck in circles first.  Then get out.  Then get back in.  Set something on fire.  No!  Wait!  Is there some kind of crazy theme park or arcade around here?  What?  What's that?  Dancing chickens?  Perfect!  Let's go there and film that!"

It's the same when I watch early Scorsese.  Mean Streets and Taxi Driver have a dirty, messy, sloppy feel to them, a feel I really like.  The Aviator, on the other hand, is excellent on all levels but I just don't like it.  It feels so clean, so polished, so... so not Scorsese.  Same with The Departed.   All of these films, from The English Patient to (oh, let's pick a Howard film) Frost/Nixon seem so very uninspired.  They feel like the work of people who all know exactly what they're doing and they do it well but they don't let any part of themselves become a part of the equation.   It's like the recording of Born Free by Andy Williams (Huh? What?  Just bear with me, okay?).  In the song, he sings every note exactly as written and it's a running joke for my wife and me to take note of the one part in the song where he doesn't, the very last verse where, instead of singing the word "free" he kind of speaks it, boldly.  It's unintentionally funny because it's the one, single, solitary moment where he lets any kind of personality enter into his rendition.   Rather than phrasing the words to fit his feelings, emotions and instincts, like a Billie Holliday or Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra, he does exactly what he's supposed to do.  Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

"Nothing I said applies to me.  Now get off my lawn!"

So maybe that's it.  Maybe when a film does exactly what it's supposed to do, it turns me off.   Maybe that's why I'm a fan of so many scratchy, ugly, thrown-together movies from the seventies and so little a fan of so much from the eighties on.   From the eighties on, thanks to technology in filming as well as post-production editing and special effects, even crappy, low-rent movies have a slick, polished look to them.  But that can't be the whole story because as much as an Out of Africa, The Last Emperor, Shakespeare in Love, American Beauty or Chicago don't work for me, practically everything Hollywood did in the forties does and if anything ever fit the definition of "people who know exactly what they're doing and doing it well", it's Hollywood in the forties.  I mean, those guys and gals put together movies like Tin Lizzies rolling off of Henry Ford's assembly line and, somehow, most of them do feel inspired to me.  Maybe that's because they were inserting themselves into the films (oh shit, it's that theory -  RUN!  Save yourself before it takes over the whole discussion!).   Or maybe there are too many people involved in the post-production now to keep any kind of individual directorial vision up there on the screen for anyone to even notice.  Or maybe I'm just a grumpy old curmudgeon and this is the dumbest idea I've ever had for a post because, in the end, there can be no possible answer to the question, "How can a movie do everything right and feel so wrong?"

Facebooking the Demise of the Wicked Witch (of the East)

I imagine at this moment on Oz Twitter, #CelebratedTooSoon is trending wildly.

By the way, you just know when it comes time for the Mayor's re-election, his campaign's going to be all over the fact that both wicked witches died on his watch.

What I Learned Today

Mary Carlisle is still alive.  She was one of the WAMPAS baby stars and is the last remaining one.  Reading up on the WAMPAS baby stars is the kind of thing I actually do so, if you're not as weird as I am and are unfamiliar with them, simply go here.

Anyway, she's 99 and will turn 100 on February 3, 2012.  She was born almost 100 years ago but when she was born it had only been 86 years since Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died.  So there were people alive when she was born who were alive when Jefferson and Adams were alive.  On top of that, consider this:  86 years ago from this time, Joan Crawford was starting her Hollywood career in the silents and Charlie Chaplin was making The Gold Rush.   Wrap your head around that for a little while.

And while you're at it, visit this picture gallery for dozens of great photos of Mary Carlisle.

Synthesized Accompaniment

I watched The Long Good Friday again about a month ago for the first time in years. I had forgotten how much movie music from the late seventies and early eighties relied so heavily upon pop-oriented synthesizer sounds, regardless of whether they fit the mood of what was on the screen or not. Listening to the opening and closing themes of The Long Good Friday, it seemed downright odd to choose such music for a gangster film until I thought of other eighties movies, like To Live and Die in L.A. and Manhunter, that also have heavy-handed synthesizer pop loudly ushering in the closing credits, despite wrapping up tragic loss or disturbing violence just moments before.

The funny thing is, watching the closing scene (several times over, no less), all I could think was, "Thank God!" I mean, seriously, there comes a time when you're just thrilled that every goddamn score under the sun in the late seventies/early eighties didn't sound like another John Williams rip-off.  The pop music may sound odd given what it's playing behind on the screen but it's such a signifier of its time and place, I wouldn't change it for the world.

Oh yeah, and this guy?

Damn!  Honestly.  Just, damn!

Pola's Back and You're Gonna Be In Trouble

80 years ago, in 1931, Pola Negri returned from Europe aboard the S.S. Paris to start her talking picture career in Hollywood after bad times in marriage and movies, with her most recent one, The Way of Lost Souls, her final silent film, not doing well at all.  After coming to Hollywood to act in sound pictures, and leaving again, her career went all over the map, including a period working for Universum Film AG (UFA) in France, then under the control of Joseph Goebbels, until she fled to America after the Nazis invaded.

Her career in Hollywood during the forties didn't go very far and within a few years, she retired.  Later, Billy Wilder would use her as the basis of the titular character Fedora in an old-fashioned mystery (Fedora, 1979) that I saw years ago and have been curious to see again for years but, sadly, it's unavailable.  Is it any good?  I have no idea.  I last saw it in 1979 but I'd love to see it again.