Showing posts with label CinemaChat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CinemaChat. Show all posts

Sunday, January 29, 2012

My two cents on: The Artist

And then he puts a glass down with a thud.



There are many reasons why The Artist may be a contender this year, one of them called Harvey Weinstein, and the fact that people like him will not accept to be called crazy.
But it is not so much the courage to go for it that impressed me. Neither was the acting, or the plot.
It was the mustache.

I'm kidding.

There's a certain revenge-of-the-nerds pride in seeing a silent black and white movie woe the masses. There is definitely appreciation for Jean Dujardin's independent eyebrows. And most of all there is obsequious reverence towards the reconstruction of the talkies' advent. Carbon copy Singing in the Rain.
I don't read reviews before I see a movie. I don't even like to see trailers most of the times so I usually try to enter the theater a virgin, unless the gods forbid me of course. I knew for example that Bella Swan falls in love with a vampire, and a warewolf, and can't act. Some things are just common knowledge. But in this case I foresaw nothing, so when it became apparent to my oblivious mind that I was about to be witness to a tale of good looking people in Hollywoodland in the late twenties I peed in my pants. I live in a 1944 building built for screenwriters at Paramount, so you can appreciate my being drenched into the specific subject matter.

But, as I am a film graduate and cinema technician first and foremost, the key to me here is  the use of the craft's main tools that had been long lost beneath piles of crane shots, photoshop brushes and the void in Kristen Stewart's eyes.

First of all the 4:3 frame format. I didn't notice it right away, I was kind of raptured by the Metropolis-esque opening. But something was indeed missing, or quite differently concentrating the action to the core of my sight span. It's a little touch, but very thoughtful towards the roundness of the watching a silent movie experience.

Secondly, a few minutes into the movie Mr. Mustache, our hero, has breakfast, and dinner and lunch with his wife, sometimes intent in reading a paper. The camera angle, the focal length, everything screams Citizen Kane, as it should I guess when you're paying homage to cinema. For a minute I was kind of hoping a superimposed room would start spinning over their faces, but the filmmakers didn't go there, and all in all upon second consideration I'm kind of glad they didn't as it made the homage more graceful, and there's only so much you can do when you want to approach Orson Welles.

Some time later Mr. Mustache meets a girl while shooting a scene of a movie and she gets under his skin, without saying a word. So humorous I am. The moment is sapiently told through the same means of the moment itself. Hold on, it's a mind-fuck. He is a star, she is an extra and they have to interact all through scene #20. A dolly across a room full of people dancing. We get to observe all the numerous takes, along with board in between them, directly from (meta)camera point of view as we sweep around the ballroom, and giggle at how time after time he doesn't seem to be able to get his mind off of her and onto acting. Delicious. I almost cried.

And then there was the time I had to gasp for air. Executive producer John Goodman tells Mr. Mustache that talkies are the future of movie making but he refuses to compromise his integrity as a silent movie artist for what he believes to be just a fad. So he stomps back to his dressing room. And then he puts a glass down with a thud.

Sound and camera movement are at the heart of the modern cinematic craft, if you consider sound not merely as speech but as a way to get the audience to emote. At the utmost peak of the art behind The Artist is the capability of forgetting about the heaps of crap loaded over  filmmaking during the years and restore that simple way of expressing ideas through the moving image and silence, or sound. That very sound of silence, as opposed to background music, is molded as punctuation that enhances the image, which in itself already needs to be more expressive than ever because it has to tell a story without the help of any spoken word. And very few cards either. To be honest I was really impressed at how little these actors really were aided by words, both spoken or written.
But no one should hear the details from me. One should tap dance their way to the theater.

Not saying everyone out there should consider making silent films now, there has been a hundred years of evolution for a reason, but I feel like thanking Michel Hazanavicius for surprising me with a truth I had somehow lost.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Who's afraid?

It has been a fortunate week to amend to a lot of slacking I confess to being guilty of in the recent past. I’ve seen five movies in the last five days.

Four of them were previews, that means I’m in the process of spending a lot of time in front of this keyboard exercising my fingers in writing reviews.
(oy nibble at my rhymes!)
Scott Pilgrim vs the World, which I’ve watched in bed on my laptop, is a spiky psychedelic rainbow. It seemed to me like a PG version of Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, so much so that it was such kind of way too much (again! Oh man I’m on fire!!). Does Ramona Flowers really change hair color in the comic? I don’t know. Wait, let me check… It looks like, mmm, uncertain. But I have found something that proves my point and shows my wits have kindred spirits - although I don’t know who to credit for it because I’m the world’s biggest tumblr ignoramus.


You know I wouldn’t blame the director if it were just that, after all who are we to deprive teenagers of their own eternal sunshine? Everyone’s entitled to a little tan.
But then we have the hair, plus the sudden locations switch, plus the superimposed words that appear out of thin air, plus the death and the flashbacks and it all becomes a woah are you kidding me? Mix and match all you want guys, I’m all for freaky stuff, but you’re way too in for your own good.
How they adapted the videogame part of the theme I liked though. The VS word appearing over the contenders standing in front of each other from side view got my geeks going. Ready. Set. Fight!
I liked it all in all but I’m a bigger fan of people who kind of make a statement and stick with it. A lot of confusion mostly than not goes a short way. Points for trying. Lost in translation.

Sucker Punch I saw for and with my brother. Was expecting the shit out of it and I stood corrected. Apart from a rocking beginning, almost mute and fucking with my brain.
I don’t know about you but the first fantasy level, with the night club and all, worked for me. The second level, because it’s blatant there had to be a second level for the movie to stand out, although the reason is somewhat unfathomable, could have been better executed. I liked how they tried to set each fight in a diverse nerd climax but I couldn’t see that nerd coming to save his life. Sorry for the crude image, that’s just me. I thought differentiation would have done a much more thorough job, and I will not step in the different possible pairings of the word “job” territory.
The steam-punk bit is gorge, but it kind of goes downhill from there. Like the first image from each fight, shot from the airplanes, looks like the previous and next one to me. I guess I’m disappointed because I was looking for a more groundbreaking a la 300 thing rather than a quiche of minced repeating with recurring sauce, both in terms of atmospheres and actions.
Not addressing the skimpy girls situation because I’ve already told you what the director wanted the nerd to do.
Overall the thing I’m walking away with here is this.

Not the actual lady.

Could’t wait to go out last night, a Saturday, finally, and wear it like I was gonna tear this town down (and, we have a winner ladies and gentlemen!!!).


Didn't turn out quite like I was expecting it to, I may have blended too much, but hey neither did the movie. Can't ride two horses with the same ass.
Machete was for a review, which has still to be written. Don’t know where to start really. I may need to organize my thoughts just now. Robert Rodriguez either does kids flicks or this kind of films. Mexico, desaturate colors, sweat, gore and a fetishized items, in this case, the title word.
It was intensely hilarious at times but to me, no matter how much he tries, he’s no Tarantino. I find the Quentin to be more playful with his style, while Rodriguez mostly feels like he takes it far too seriously. It’s fun VS raw. And with me, as always, the fun wins!
The slaughter doesn’t give you time to inhale, and that’s cool. Michelle Rodriguez stinks the screen with her horrific stale self. What actress builds a career on doing the same role for 15 years? And Lindsay Lohan, oh don’t even get me started on her.


She's using a very twisted logic to rehabilitate her career.


So the film definitely has its perks for pulp freaks like this lady right here, me. Jumping off buildings using other people's intestines as a creeper, crucifying a priest on the altar of his own church, good times, DeNiro, fake TV commercials. Well actually it has a lot of perks, but still isn't at the top of his game. Glorified B movie.
Red Riding Hood is the hero of epic fails. I love Catherine Hardwicke but she was having a Twilight brain masturbation while filming this thing. Everything’s wrong here. It wasn’t supposed to be a love story for starters, but no one writing it noticed. It can’t work as a love story. Especially a gothic one. We already have the king of that genre duh!! And you are the one who brought it to us, how confused are you?
To sum it up it's a big match of the werewolf game. Nothing less, nothing more, with the exception of the grandma player which only serves the purpose of presenting Red Riding Hood with the long robe that makes it hard for her to run for cover.
It’s not scary enough. It’s not romantic enough. It’s not intriguing enough. The wolf looks like a huge stuffed animal spoiled brats like Paris Hilton would own while growing up. And everything is all in all shadowed by Gary Oldman’s perfect old lady hair.


If you want to know who the wolf is, spare you some yawns, I'll tell ya. It's the father.
Scream 4 was the pearl of the week. I was not a fan of the series, and by no means I am now, but this film has a cheeky genius you can’t but appreciate. I saw this before it even came out in the States so that night had the whole historic moment kind of feel.
It may be a little 90s but if you called me nostalgic you wouldn’t be wrong so I enjoyed it. It looks like a boiled and expanded WB show. I guess the nostalgic in me refuses to call it CW, but it is what it is. That’s what the original movie felt and I’m glad they kept it that way.
The only thing I can’t quite grasp is Neve Campbell’s character, she should get a taste of her own medicine and get killed by a huge rolling ball of boredom.
Anyway, Ghostface is ah gotcha!
Want to know more of my useless opinions? Read my Red Riding Hood and Scream 4 reviews!







Thursday, April 7, 2011

The movie with the self-reviewing title

This is the kind of shit I live for.


I’d downloaded the movie more than a year ago and never bothered watching it. So now it comes out in Italy (like yes a whole 12 months later) and the hype is so loud I can’t ignore it. Thus last night I loaded my macbook on my lap, got comfy on the bed and hit play. FUCK IT!

This is the movie my subconscious has always dreamed of making. I hate every single person that’s worked on it. And by hate I mean that I want to do them.
It’s genius because it visually lets out an ironic, unserious outlook on life. Because it finally takes on the superhero genre with a geek attitude. Come on let’s face it, most of the Marvel blockbusters are made to satisfy the masses. But even the ball of dust under my desk at work knows that a true nerd would rather a spurt of ketchup gush out from a severed neck than a polished, choreographed jump from a 200 storey skyscraper while the strings of bravery play in the background. This is a small, independent looking movie that manages to fulfill that need to get back to the often forgotten raw roots, translating comic books unruly feel on film without being ashamed, because the story of a loser superhero lets it do just that. So refreshing!

Not to mention the mastery with which the puzzle is all put together, the single scenes, the details. I’m turned on just thinking about it. This is what happened in a parallel world where Tarantino did Marvel, and considering that Brad Pitt is producing, my head has fabricated a link that I will pretend really exists between the god of pulp and this gore filled fantasy world. Especially since the poster looks a little too much like a Kill Bill’s carbon copy to be casual, blood spills like fountains at a wedding, there’s a shot from a trunk, a semi-anime part, a rampaging vengeful child a la Oren Ishi and a katana gratuitous appearance at the very end.

Plus some parts are insane you guys.
When Hit Girl gets to Frank D’Amico’s house wearing the school uniform and Morricone western music (hello Quentin) soothes the mood, I pronounce it a class act!

Schoolgirl Mexican standoff orgasm!


Elvis rocking the jet pack scene is just unbelievable, I was rolling off the bed let me tell you.

Before the hallway confrontation when back to back close ups of the bad guys pave the way to Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation is from another planet, and who doesn’t want to see a little girl make a big man shoot himself in the head with his own gun via a lazo! I do.


Who does she remind you of?


I’m so obsessed it’s starting to worry me. You will soon catch me around town wearing something like this:


Whilst this is my new facebook profile pic:

Women's ass-kicking committee?! I need to run for President!

And I may go to ComiCon dressed as her next July, because she’s a fucking 11 year old who drives a sports car!



PS. This is a great blog post on the awesome music the film treats us with. A lot of its unconventional appeal is courtesy of choosing the appropriate, or rather the less appropriate in this case, music to season the images with and create the contrast that so royally kicks ass.

Friday, October 22, 2010

My two cents on: Buried

Brilliant. Brilliant. Brilliant. Inception’s got nothing on it!

Buried just came out here in Italy and I’m mad as hell, they keep doing it. Dish us the great movies in time you bastards!
Oh no, I was just a tiny bit bitter, and bitter is the last thing I want right now. Because instead I’m ecstatic actually, I am thrilled and inspired by the power of moving pictures… Oh you have no idea!!

These things are what I live for. Challenges. Wits. Human beings bending their arms and making it happen!

I was scared to go see it at the beginning, when I had a look at the trailer the first time I was - the hell you’ll see my face Mr. Johansson. But somehow the hype increased with the passing weeks, and not because there was any type of exaggerated marketing, it simply grew on me. That’s what art does by the way. And then it was show-time this Friday and I felt the urge. I booked tickets online today and I felt kinda eerie the entire afternoon. Creepy films have ways of sneaking up on me in my dreams. I am very careful with my choices on the matter. So I tiptoed to my seat in the theatre and I was quiet for a while. Pondering. Then I took a breath, the movie started and I was never able to produce a single thought again for the whole 94 minutes. I was completely absorbed.

This work not only has the strength of a fresh, brave concept, it also develops it poignantly. No considerable gaps in the plot, no dull moments, no pathetic resolutions. No nothing. Just plain awesomeness. The story is strong and the storytelling backs it up completely.

Cortés breeds these great, unexpected camera movements, jumping back and forth around our very own insurmountable line. Considering what I do for a living – well, that’d be the case if they were paying me to do it (Hey, I won’t accept sour remarks here, this is a happy piece!) – that was both weird and exciting to see. He is all over the place with his equipment!
When the screen goes pitch black he always comes back with an unexpected angle. And I mean you are bound to do that if you want to keep an audience’s attention alive for an hour and thirty four minutes with one man inside a box as big as his own damn frame. Without showing any boobs.
Also I appreciated that they managed to keep it at a fairly realistic lighting without having to be boring with it. Reynolds is in fact equipped with his fair share of disco bulbs. Such a kaleidoscopic rainbow of horrors, one color for each demising stage. Well played.

Speaking of the Rey-man he’s brave enough to step up to it, and he does a fairly good job. Honest performance would far better critics than me say. You’ve come a long way from Van Wilder uh? I was still hoping you’d lose your shirt here and there though, like old times. No such luck.

I've heard our leading actor say that if Alfred Hitchcock had been presented this script he would have totally directed it. Funny cause that was my first thought.
Lil' connection here Mr. Reynolds, you wanna explore it?

                  

A special post scriptum for the deserving movie’s artwork. The poster looks amazing, and again very Hitchcocky. Plus I love how they incorporated press praise into it.

To some it up, there’s nothing I didn’t love about this picture.
Fucking great movie, that’s all I have to say.