salfamily Reviews

Citizen Kane (1941)

Don't Believe the Naysayers

[10/10 · 28 September 2001]

Is Citizen Kane the greatest film of all time? Who cares? The fact that it's great is qualification enough.

While I can't say I'm surprised that so many have called this movie "boring" (the success of Jerry Bruckheimer hasn't escaped me, after all), I will say that I'm disheartened. I've always found the picture to be breathtaking, even exuberant, throughout its entire 119-minute running time. The sound and dialogue have a crackling wit to them, and the visuals! What can be said of Toland's cinematography that hasn't already been stated a million times over?

No, Citizen Kane is not emotionally jarring, and we don't necessarily feel any sympathy for any of its characters. We are not meant to identify with the movie's hero, Charles Foster Kane. We're merely asked to be intrigued by him, to contemplate his situation and how he came to it.

If the revelation that comes at the end of the film is a letdown, well, it's supposed to be. Ultimately, Rosebud is no more important to Kane the man than the girl with the white parasol is to Kane's assistant, Mr. Bernstein-- the girl whom Bernstein saw on a ferry dock one day and then never forgot. Rosebud is a remembrance, perhaps a symbol of youth or a transcendence that was never achieved, that has no significance outside of Kane's own mind. The revelation of what it truly is underscores the futility of trying to fathom and define a man's motivations-- it explains nothing.

But Rosebud's function within the film is clear-- it's the key that Welles and his collaborators use to open up the world of Charles Foster Kane and then spin us through it. And what a trip it is! The structure of the narrative and the visual program play out in a surprising, almost gleeful way (although people call it "slow," I always find myself exhausted trying to keep up with what the movie throws at me). After I've watched it, I often have trouble pinpointing where exactly in the film certain scenes occur. It's almost too rich, too varied, to subtract from.

I also disagree with the notion that Citizen Kane is a "cold" movie. Several scenes emit a strong (if reserved) emotional warmth (those in which Kane first meets his mistress come to mind) while others are quite humorous (the razor sharp dialogue and the dead-on timing of the actors contribute substantially to this). And besides, not every movie is meant to give you a warm fuzzy feeling inside; not all set out to make you cry. Some simply dazzle you with the brilliance of their conception and force you to reconfigure your notions of what a movie can be.

Batman (1989)

Fun but not Great

[6/10 · 7 August 2001]

Tim Burton's 1989 take on the Batman character has a gothic, brooding character to it that, at its best, is hard to resist. Unfortunately, the film itself is rather tame, with a story that never seems to really get going.

Part of the problem is that Batman himself isn't terribly interesting: he's played by Michael Keaton as a slightly neurotic, awkward playboy, who spends most of his time brooding. Sure, he has tons of neat gadgets, and we all know about the terrific car, but they aren't enough to make the character enticing. He's vastly overshadowed by Jack Nicholson's Joker, who, in a furor of over-acting, manages to steal nearly every key scene in the movie. As Batman's nemesis Nicholson is at times captivating and at other times horribly annoying; every time I watch the scene in which he runs rampant through a Gotham City art museum (to a soundtrack by Prince no less), I find myself wishing I could magically re-edit the movie, cutting out some Joker bits and giving Batman some more interesting things to do.

I suppose it's worth mentioning the Gotham City populace as well. I recently re-watched Richard Donner's Superman and I was struck by how much the animated population of Metropolis augmented the hero's exploits in that film. During the action sequences, they react to Superman's feats, gasping, commenting and generally acting as real people in their positions probably would. They're our surrogates inside of the film; we can identify with their reactions and giggle at their disbelief, and this adds to our enjoyment of the movie because it increases our participation in it. Burton's Gotham populace, on the other hand, is virtually faceless. We're told they're being poisoned, and a small group is shown being gassed in one scene, but since we never identify with them it's hard to feel anything. On the contrary, the entire film plays out as a game of showmanship between Batman and the Joker, in which each particpant tries to outdo his opponent in the areas of spectacle, gadgets and outrageous behavior. There is little room for the common man among Burton's larger-than-life freaks.

There are several action sequences sprinkled throughout the film, all of which have their "cool" moments of setting or atmosphere, but none of which builds momentum in the action department. In fact, most of the chase scenes in Batman feel stilted, or worse, never build on their initial promise. The perfect example of this occurs during the finale, in which Batman entices the audience by trotting out his coolest gadget yet, a wonderfully designed, ultra high-tech Batjet, outfitted with all sorts of neat weaponry and sighting devices. Alas, the thing immediately gets shot down by a bullet from a hand gun. Sigh.

Without question, the real stars of Batman are the set design and the Danny Elfman score-- I dare say they're what most people recall first when they think of this film. Although at times the Gotham City sets look a little too stagey for my tastes, their dark, brooding character helps to set an interesting tone. As for the score, I suppose it's safe to call it a quasi-classic at this point; 12 years after the film's release it's immediately recognizable and can probably be hummed from memory by most ardent movie fans.

Overall, while I recommend Batman as a fun movie and I believe it has some good things going for it, I definitely don't think it's the classic some others believe it to be.

It should also be mentioned that this installment of the Batman series (perhaps along with Batman Returns, which has its own weird pleasures) is far superior to the two Joel Schumacher editions, both of which I find unbearable. Dark, boring Batman is better than neon, campy Batman.

6.5/10

Lawrence of Arabia (1962)

An Epic Both Astounding and Subtle

[10/10 · 4 August 2001]

David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia is often referred to as an epic, a term usually reserved for grand and sweeping works, painted in broad strokes, in which the more subtle nuances of character and motivation are swept aside in favor of sheer sensuality. And, to an extent, Lawrence fits this bill-- few films can match it in the department of grandness. Yet the film is anything but simplistic in its approach to its characters and the themes they represent. Indeed, Peter O'Toole's Lawrence is surely one of the more complex and perplexing heroes to ever grace a movie screen. Just who is this man? What does he stand for and what makes him great? For that matter, can he really be called great at all?

Viewers may be persuaded by this lack of resolution inherent in O'Toole's Lawrence to criticize the film on the grounds that it fails to adequately tell us about the person it purports to portray, the British officer of the first world war, T.E Lawrence. But they would, I think, overlook one of the most noteworthy aspects of the film. For Lean never claims to really know who this man was; he never saddles his protagonist with a pat identity or set of values from which we might glean an opinion as to his intentions.

From the outset of the movie, in which we are shown Lawrence's funeral, we are told that the subject of this film is a man about whom little can be readily agreed upon. Several men at the funeral praise Lawrence; they call him a "great man," reciting phrases that sound as though they were memorized out of history books. Others are not so kind; they refer instead to his oddness and penchant for self-promotion. Still others admit to ambivalence; they never really knew Lawrence, they confess, even though they spent considerable amounts of time with him during the war.

Lean proceeds throughout the rest of the film to show us the character of Lawrence from many contradictory angles. He is both Arab and Englishman, idealist and fatalist, messiah and murderer. Lawrence, the film suggests, was a man who was defined by his lack of resolution. What's more, Lawrence himself recognized this; indeed, his struggle with his own duality was central to his very being. At the end of it all we the audience are in no better position from which to judge Lawrence than were the funeral-goers from the film's beginning. That Lawrence accomplished great things cannot be denied. But the man remains a mystery.

Of course, Lawrence of Arabia doesn't just examine the character of T.E. Lawrence; it also demonstrates how he affected (or failed to affect) the tribal Arab factions he attempted to unite. In doing so it asks us, What is the nature of a great man? How does he inspire himself and those around him, and to what end? Can one simply will a miracle, and if he does, will it be enough to support a revolution? Those who watch this movie will see that Lawrence did indeed will a miracle. But the end result of his efforts was perhaps not what he had originally hoped for.

No discussion of Lawrence of Arabia should be without a mention of Lean's artistry as a director; the film is overflowing with extraordinary images and larger than life action. Utilizing many long shots of tiny, ant-like figures transversing great stretches of sand, Lean makes us feel the vast, brutal power of the desert in a way that no other filmmaker ever has. Additionally, the score is memorable and epic enough to match its visual accompaniment, and the performances by the cast are for the most part outstanding. O'Toole in particular turns in one of the more unique performances in movie history, and every single word uttered by Alec Guinness' Prince Faisal is positively captivating.

If you can't tell, I admire this film a great deal, both for its qualities as an "epic" and its ability to somehow encapsulate a man who was perhaps beyond easy definition.

Seven Samurai (1954)

Required Viewing

[10/10 · 29 July 2001]

The archetypal action film, Seven Samurai is also one of the richest works to ever be committed to celluloid. Each of its characters is extraordinarily realized; each has his or her own arc, his or her own vital part to play in the film's slow progression towards its dramatic finale. Typically, Kurosawa has put the film together using an exceeding degree of artistry; each and every shot, each action sequence, is exquisitely composed; and yet none seems contrived or out-of-place within the overall fabric of the work. Everything is beautifully conceived and in focus, both literally and figuratively.

When watching Seven Samurai, movie lovers will immediately recognize that several of its key elements can be readily detected in countless similar films made during the last half-century. The audition scenes, in which several samurai are recruited for the difficult task of defending a farming town from a group of bandits, strikes a particularly familiar chord, as do those showing the samurai training the lowly villagers to fight and use weapons. Indeed, the theme of a highly experienced group of "tough guys" taking up the cause of the disenfranchised has become something of an action film cliche, portions of which echo throughout the American western, as well as its progeny (think The Dirty Dozen, The Road Warrior or even television's The A Team).

But what really stands out in Seven Samurai are its characters. They run the gamut, from elder teacher to hopeful youth, stoic warrior to undisciplined brigand. Kurosawa even finds room for a youthful romance, not to mention the mix of poor and beleaguered townspeople he depicts within the setting of the town. Perhaps its no wonder the enemy bandits are virtually faceless-- there is so much conflict and passion present within the group of protagonists, the villains need not be more than a vague threat.

Through it all Kurosawa never forgets who these people are and where they stand in comparison to one another. Obviously, the samurai are, for the most part, samurai, while the townspeople are merely peasants, lacking even in funds to pay their noble defenders. Kurosawa deftly illustrates these class differences by having one peasant fear horribly for the honor of his daughter, who he suspects will be lured by the wealth of the samurai; and also by giving us one samurai who is no samurai at all, but merely a peasant himself whose own farming village was in his youth destroyed by marauding warriors. The film thus wraps a a portrait of class conflict in a cloak of solidarity. The samurai unite to defend the poor peasants, but the ending is not exactly happy for them. Nor are the peasants completely honorable. We learn, for instance, that they have in the past murdered defeated samurai and looted their bodies, and it becomes apparent late in the film that their claims of poverty are perhaps not as truthful as at first seemed apparent.

So why do the samurai defend them so valiantly? For honor? For love of adventure? The answer to this question is left intentionally vague; it is up to each viewer to draw his or her own conclusions. It is to the film's credit that it forces such questions upon us while never allowing them to cause the motivations of its characters to seem untrue.

Modern viewers will find the action sequences of Seven Samurai to be restrained. There are, for instance, no "Gladiator" or "Braveheart" moments in which limbs are visibly hacked off, blood flies and speakers pound with booming audio. But the action is wonderfully filmed and there is some early use of slow motion to accentuate key moments. The 3 1/2 hour running time may also deter some, but I find the length to be one of the film's charms; it takes its dear sweet time in exposing its riches, and no single moment feels underdeveloped or awkward. Don't miss it.

10/10

Planet of the Apes (2001)

Yawn

[4/10 · 27 July 2001]

Yet another Hollywood attempt at cashing in on a proven franchise, Tim Burton's supposed "re-imagining" of the 1968 sci-fi classic Planet of the Apes is a dreadfully dull, meandering affair, which consistently fails to engage the viewer on any meaningful level. Sure, it tries to live up to the lofty social-political commentary of the original, but here there's nothing to back it up-- the plot is shallow, the dialogue lame and the characters are so underdeveloped we can hardly recall their names.

For example, near the end of the film, a human boy stands up to his ape oppressors in what I assume was meant to be a moving moment. But it has little impact because the character has never been properly introduced; the scene is the first in which he figures prominently. Similarly, two Ape generals square off at one point in what is clearly intended as a battle between two giants. But the set-up for their feud is so scant (the bland line of dialogue inserted earlier in the film) that the pay-off is virtually non-existent. They fight, one wins...whoopee.

Characters like these appear throughout the film. The lead female human seems to exist solely for her cleavage; Kris Kirstofferson appears as a human male who does almost nothing and who, like his counterparts mentioned above, engages in a Big Moment that fails to have any impact. It's hard to feel bad for human slaves who are this dull. As for the apes, they're so one-dimensional they're better described as types than as actual characters. Most notably, there's the evil general (played with wonderful vitriol by Tim Roth), who seems to simply hate all humans, period. His behavior is entirely one-note: he stomps about, growls and acts viciously at every opportunity, and almost always without sufficient motivation. As a villain he's about as interesting as Skeletor was in the old He-Man cartoon. Likewise, Helena Bonham Carter's character, an ape with a soft spot for humans, is little more than a caricature of good will.

Finally, the lead character, played by Mark Wahlberg, walks through the film in an apparent daze. Never does he seem amazed by this monkey planet he's landed on, nor does he appear distraught by the predicament in which he's found himself. Charlton Heston's lead character in the original POTA film may have been over-the-top in places, but he at least struck the right notes of paranoia, amazement and outrage. By comparison, Wahlberg seems drugged; and this is a problem because we're supposed to be seeing this world, at least in part, through his eyes. Recall the introductory portions of the original POTA, in which the team of wayward astronauts slowly makes their way into Ape territory. Their journey becomes stranger and stranger as they encounter human skins, a tribe of primitive humanoids, and finally the fully-clothed warrior apes. Never does this new film approach this level of horror and amazement. Instead, its protagonist runs through its world like a blip in a video game. And that's a shame.

On the good side, Rick Baker's makeup is, on the whole, extraordinary; Danny Elfman's score is rich and bombastic; and the physicality of the ape characters' performances are fun in that they are much more simian in nature than those featured in the 1968 original. But even fans of Tim Burton will have a hard time finding his personal stamp on this film.

And what of the surprise ending? It's there, and it's fun. But it feels tacked on and most viewers will probably figure it out a minute or so before it actually happens.

If you really want to enjoy this movie, go buy the action figures. That's the point, right?