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8/10
A movie with heart
29 November 2008
Warning: Spoilers
Aki Kaurismäki, like all true film auteurs, creates worlds. Not in the sci-fi fantasy sense — though, I am not excluding sci-fi, merely broadening the concept — but in the subjective sense. Like Jarmusch, Fassbinder and Lynch, you get a feeling while watching a Kaurismäki movie that you are watching something highly personal. And so it goes with his odd and amusing love story, I Hired a Contract Killer, about a man who wants to kill himself but reconsiders after falling in love.

Roll your eyes and say you've seen that kind of movie before, but with Kaurismäki at the helm you get something genuinely touching, without forced pathos, incidental-music, or faux-inspirational endings. Starring Jean-Pierre Léaud, the French nouvelle vague star of such movies as American Night and 400 blows, IHCK moves us from Kaurismäki's usual film location in Helsinki to London. Like the down-and-out squalor of Kaurismäki's working class neighborhoods in Helsinki, the London depicted here isn't the refined upper-class cosmopolis depicted in Woody Allen's latest movies, rather it's a drab, trash-strewn working class London full of thugs and hard-drinking wage slaves.

Jean-Pierre is plays Frenchman named Henri, who was spent the las 15 years of his life working for the same boring English company. Because of financial difficulties, his job has become redundant, and "foreigners" are the first ones to get the ax. Distraught — for his rote day job was the only thing that kept him from self-reflection — Henri decides to kill himself. He attempts to hang himself, fails when the rope snaps; so he tries to gas himself, but a gas strike that day leaves him without gas. The next day he reads an article about hit men operating in the city, and decides to hire a hit-man to do the job.

He finds a lowdown bar in the roughest part of London and ridiculously goes to the bar and orders a ginger ale, much to the derision of the roughnecks around him. He announces, in his strong French accent, that "where I come from, veee eeet people like you for breakfast". This seems to calm suspicions. He finally meets the underworld boss and hires a contract killer.

He spends the next hours anticipating his imminent death by constantly looking over his shoulder and providing clues for the hit-man to find him. One such clue is a note on his front door, indicating that he has gone out for a pint in the bar across the street. The very night that the hit-man is about to finish his job, he meets Margaret, a young women selling roses, and — in typically quirky Kaurismäki fashion — immediately falls in love. After barely evading the hit-man that night, he decides to call off the job. So he goes back to the bar from where he hired him, and, rather hilariously, it has burned down.

This is probably the most Hitchcockian Kaurismäki has ever gotten, but it's an amusing and suspenseful plot device. Henri and Margaret spend the rest of the movie one step ahead of the hit-man, moving from her small apartment to a hotel, and finally with Henri going on the lamb when he finds himself unfairly implicated in a neighborhood hold up. Much like the characters in Jarmush's Down by Law, Henri becomes an innocent man with just about everybody against him — and, like Jarmush, Kaurismäki manages to make all his characters endearing and subtly humorous. This great mashup of an absurd, Kafka-esquire world, nearly-Hitchcockian suspense, and gentle humor, make this a not just a gangster movie parody, or a run-of-the mill love story, but truly, a movie with heart.
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5/10
An important movie to see - but it does not live up to the hype
18 November 2008
Warning: Spoilers
The Long Good Friday, considered one of the best British gangster flicks, takes the classic story of hubristic downfall and sets it in late-seventies London. Bob Hoskins plays Harold Shand, a gangland kingpin trying to "go legit" by investing in some shorefront property which will one day host the Olympics. After a trip across the Atlantic to meet with his American gangster counterparts, he brings them back to East London where he hopes to convince them to invest with him in the shorefront property.

That's when things go wrong: his henchmen start dying and his local haunts get blown up, raising doubt in the Americans about the security of their potential investment. Harold Shand, in an interesting twist, turns from gangster to detective, and ruthlessly investigates all his known associates. Some unforgettable ultra-violence ensues, as he hangs his suspects on meat hooks, stabs his right-hand man in the throat with a broken Scotch bottle, and eventually discovers that it's all been a misunderstanding. But it's too late, and he's in over his head, against the law and against none other than the IRA. Drunk on power and a thirst for revenge, Harold Shand's arrogance finally proves to be his Achilles heel.

What's not to like about a gangster flick with a plot like this? It's also got a classic moll played by Helen Mirren, and a host of other actors who would later go on to become stars in their own right, most notably Pierce Brosnan in a non-speaking role as an IRA hit-man. But the problem with The Long Good Friday is that it completely lacks style.

You can fault modern gangster movies for gratuitous stylized flourishes – most notably Ritchie's overwrought attempts – but here you have a movie that is completely lacking in any style at all. The lighting, the camera-work, and most annoyingly, an atrocious eighties synthesizer soundtrack, seem like they came straight out of an uninspired television movie. What saves The Long Good Friday are two things: Bob Hoskins' excellent incarnation of a pugnacious and racist gangster boss, saving every scene he is in, no matter how blandly directed. The other thing that saves this movie has to do with a fortuitous premonition.

This was made at the very beginning of the eighties when Margaret Thatcher came into power, ushering in, along with Reagan, the philosophy of unfettered free market liberalism. Harold Shand repeatedly refers to his gang as "The Corporation", and it's easy to see him as one step removed from a ruthless CEO in a legitimate corporation. Add to this the specter of terrorism, and you have a movie which resonates with anybody witnessing the 21st century. This universal quality, and some stand-out scenes make this a must-see gangster movie; but, in terms of quality film-making, it is nowhere near the best of the genre.

Any gangster movie will inevitably be compared to classics like Mean Streets and The Godfather, two classics from early 70s American cinema. Or perhaps British contenders from around the same time like Get Carter (which has a great soundtrack, by the way). The Long Good Friday can't hold a blowtorch to any of these. Even in terms of trashy appeal, DePalma's Scarface trounces The Long Good Friday. I could go on for days trying to pinpoint the exact point at which trashiness becomes aesthetically appealing, but I wouldn't be able to prove anything. It's just an intuition I have, which doesn't really have any logic to back it up. I can just say that close to 30 years after this movie was made, it looks and feels dated — but it's still worth a watch, if not for Bob Hoskins' performance, than for what it portends.
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8/10
Reworking Spillane's Kiss Me Deadly
15 October 2008
Warning: Spoilers
**** This review compares Mickey Spillane's book and the movie *****

Kiss Me Deadly, the 1955 film version of Mickey Spillane's pulp classic, is one of those rare exceptions of a film adaption surpassing the original book. Mike Hammer, the protagonist, is a sleazy P.I. who specializes in divorce cases. This changes one night when he gives a ride to a hysterical woman with a deadly secret. Hammer and the woman are captured by some mysterious men, and, after getting tortured, they are put back in his car and rolled over a cliff. The woman dies in a ball of flame and Hammer miraculously survives. Similar to Spillane's other novels, this violent episode serves as the catalyst to a relentless story of revenge.

The difference, though, between the movie and the book, lies in the secret that the woman holds. This important difference is the reason why Spillane's book is merely entertaining, while the film version of it is a trenchant critique on 1950s America. (Don't worry, Hammer's knuckle sandwiches and nymphomaniac girlfriends are still in practically every scene).

Spillane's Mike Hammer stories are fueled by relentless pacing, over-the-top dialog, and raw, sadistic violence. Although they have a sordid appeal, it's hard to take them seriously because most of the time his written pyrotechnics seem like a ruse to get a rise out of the reader - and nothing much beyond that. Spillane's books are visceral and entertaining, but they lack profoundness. A writer like Dashiell Hammet, for example, was able to do both, in books like Red Harvest, which is about a private detective taking on an entire town of corrupt politicos and businessmen. He was a writer who could entertain you and make you think.

Before I get into it, it would be helpful to mention a little film trivia which I gleaned off of IMDb and Wikipedia after watching the movie. For one, the movie was named by the Kefauver Commission, a federal unit investigating corrupting influences, as 1955's most corrupting influence on American youth. This came out at the height of cold war hysteria, when McCarthy was leading the nation on a witch hunt for commie pinkos collaborating with the evil Soviet empire. Also interesting, is that the movie was adapted for the screen by A. I. Bezzerides, a writer with purported leftist sympathies. Supposedly Spillane ran into Bezzerides in a restaurant around the time of the movie's release, and the two had an immediate dislike for each other - mainly because Spillane didn't like what was done with his book. It is also said that Bezzerides hated Spillane's book and rushed through the adaptation because he "had contempt for it". You'd think that two such clashing personalities would be a formula for disaster, but strangely Kiss Me Deadly the movie takes the best comic overtones of Spillane's work, and adds that "something" extra which makes it a film noir classic.

The movie, directed by Robert Aldrich, left in the sadistic, womanizing Mike Hammer, and took out the clichéd mafia conspiracy at the heart of the book version of Kiss Me Deadly. In Spillane's book the investigation eventually centers on a missing narcotics shipment, but, in Bezzerides' screenplay, the narcotics shipment becomes contraband radionuclide - a glowing Pandora's box that when opened unleashes atomic hell fires.

Bezzerides may not have been intentionally injecting "leftist" interpretations into the script, but he was a witness to the times, and anyone working in Hollywood surely was affected by McCarthyism and the threat of nuclear annihilation. What happens in Kiss Me Deadly is interesting because Bezzerides turned it from a cartoonish detective story into a topical story that captured the paranoid atmosphere of the times. Mike Hammer is still hilariously macho, but the essence of the story now centers on a mysterious box containing atomic destruction.

What's more striking than that is the movie's climax. True to Spillane's "go out on a bang" formula, the movie ends with the atomic box being opened, an exploding house, and Hammer limping away with radiation burns and a bullet lodged in his gut. The movie ends on this climactic note, but it's obvious that this is one scrape Hammer won't survive. When reading about the making of this film, I couldn't help but think this was a subconscious change ideated by Bezzerides, to kill off Mike Hammer. Hammer is an egotistical bully whose modus operandi is blind rage, revenge, and the hope of a big "pay off". His fiery demise is his nemesis. Spillane for obvious reasons, would never have done that.

If I have any gripe with this film noir classic, it would be that Hammer could have been more loyal to Spillane's vision. For one, Spillane's Mike Hammer is an unabashed "bedroom dick", a sleazy P.I. who makes a living doing divorce cases in which he gets his girlfriend to seduce wayward husbands. He's supposed to drive a "heap", not a hot rod like in the movie, and he certainly doesn't have all the latest modern accoutrements in his apartment - like the new-fangled answering machine which is highlighted a couple of times in the movie. The book also has Hammer in his native New York, but the movie takes place in Los Angeles. However, these are just a minor complaints, because, much more importantly, Hammer's insanely sadistic side is perfectly evoked, and the stark black and white of the movie make it suitably noir. Robert Aldrich's direction and Ernest Laszlo's great cinematography perfectly render the shadowy American underbelly of the 1950s.

By taking Spillane's run-of-the-mill story and adding the element of atomic hysteria, Bezzerides and Aldrich turned this into a film with a deeper message. Mike Hammer is still a sleazy detective, he is still an entertaining anti-hero, but he can now be seen as a symbol for man's insatiable curiosity and greed, whose blind fury ultimately unleashes unknown powers on the world.
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99 Francs (2007)
5/10
Preaching to the choir & looking really cool while doing it
21 August 2008
Warning: Spoilers
99 Francs is French filmmaker Jan Kounen's critique of consumer culture, based on the book of the same title by Frédéric Beigbeder. After 1 hour and 40 minutes of slick film-making, replete with ironic references to famous ad campaigns, beautiful people and lots of sex and drugs and rock & roll, the movie ends with a meek call to action stating that with a mere fraction of the money spent on advertising each year, we could put an end to world hunger. This astonishingly lame ending undermines any value the movie might have had.

I suppose the altruistic blurb at the end of the movie is the kind of palliative the filmmakers needed to include in order to convince themselves that their movie has a higher moral purpose. The question is, why do they even bother? In reality, it is just a story about a narcissistic, self-loathing fashion victim who sees the error of his ways. The great irony, of course, is that had they spent all their time and money on charitable projects instead of making this movie, they could have contributed much more to ending world hunger.

Himself an ex-creative adviser for an ad agency, Beigbeder wrote 99 Francs under the encouragement of another famous French author, Michel Houellebecq. Octavo, the main character, hoovers cocaine in rails forming the numbers 666, pops whatever pills he can get his hands on, screws hookers, drives under the influence, and , in his spare time, works for France's most powerful ad agency as a creative adviser. After a drug-fueled escapade in which several people might have been hurt, he decides to redeem himself. The movie offers two endings - one happy, one sad - and they both have him renouncing his consumerist lifestyle: one treats him as a Christ-like martyr, the other has him living out a Rousseauian back-to-nature fantasy on an island. Grade school stuff, I know, but not so awful as it sounds.

In the adept hands of Jan Kounen, the movie is visually-engaging, rhythmic, and yes, entertaining. The problem is the story. Just like the book, the overall feeling is one of disingenuousness. Remember the scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden goes on about the superficiality of our consumer lifestyle? "You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your f***ing khakis." Somehow, a hot-$hit guy dressed in fashionable clothes isn't the most convincing of anti-consumerism preachers. That's kind of what happens in 99 Francs.

Even with the main character's redemption, 99 Francs gives the impression that it is more intent on looking cool than trying to open people's eyes to the evils of consumerism. Basically, Jan Kounen and Frédéric Beigbeder deliver us the cinematic equivalent of putting a "Stop Global Warming" bumper sticker on a gas-guzzling Hummer.
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