Quickies, Vol. XXIII: In which Tony Curtis goes downhill

Sex and the Single Girl (dir. Richard Quine, 1964) – A Tony Curtis marathon was obviously in order, following the old fella’s death recently at the ripe old age of 85. (Held off on Some Like It Hot for now on account of a relatively recent viewing.) This one is, well, very sexy indeed. One must try not to think of Natalie Wood as the cute little girl from Miracle on 34th Street during this one, at the risk of feeling quite awkward indeed. They call this “the poor man’s Pillow Talk,” but I don’t see what’s so “poor” about it. Quite funny, quite amusing, albeit completely formulaic. These films rely on gender tropes, and also on undermining them just enough to entertain/surprise the audience. Thank you, Netflix Instant.

The Amorous Mis-Adventures of Casanova, or, Casanova & Co., or, Some Like It Cool (dir. Franz Antel, 1979) – Must admit to turning this off after only 20 minutes or so. Even worse, must admit to watching the first 20 minutes or so. Thus ends the Tony Curtis marathon, with an unfortunately abrupt conclusion at Curtis’ softcore stint in the late 70s. This one is so bad from so many different vantage points. The male fantasy here gets to have a complete heyday without an ounce of brains stitching together disconnected, pornographic scenes. Thank you, Netflix Instant.

The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret (created by Shaun Pye & David Cross, 2010) – In a word, wow. In a few more, this pilot starts off about as great as a pilot can start out: love the courtroom scene followed by “14 days earlier” (or whatever). No one could play the clueless American as well as David Cross, who has made part of his living out of dissing the Larry-the-Cable-Guy-type American persona. Will Arnett’s character is Devon Banks (3o Rock) on crack. Some of this humor is distinctly “British” and not “American” (quotations tossed out there as an acknowledgment to problems with essentialism); the restaurant scene in particular just didn’t seem to end. Be reminded of this (and Monty Python) whenever we’re told that American humor is slapstick and British humor sophisticated.

The Man Who Knew Too Much (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1934) – It’s not an easy job to engage with these older British films, especially when the picture is so dark. Clearly, though, this is Hitchcock. Lots of little tools and frills are thrown out there for story cohesion, stylistic flare, and, of course, good old-fashioned suspense. The penultimate scene in a crowded theater is now so signature that you would know something’s about to happen there even without being told. Also, you have to appreciate the bookends of the mother firing a shotgun both for and in spite of her daughter. Will need to revisit the remake.

Jenifer: Stage 4 Clinger, or, Psycho Hose Beast

Echoes of Frankenstein's monster

The popularity of contemporary horror is such that even “Masters of Horror” like Italian director Dario Argento are hired to do episodes in low-budget TV series of that name. Horror, as a sub-section of film theory in general, is well established in all of its tropes and themes to the point of being old hat. One of the more helpful recent studies on horror is Linda Williams’ attempt to situate the genre within a three-category grouping she terms “the body genres.” Along with melodrama and pornography, Williams argues that these three film genres aim to achieve a distinctly physical reaction in its viewers. Melodrama is the “tear-jerker,” horror is the “fear-jerker,” and pornography is the “j***-off.” For a film in one of these genres to be successful, it ought as a rule to provoke sorrow/happiness, fright, and arousal, respectively. Horror makes particular use of diegetic bodies (bodies within the films) in its attempts to effect fear in the viewer’s body. The episode “Jenifer” evokes this along with the now-classical horror trope of the monstrous feminine.

Domestic disturbance

Typically in horror, a display of desire or sexuality – especially on the part of a woman but also applicable to men – is the immediate precursor to death in the film’s narrative. Once you see someone about to get it on, you know someone is about to meet his/her end. Insofar as films in general presuppose a male spectator (Mulvey, again), horror utilizes viewer engagement to exploit repressed male fears of women (i.e., the castrated other), whether it be the monstrous feminine, the Medusa figure, the V-dentata, or whatever. “Jenifer” takes this fear and maximizes it by conflating the dreaded effects of desiring the woman into the monstrous feminine body and hinting strongly at the V-dentata. The V-dentata theory from ages past is evident first of all in Jenifer’s face and second in the literal castration that she enacts upon one of her male victims. The males in this episode irresistibly desire Jenifer, though they are at the same time also terrified of her and repelled by her. In this way, what Jenifer arguably represents more than the horrific, monstrous feminine is the even more horrific male desire for the feminine. Even fully aware of the imminent fate she will inflict upon the man, he cannot get away from her and indeed doesn’t try to do so. Freud argued that castration anxiety encouraged male fears of women, fears that men negotiate by either objectifying women or idealizing them; two sides of the same coin. The fact that the male protagonist in “Jenifer” is a police officer (an authority figure of the “law,” a key concept in Freud) all the more solidifies his castration anxiety. As one who wields weapons in law enforcement, he maintains patriarchal boundaries that define social order. His inability to maintain personal order leads directly to his failure as a cop and eventual fate at the hands of his own desire, viz. Jenifer.

The monstrous other

Other types of films make attempts to collapse the distance between the spectator and the screen, essentially either fooling the audience or persuading the audience that the film is dealing with real enough concerns that warrant entrance into its world. A recent look at Bresson’s film Au hasard Balthazar is arguably one of these films, one that many argue is reaching for transcendental themes that usurp the distinction between the viewer and the viewed, the subject and the object, and invite the viewer into its world, which is also the real world. By its attempt to “transcend” the “real” world even by using it as a springboard into a realm of meta-ideas, such a film as Bresson’s may also aim to transcend such bodily reactions as a horror film/episode like “Jenifer” wants to elicit. It is most likely exactly this dependence on bodily reactions that keep these body genres alive and well. As stated above, horror theory is well established to the extent that there seems in some ways little else to investigate other than contemporary illustrations of classical theory. The genre’s continued popularity is manifest (like the other two genres) in the numerous low-budget films and serial programs, not to mention amateur internet material, that are being produced constantly. It seems to be the bodily addiction to these genres that maintain their popularity above the non-body genres.

Quickies, Vol. XIX

Bonnie and Clyde (dir. Arthur Penn, 1967) – It’s got New Hollywood written all over it, and it’s affected so much that’s come after it. Still, it contains plenty of echoes to all that is old and non-Hollywood, like Battleship Potemkin, e.g. Hard not to think of Eisenstein’s peasant woman on the steps getting shot at in the glasses like so many good and bad guys in this film, through glasses or glass. So different, though: not about morality, justice, and nation, but rather about escape, lawlessness, and fate. Bonnie’s opening sequence shows her about to be born again, in the womb and beckoned outside of it by her anti-savior.

It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (created by Rob McElhenney, 2006/2007) – Seen just a few (maybe five?) episodes now from seasons 2 and 3, and it’s quite in-your-face. Plays like a cartoon in that characters are consistently teetering into death without caring or realizing it. Teeth are pulled out with reckless abandon and what is shot somewhat like a mockumentary is, in its diegetic world, quite abject. So what seems at first like pure idiocy stretching beyond the characters into the writing actually isn’t. It’s written coherently and cleverly, its content is often disgusting albeit oblivious of itself, and the jury is still out as to whether its shock value is outweighed by something both novel and substantial.

Archer (created by Adam Reed, 2010) – Saw the first two episodes of this one (eight more to go and then all caught up). Adult animation super-spy spoof stuff, we have here something witty and fast-paced, all about timing and circular/repetitious themes and punchlines. As my guy on the inside tells me, it’s got something Arrested Development to it, and not just Jessica Walter, Judy Greer, and Jeffrey Tambor. Genuinely funny stuff, it seems to fit in great with a relatively new wave of television that includes the aforementioned and prematurely canceled masterpiece, Curb Your Enthusiasm, It’s Always Sunny, and almost-but-not-quite Modern Family. These are edgier fare that demand fuller attention than your laugh-track driven drivel that’s easy to watch without actually watching it.

It’s Complicated (dir. Nancy Meyers, 2009) – Am probably one of the many/few who noticed the cast, saw some promise, then saw the trailer and the director’s name. It can at least be said for Meyers that she’s been giving some attention to the silenced voice of the middle-aged woman…sort of. She makes movies for women and about woman that seem to entertain a lot of women, but that also get women to accuse her of betraying her race. You don’t find a lot of unlikeable men in her films, at least in terms of the film’s point of view. The ladies, on the other hand, range from the b-word to the girl-next-door in the body of the girl-next-door’s mom. Things in this universe look too perfect, too polished, and have no reference to reality. You don’t run a bakery of that caliber and have nothing but time and money for additions to your Santa Barbara, Martha Stewart-style chateau. Actors are clearly stifled here (Steve Martin) like they were in Meyer’s earlier The Holiday (Jack Black). This is an unimportant point, but whatev. This one exists for Meryl Streep looking lovely, Alec Baldwin being a charming cad, and John Krasinski being funny.

Cranford: Girl Power, Old School

You're not in London. You're in Cranford, now.

"Then SHE said..."

Supple

Noble

Episode 1: Is this perfect for what it is? Probably. Leave it to the BBC, Judi Densch, and a bunch of actresses (and some actors) recognizable for their roles in Jane Austen adaptations, Miss Marple, and the James Bond franchise to crank out this fantastic miniseries based on some late 19th century novellas. Finally, feminism doesn’t look like revisionist history, rather working in and through the period in which it’s based to weave a believable, clever, and enjoyable narrative about the lives of reigning women in a small but very serious town in 1840s England. Episode 1 makes it clear from the outset that Cranford is a town unlike any other, and it knows it. The women are in charge, and they aim to keep it that way. Their attitude isn’t so much different from that generally depicted in pieces like this but just amplified. Does anyone really get the sense that the wise women in these Victorian-era books, films, and miniseries don’t believe themselves to be superior to men? Cranford is different chiefly in having its women come right out and say so. And in fairness to them, they’re right about it in at least the sense in which they mean it. Here we also have an unusual acknowledgment of things taboo and bodily, both in terms of the sensual and the…gross. When the Jenkyns women receive a gift of oranges – a wonderful and rare treat – they discuss the various ways of eating them. Deborah is disgusted by the implications inherent in “sucking” the juice from a hole in the rind. Knowing that Matilda and Mary will do so regardless of her convictions, she suggests that they retire to their rooms where they can enjoy their fruit “in private.” The gross element comes into play when a cat inadvertently swallows an expensive piece of lace and the women are compelled to expedite its digestion and then fetch it; plenty of details here, both aural and visual. The most powerful and meaningful moment in the episode occurs when Deborah shirks tradition and rules of etiquette by accompanying Jesse Brown to the funeral for the Brown daughter. Even in Cranford, rules are rules, but only in Cranford, apparently, they’re meant to be broken for the higher good.

Ol' Bessy

Imbalanced

Episode 2 begins the mid-series tragedies with the death of the Hutton boy and Deborah, following the revelation that a railway is being built that will run through Cranford and forever scar not only the land but the town itself. Add a declined proposal and deception from a “friend” and you have a very disappointed Cranford indeed. The role of the doctor – the new one in particular – becomes of paramount importance, and the direction of the episode plays with viewer expectation through this fact. There’s a collapse, a doctor is called for, and he enters a separate house with a separate tragedy. The series always keeps enough of a balance, albeit uneven, with the jovial. In this case Mrs. Forrester’s beloved cow is rescued from a ditch and cared for as only the sweet widow could do. In an episode filled with human tragedy, the series makes it clear that its characters aren’t above extending proper care and affection even toward their beasts.

Pupil-master

Eyes on the ball

Delayed

The true spirit of the town starts coming into full blossom in Episode 3, however, when the thread involving Mr. Carter and Harry develops further. It is here that Cranford as a series starts making its powerful statement regarding poverty and wealth. Mr. Carter insists on offering an otherwise ill-situated young boy an education in order to lift him out of a life of misery and show him what it is to give of oneself. Even the rich and calloused Lady Ludlow is not immune to the gesture, doing her part to rescue Harry’s dad from jail (“gaol,” I suppose). This mini-narrative within the series reminds one of the young doctor Yasumoto and the titular doctor in Kurosawa’s film Red Beard. Both stories surely would not be what they are without the writings of Dostoevsky, who drew attention to human destitution but never without making a firm moral statement. Did anyone do better to insist on ethics no matter what the circumstances? It must be admitted that Alexander Solzhenitsyn followed suit well (what is it with those Russians?), and the lessons Mr. Carter teachers Harry about poaching versus learning and sacrificing speaks powerfully. This episode is not without the visible consequences of town gossip, however, and those consequences have indirect bearing even on the Mr. Carter and Harry story. Separate from that, though, the presence of the (relatively) handsome Dr. Harrison spurs gossip and visions of love from more than one woman – three, to be precise, and each representing the three phases of womanhood, incidentally. His naivete is here at fault even more than the imaginations of the women. More than any kind of fault, though, the episode illustrates just how much of a woman’s world is the town of Cranford, and how no amount of preparation can amply prepare a man for it.

Being watched

Wild oats

Cold

Taken aback

His standard countenance

Episode 4 is that in which the consequences of gossip and mistaken affections play out fully. Another downer in many ways, it’s Mary Smith’s time to shine. Her power through the written word reveals that she is a true Cranford woman, one who will carry on the tradition of the Jeknyns sisters as a moral authority who is unafraid to call out anyone (including a man) who has erred and to put herself on the line for the sake of others. Though Dr. Harris’ foolish optometrist friend clearly fancies Mary, the implication is that she’s too tied down by self-imposed responsibilities to indulge in love; or at least not with a joker like this guy. Matty’s financial woes through the bank failure offers another commentary on economics that is no less relevant today. Secure for years through an inheritance, the errors of others have now compromised Matty’s status and put her future in jeopardy.

Friend

Have some tea?

Will

If Episode 5 doesn’t make you want to be a better person, you have no soul. Loose ends are tied up with remarkable precision and apparent foresight – no less than that of Arrested Development, as odd as it is to mention that show in reference to this one. So much goodness comes out of each character here that one cannot but want to risk the dangers of living in such a time in order to be surrounded by such people of praiseworthy character. The gesture of Matty’s friends on her behalf is simple but couldn’t be more beautiful. The character of Mr. Carter becomes a true Christ figure, even closing the gap that had previously separated the poor and the rich. The effect of his example on both sides is permanent and unmistakable. Then there are the other romances that work out and reunions that finally happen, sort of side orders in a feast of happy completion; although apparently there’s a sequel half-recorded on our DVR. It seems doubtful it could reach the heights of this original. This series is very suited to its medium, a series. It’s lifelike, cyclical, ongoing. Death is no stranger to this world, but neither is new life. Change is confirmed to be the most difficult thing for any human to experience as well as the most exciting. Perhaps above all, Cranford shows that every single event, whether good or bad, is merely an opportunity for human action, whether good or bad. To blame the events of life upon the events themselves is irresponsibility of the worst sort. Behind every effect is a cause, and in front of every effect is a fork in the road. Since it would be too cheesy to say here that “all roads lead back to Cranford,” let’s just say it’s a great show and people should watch it more than once.

Doubly restored

Eulogy

Return

Cold roast beef

Shaken constitution

Clip of the Day 12/16/09

Courtesy of here.

Quickies, Vol. IV

The Round-Up (dir. Miklós Jancsó): Diagonal shot movements, a bare background, moral mind games. The prison camp is an island in a world of nothingness housing antichrists, men who turn one another in for being worse than they. Stylistically, this is the love child of Antonioni, Bergman, Teshigahara, and Tarkovsky, but it remains more than the sum of its parts. Evil begets evil, which becomes amoral perversion.

WR: Mysteries of the Organism (dir. Dušan Makavejev): Combine documentary with fiction, sex with politics, idealism with realism, and this is what you get. Obviously hugely influential with its “how” if not its “what.” On the other hand, would it have been at all without I Am Curious: Yellow? Its dénouement elevates its theme through finally offering some kind of punctuation, even if it is an unexpected yet retrospectively predictable bold-italic-underline exclamation point.

The Sopranos (Season 1, Episodes 1 &2): Already excellent, without having seen anything else in the series. Shows that Coppola and Scorsese worked well for their time, but now we shouldn’t take things so seriously. Move over olive oil, this is a trash business. The humor of Goodfellas is taken up a notch and matched with the mood of The Godfather. Doesn’t the opening shot say it all: frozen below and entranced by a rock-solid image of woman, feeling himself dwarfed and clip-clipped before who but a female psychiatrist enters and quickly persuades him to cry about ducks.

Pic of the Day

Au revoir, 4th wall