Week 24; Film 181 - Rebel Without a Cause [1955]

We’re introduced to three troubled teenagers at a juvenile police station. There’s Plato, a young teen effectively abandoned by his parents and showing (frankly psychopathic) disturbed tendencies. Judy yearns for attention and affection from her father, who thinks she’s too old for that and acts disgusted by her attempts to be seen. And then there’s Jim Stark who can’t stand his bickering parents, his timid father, and is tortured by their instinct to pick up and move every time Jim gets into trouble. The next day—the first day of school—Jim starts to get picked on. He tries extremely hard to avoid trouble but ends up in a knife fight. He is injured in the scuffle but wins the fight, and accepts a follow-up challenge to race a “Chickie Run”. When things go south at the Chickie Run, Jim becomes desperate for moral guidance, responsibility, and safety—none of which he gets from his parents or the local police. He flees with Judy and Plato and the three form something of a family, with each filling a void left by their parents. Things are wonderful until violent teens and incompetent adults crash into their world.

I have been on record saying that I don’t like “teen” movies, but there was something really alluring about this one. I think the ‘55 Los Angeles backdrop played a big role in that. The film also does a really good job of selling our main characters’ woes. This isn’t a “will he/she like me; nobody understands me” teenage drama—our characters face real struggles with their parents. Navigating the transition from childhood to adulthood is hard and in the absence of guidance, pitfalls abound. Especially in the ‘50s, which the film depicts as containing some real awful, physical and emotional bullying. James Dean and Natalie Wood were charming, although some of the dialogue was clunky, dull, or aged poorly (more on that, below). And the cinematography was particularly brilliant. I grabbed onto a few standout shots, like Jim treading on the school insignia, the start of the Chickie Run, Jim sitting on the couch upside down and the fight with his parents—all shot in color and stunning CinemaScope (for some reason, I always assumed this was a black and white film).

One of the things I love about this “film project” is I get to learn all of the ways that the films I love (and assume were original) were influenced by earlier films—warts and all. And in that vein, there is an unquestionable dotted line between this film and the ‘50s scenes in Back to the Future 1 & 2. In addition to the production design and setting, each share a thematic thru-line of a kid who is ashamed of his timid father. Not wanting to be associated with this weakness, each character wont stand down from a fight—especially when it’s suggested that they are “chicken”. Whether interpreted as basic pride and defense-of-honor, or as toxic masculinity, Jim and Marty McFly share this trait. But whereas Marty gets to “teach” his father to be brave, Jim is stuck in the same timeline and just berates his dad. At one point, Jim even suggests that the best thing for his family would be for his father to beat his assertive mom, just once, to shut her up and reestablish a man at the head of the house. Though pivotal to Jim’s arc (he ultimately moves past yearning for a ‘manly’ role model by asserting himself as “the man”), some of these scenes have aged really poorly. Heavy, man.

Week 23; Film 180 - Stagecoach [1939]

A group of nine strangers ride aboard a stagecoach on their way to Lordsburg, New Mexico. The passengers come from different parts of the U.S., different classes, and they each have competing desires and expectations of their destination. For example, Ringo Kid (John Wayne) has busted out of prison to exact revenge for the murder of his father and brother, while alcoholic Doc Boone and prostitute Dallas have been driven from the Arizona Territory by local morality snobs. In addition to competing personalities, the whole expedition is made more tense by the knowledge that Geronimo and the Apaches are raiding settlements, and the stagecoach loses its cavalry protection half-way there. Additionally, stuck-up wife of an officer Louise Platt grows increasingly less-well and fatigued, burdening their journey but leading to a surprise twist that ratchets up the stakes. The film concludes with a roaring chase and fight with the Apaches, as well as a more subdued and tense face-off in Lordsburg.

There was a lot that I surprisingly enjoyed about “Stagecoach”. The Monument Valley setting was beautiful, expanse, and cliche (but this film is what started the cliche, so I give it a pass!). The whole “strangers in a claustrophobic and uncomfortable stagecoach setting” felt like an earlier, less philosophical but equally conflicted version of “12 Angry Men”. I thought this was one of John Wayne’s better performances (he’s pretty young, so he’s not yet playing a caricature of himself). I loved how the romance between Ringo and Dallas blossomed. This wasn’t storybook romance—it was two individuals in pain showing kindness to one another and cultivating affection and a real sexual-energy that buzzed in a small stagecoach with other strangers. It was kinda weird, but I loved it. Finally, the stagecoach chase-“Indian attack” sequence is actually a brilliant piece of action cinema. The whole sequence was beautifully shot, with dramatic stunts, clear stakes, and a “woo-hoo” hero moment...

Which means I gotta talk about the “cowboys and Indians” part of this film. The depiction of Native Americans was predictably shallow, unfair, and racist. The Apaches are given no background or motivation—they simply serve as the cartoonish, indefensible antagonist, like Klingons. In fact, outside of the battle, they actually have no screen time. I think this is intentional. I think the film isn’t “about” the conflict with “Indians”, but between Americans. The passengers on the stagecoach represented Americans across a wide array of experiences—rich, poor, Union, Confederate, family-oriented, untethered, law-enforcing, criminal, and more. To me, the film was less “cowboys and Indians” and more a general tale of disparate Americans coming together to survive a growing threat, recover from past traumas, and shepherd new hope into the world. Perhaps it’s another white-washed, post-Civil War, chest-beatingly patriotic tale divorced from historic reality. Or perhaps it was wild west-era allegory to serve as a warning for the new, global threats facing Americans in 1939. Whether the film’s morality has aged well or not, I believe John Ford’s storytelling techniques absolutely succeed in delivering his point in a dramatic and sort-of entertaining fashion.

Week 22; Film 179 - Contempt [1963]

Following a 1964 film that I criticized for being shallow, comes a 1963 French film that is philosophically dense and offers a hardly enjoyable story.

“Contempt” is two stories in one. It’s a film about Paul, a writer, and his attractive wife Camille, and how their marriage falls apart in spiral of suspicion, mistrust, and well—contempt. Paul, who normally writes crime books and plays, is hired to re-write/punch up scenes for a Fritz Lang adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey. The film is being financed by American producer Jeremy Prokosh, who hates Lang’s high-brow interpretation of the story. Paul would love the opportunity to work on the film and seemingly uses Camille as a bargaining chip for the gig (he leaves her alone with Jeremy for great periods of time). Camille resents him for this but begrudgingly indulges in her role as a chess piece (to her mortal detriment). Meanwhile, the “other story” is a meta commentary on the purity of filmmaking, the manipulative, “fascist”-nature of money, and the American commercialization of the art form.

There are a few things I found fascinating about this film. The vistas, scenery, and camera work were sublime. It was wonderful how the relationship-story’s parallel to the Odyssey was accentuated by the filming locations for the in-film Odyssey. Two, the film’s comfortable relationship with nudity was curious to me. I’m not a prude at all, but to watch a film where the bombshell leading actress spends half of her scenes being casually naked was just new to me. The film has a lot of sexual energy and iconography that the nudity stands apart from, and I couldn’t decide if it was empowering or objectifying. Maybe neither. Maybe both. Maybe that’s not for me to decide. Finally, having Fritz Lang star in this film as himself was really unique. That would be like casting Steven Spielberg in Netflix’s “Marriage Story”, and having him play himself, direct an in-film movie, and offer up high-minded, philosophical musings on the nature of film while serving as witness to the dissolution of a relationship. Fascinating.

Ultimately, I didn’t enjoy the film though. I don’t think I was supposed to—watching a marriage fall apart isn’t necessarily a fun romp. But I found the “love story” part of the film unrealistic or poorly aged. From using your wife as a chess-piece to get a job, to slapping her for acting miffed, to pinching the ass of an assistant, Paul’s actions were foreign to me. And yet, Camille’s reaction to it—to quietly seethe and get closer to Jeremy, who she despises—was childish and petty. It’s just not how I would expect this to play out in a modern relationship. And while I loved Lang’s literary musings on film and creation, philosophy isn’t story. Perhaps if I was better acquainted with “the classics” (I have never read Odyssey), some of the metaphors and connective tissue would have stood out to me better. Maybe I’m just a stupid American. Or maybe, next to “Viva Las Vegas”, a philosophical French film with a bunch of nudity felt high-brow and artsy at the time, but doesn’t particularly age well.

Week 21; Film 178 - Viva Las Vegas [1964]

Lucky Jackson, a musically-talented race car driver—yes, it’s that kind of movie—is racing in the Las Vegas Grand Prix. He befriends his rival, Italian racer Count Elmo Mancini, and the two spend a night zipping around Vegas strip clubs looking for a blonde-haired woman named Rusty, who they met earlier that day. The next day, Lucky meets Rusty at the hotel pool and she rebuffs his advances. He gets knocked into the pool and loses the money he saved for a new engine. Rusty has to work at the hotel to pay off his bill and re-save for the engine, using every opportunity to get in the way of Rusty and Elmo’s flirtations. He also enters in the hotel’s employee talent show, giving him the chance to sing the film’s titular song. In the end, Lucky gets the money, gets the girl, and wins the race—because, of course he does—it’s just that kind of movie.

“Viva Las Vegas” is an Elvis Presley musical, regarded by many as one of his best films. The film has the music, color, and polish of early-Disneyland with the sex appeal, innuendo, and action of a James Bond flick. It’s fun, it’s sexy, it’s stupid, and it’s dessert. To quote one review: “[the film] is about as pleasant and unimportant as a banana split.” I agree. Elvis is charming, carefree, and unchanging. In fact, the only character to undergo any sort of “growth” is Ann-Margret’s Rusty, who has to learn to accept and share Lucky with his “other woman”—the sport of racing. The musical numbers were “meh” to me (most used a stage-performance framing device to avoid having to come up with a fun, in-world dance sequence). The titular “Viva Las Vegas” was my favorite song and gets played 3 times to really hammer it home. The film’s climactic race scene is a master-class in how NOT to shoot a race. It had no sense of geography or tension (I could never tell where Rusty was in the standings) and had no consequences (Elmo gets obliterated and is then just—fine). The film ends as quickly as it started, feeling more like a pretty music video than a meaningful story.

The film hits this really unique spot where, I didn’t actually think it was a good movie, but if I caught it on TV, I’d probably stop and finish it again.

Week 20; Film 177 - Touch of Evil [1958]

Miguel Vargas, a Mexican narcotics detective, is on his honeymoon with wife Susie in a Mexican-American border town when a car-bomb goes off. Though on the U.S. side, Vargas takes interest in the investigation and meets American Hank Quinlan, a steely, experienced detective in charge of the case. Rather quickly, Quinlan places blame on a young Mexican man related to the car-bomb’s victim, but Vargas isn’t convinced. He starts investigating the case himself and finds evidence of foul play. Meanwhile, “Uncle” Joe Grandi, the brother of a man Vargas has indicted back in Mexico, has Susie Vargas captured. Grandi, along with sympathetic Americans, plan to frame and discredit the Miguel Vargas—leading to a tense race to be the first to crack the case.

Though I’ve made it clear time and again that I do not generally like film noir, there were elements of this flick I enjoyed. It was less moody and moved better than other film noirs I’ve seen. I think the change of location to an untrustworthy border town added to the film’s relative freshness. And making Vargas’s “good cop” position extra challenging by making him entirely an outsider, but one with political influence, was a genius tight-rope walk. The camera work in this film is excellent. First is the film’s famous opening scene, a one-shot that follows a stealthy bomb that *we* know is there (with tension accentuated by Henri Mancini’s ticking score). There was a brilliant claustrophobia of making our opposing characters share a frame with each other that I appreciated.

But I still didn’t *love* the film. Orson Welles' fat Quinlan and Joe Grandi were both a bit cartoonish. And Charlton Heston—who I’m pretty sure was wearing brown-face—made for an unconvincing and uncomfortable Mexican man. The film played with tension well, but didn’t match my preferences. Perhaps a modern day remake? I don’t normally advocate for that, but I think this story has merit and could benefit from an updating.

Week 19; Film 176 - Bad Boys [1995]

The Miami PD has $100 million of seized-heroin get stolen from their evidence locker in an expert heist. Narcotics detectives Marcus Burnett (a family-man who can’t get any from his paranoid wife) and Mike Lowrey (a wealthy bachelor? orphan?—like a black Batman, without the gadgets?), are tasked with finding the culprit. Max, a police informant and Mike’s ex-girlfriend, takes the investigation into her own hands and is shot by the Mafia. Her friend Julie witnesses the murder and narrowly escapes capture. Julie calls the police department but refuses to talk to anyone but Mike Lowrey. However, Mike is absent, so Marcus pretends to be him and takes Julie into his protection. Hilarity ensues as Mike and Marcus pretend to be each other and deal with Julie’s high-maintenance needs, all while trying to re-secure the largest drug bust of their careers. Oh, and there will be explosions. Lots of them. With fire.

I went into this flick excited for a Will Smith movie produced by Jerry Bruckheimer. But what I somehow missed was that the film was directed by Michael Bay—whoops! His directorial debut, too. Will Smith and Martin Lawrence are actually fun and working hard with what little they have. I think I wanted more from each of their characters. Why was Mike rich, alone, and why does he push himself so hard? Why can Marcus not talk to his wife? I know this film is a silly action flick that doesn’t ask for the benefit of the doubt, but there were glimpses when these characters almost felt real and it never quite got there. I don’t know how else to critique this film. It was fun, and entertaining. I laughed and mostly enjoyed the ride. But despite $100 million in heroin going missing in the first act, it never ever felt like there were real stakes. I was disappointed, not because this a popcorn action flick—but because I sense there’s a better movie hidden inside of it. Then again, this is a film franchise based on a reggae song.

Week 18; Film 175 - Flash Gordon [1980]

When a tumultuous cosmic phenomenon zaps away the pilots of an aircraft in flight, New York Jets football star Flash Gordon takes over the plane’s controls and successfully crash lands it into the lab of the one mad scientist who knows that something in space is causing the disturbances—and has his own rocket ship to go up and find out. Yes, this is *that* kind of movie. The scientist, Dr. Zarkov, kidnaps Flash and the other passenger of the plane, Dale Arden (a female travel agent), and the three launch in the rocket to the planet Mongo. There, they meet the emperor Ming the Merciless and learn that he’s destroying the planet Earth for fun. Flash must navigate Ming’s concupiscent daughter Aura, her jealous, lost-boy boyfriend Prince Barin, and the impulsive hawkman leader Prince Vultan to bring down Ming and save the universe!

Man, oh man, oh man, oh man. There’s a lot to unpack here, but I’ll start with my biggest mistake—I wanted to like this film so badly. Between the awesome Queen soundtrack and its ‘80s cult status, Flash Gordon felt like a film I should have liked; but I couldn’t get into it. The script was full of unbelievable coincidence, sci-fi magic tricks, shallow-cold-war-era morality, and flat characters. Flash, as a character, was hardly interesting. Perhaps there was this tounge-in-cheek/retro-comics angle they were going for, but no one was winking at the camera and it wasn’t funny enough to carry the flick. Maybe this would have worked if the flick looked cool, but it didn’t. Three years after “Star Wars” (and the same year as “Empire”), “Flash” has the soundstage presence, lighting, and design of a red “The Wizard of Oz.” The space effects looked like ‘60s Star Trek and felt even slower.

To end on a positive, I at least found the film entertaining. The film was weirdly sexual. I couldn’t tell if that was to be funny, or because they thought it would better reveal Ming’s terror and Flash’s sex appeal, but I found it funny. And Max von Sydow’s Ming the Merciless was great—both menacing and cartoonish. He played a live-action Jafar who was both bored and enraged by the revolution taking place around him. And of course, I still love the Queen music.

Week 17; Film 174 - The Poseidon Adventure [1972]

The Poseidon, an old ocean liner, is sailing from New York to Athens on its final voyage. The ship bobs and weaves through rough seas, but the captain is forbidden from taking on stabilizing ballast by a callous business agent supervising the trip. Just then, a massive underground earthquake sends a tsunami roaring across the sea. The impossible tidal wave hits the Poseidon and the ship capsizes. A group passengers and crew survive in the ship’s now upside-down dining room. One faction, led by Reverend Scott (a gruff, “help yourself” preacher) determines that their best chance for survival is to “climb down” to the lower decks that are now above the water-line. The group navigates the ship’s inverted hallways and rooms, racing against the flooding sea as the ship continues to take on water. We watch as the group supports each other, argues about the best way forward, leverages each other’s strengths, and fights to survive in film that toils with faith, loss, and perseverance.

“The Poseidon Adventure” is the first “disaster movie” I’ve watched as a part of this project. I grew up with the ‘90s disaster flicks, like the Volcano-Dante’s Peak/Armageddon-Deep Impact pairs, and was actually excited to dig into this genre’s ‘70s roots. I know that I’m not supposed to over-analyze the science-y parts, but I’m pretty sure this film had a loose grasp on how tsunamis work. Still, the model-work was cool and the capsizing sequence was fun to watch. In fact, I think a big part of this film’s “cool factor” was the production design, with upside down sets, floods and fires, and attractive actors in skimpy or water-pressed clothing. The film did a good job of establishing our main characters and their backstories, or giving them little arcs. And I like seeing the disfunction that led to the predicament (and Leslie Neilson played a really good “straight” captain!). But the “God helps those who help themselves” thematic thru-line felt especially uninspiring in the light of the constant string of character deaths. What can you do?!

Week 16; Film 173 - Barry Lyndon [1975]

Young Irishman Barry Lyndon falls in love with his cousin, but she pivots for an English Captain with better financial posturing, instead. Broken-hearted, Barry challenges the Captain to a duel and wins, but flees to avoid punishment. The young lad gets held up and is destitute, so he joins the English army during the Seven Years War. He later defects but is caught and pressed into the even more torturous Prussian army. Still, he saves his captain, gets better assignments, and eventually escapes. Barry falls in love with Lady Lyndon, conveniently as Mr. Lyndon dies—and the two marry. Now with a son of his own and made well off by Lady Lydon’s money, Barry tries to raise his own title and stature. However, he’s sort of a dick about it, angers his son in law, and eventually find himself in the duel of his life.

“Barry Lyndon” is famously one of the most beautiful films of all time. It is well known that Stanley Kubrick used NASA-developed lenses to shoot in ultra-low light/candle-lit rooms. This created a natural vignetting that, when combined with expert staging, framing, and hyper-dramatic scenes, provides a real “oil painting” quality. Make no mistake, this is a real “every frame a painting” movie. Beyond aesthetics, the film is funny and tragic. I enjoyed the story and the performances. Truly, the one thing holding me back from a “fifth star” is the excruciatingly slow pace. While it’s a valid choice, it gives the film an “unrewatchability” shared by less entertaining stories. I read one review that referred to it as a “coffee table book” of movies, and I agree with that. The three hour runtime was so long, that I bumped the screening up one week so I wouldn’t have to deal with it during this busy week at work—and I’m glad I did.

I feel the need to call out one final thing—this film is a shockingly fitting companion piece to the musical “Hamilton”. It takes place in the same era, with similar costumes and military technology. The story is about an (Irish) immigrant who befriends people of power as he rises through military ranks and eventually earns a higher stature. Even there, however, he is treated like he doesn’t belong, makes bad choices, loses a son, and ultimately comes undone. The whole story is flanked by two duels and involves “throwing away” a shot. Seriously. I’ve never seen evidence of a connection, but I’d be gobsmacked if Lin Manuel didn’t watch this at some point. If you love “Hamilton”, check this one out just for the journey of it!

Week 15; Film 172 - Trainspotting [1996]

Mark Renton and his mates Sick Boy and Spud, are heroin addicts in Edinburgh, Scotland. After the constant nagging of their friends Franco and Tommy, as well as Renton’s parents, the trio attempt to wean off of their addiction but have trouble reintegrating with society. They turn back to dope and fall down a path of bad decisions and an increasingly devastating consequences. Eventually, Renton is caught shoplifting and ODs. His parents lock him in his room where he undergoes a painful withdrawal. On the other side, he moves to London and starts to build a new life buried in work. He finds some degree of contentment but his old friends and old ways begin to creep back into his life. Amidst the backdrop of the growing AIDS epidemic and Scottish squalor, Renton must decide how to handle the irritating pull back to his darkest days.

I’ve never liked “drug movies” but I loved this film. I find that the depiction of drug use in film is either fabulously far-out or an excruciating slog. Danny Boyle constructs a world which is kind of both, but more. This film is depressingly psychedelic and features some beyond uncomfortable imagery. And yet, the script has this dark humor and uncomfortable levity that respects this horror while balancing the film’s personality. Ewan McGregor and team paint this charming, amusing, heartbreaking, picture of friends—who aren’t really tight friends but a collection of forgotten souls who rave and rant over each others addictions. And Scotland, the uncredited star, shined through even this unglamorous portrayal. The static, beautiful, sparse shot of the highlands contrasted fabulously with Boyle’s kinetic, twisted, and terrifying sets and beyond-real drug sequences. Finally, as with “Requiem”, I left this film challenged to think about all the ways we distract ourselves from the unfair and un-amusing...from the painful realities of life.

Week 14; Film 171 - The Gold Rush [1925; rr. 1942]

The Lone Prospector—better known as “The Tramp” character—gets lost in a blizzard. He winds up in a cabin with Big Jim (a prospector who just struck gold) and Black Larsen, a cold-blooded killer. The three are going hungry, so Black Larsen goes looking for food. Larsen finds Big Jim’s claim, knocks out Big Jim, and tries to steal the gold—before dying in an avalanche. After the storm, The Lone Prospector ends up in town and falls in love with Georgia, a dance hall girl. He tries to woo her but, meek and poor, is made fun of by her friends. Eventually, Georgia notices how sincere the Prospector is but by then, he has left town with Big Jim. Jim’s memory was affected by his knockout and he needs the Prospector to lead him to his claim. In doing so, the Prospector gets a share of the gold and is made a millionaire. On the boat ride back to civilization, the prospector runs into Georgia and they (presumably) live happily ever after.

I love Charlie Chaplin’s particular brand of heartfelt slapstick comedy, and this film was no exception. I didn’t realize it when I clicked “play”, but I watched the 1942 rerelease of this film. In this version, the original title-cards had been removed and Chaplin wrote and voiced original narration for the film. I found it distracting at first, but soon warmed up to it; he reminded me of the narrator in the “how to” Goofy shorts, a formula I love. This film was definitely more simple and of a less social critique than the other Chaplin films I’ve seen (although, there’s commentary about how money helps with courting). I continue to love the earnest clumsiness of the Tramp and the use of miniatures was pretty clever and surprising.

Week 13; Film 170 - The Last Temptation of Christ [1988]

The Last Temptation of Christ is an invented tale based on the biblical story of Jesus. The film explores the human emotions that Jesus may have experienced throughout his journey—doubt, pain, anger, sadness—and portrays Jesus as constantly toiling with his call to greatness while struggling with human desires. Act 1 shows an aimless and doubtful Jesus workshopping a message of unconditional love and setting out to spread the good word. The middle of the film is sort of a “greatest hits” of his well known teachings and miracles. At the end of the film [SPOILERS], Jesus is being crucified and, while tortured on the cross, is conned into believing his sacrifice is complete and his reward is the normal life he’s desired. Jesus must come to terms with this fallacy and repent for his own sins before resuming his role as the savior of mankind.

While I didn’t love this film (let’s face it—I am not in the primary demo for this story...who is?...more on that later), this film was certainly more interesting then the religious epics of old (Ben Hur, The Ten Commandments, etc). Willem Dafoe’s portrayal of Jesus was humanizing and made him extremely accessible to someone like me. At a time in my life when the world feels like a hypocritical ball of agony, Scorsese constructed a biblical world much the same. It helped me understand the ways that Jesus’s teachings were applicable then and why so many cling to them today. But ultimately, a Jesus character study didn’t hold my interest. I’m not sure who this film is for—if you’re devout, you’re likely offended by this portrayal. If you are not, you don’t understand the built-in weight of some of Jesus’s choices, or his sacrifice. But hey, a film that occasionally deliberates on the nature of love while Willem Dafoe acts his ass off can’t be all bad.

Week 12; Film 169 - Blue Velvet

On his first day back in Lumberton to visit his injured father, college student Jeffrey Beaumont discovers a human ear in a field. He turns it into Detective Williams but is burning with curiosity, wanting to know about the case. He learns from Sandy, the detective’s daughter, that a local lounge singer is somehow involved. Jeffrey concocts a plan to investigate her apartment. Jeffrey learns the lounge singer is a traumatized, sexually abused woman trapped under the control of Frank Booth, a deranged, gas-huffing psychopath. Jeffrey just can’t quit the case and sinks deeper into it, discovering the criminal underbelly of Lumberton and confronting how weird the world truly is.

I chose to watch “Blue Velvet” after watching, and hating, David Lynch’s “Mulholland Drive”. Lynch is such an esteemed creator but I thought “Mulholland Drive” was a steaming pile of turd, so I wanted to give him another shot. I liked “Blue Velvet” much better—it’s an actual beginning-middle-and-end story, after all, and it means something. For me, the film explores a young man’s maturity: the questions he asks, the mistakes he makes, and his ultimate shedding of naivety in the face of how dark and tragic the world ultimately is. But I still didn’t care for the brooding tone and wooden performances. I’m not a noir fan, in general. This film was full of insufferable characters making bad choices. I think the one interesting note in the whole picture was Dennis Hopper’s Frank Booth, who was eccentric, erratic, and terrifying. But by the time we get to the third act, I sort of didn’t care what happened to our protagonists. I totally see how this film is influential and a jump in the depiction of gore, sex, and crime. But...meh. Maybe David Lynch just isn’t for me. Everyone sings the praises of “Twin Peaks”, but I suspect it will be a while before I get to that show.

Week 11; Film 168 - Once Upon a Time in America [1984]

David “Noodles” Aaronson and Maximillian “Max” Bercovicz are two young teens who befriend each other and form the cornerstones of a kid street gang. It's 1918 and the group lives and operates in Manhattan’s Jewish Lower East Side. With cunning and moxie, the gang begins to etch out an income and a reputation, often sparring with Bugsy, a rival gangster. When Bugsy shoots young Dominic, Noodles stabs back and gets sent to prison. He’s released in 1930 and his old gang, now bootleggers during the Prohibition, takes him in. Under Max’s leadership, the gang is ravenous for opportunity and takes on ambitious gigs, stealing, strong-arming, killing, and double-crossing for more and more money. Noodles is less wooed by money and pours his energy into Deborah, an old fling. When she rejects his advances, he rapes her (as we’ve seen him do).

Max’s ambition drives him away from Noodles. Max is interested in strong-arming for the Teamsters and then begins to fixate on robbing the National Reserve. Noodles is disinterested in the former and fears the latter is a suicide mission. He doesn’t go on the gang’s last booze-run, which ends in ambush. With Noodles friends gone and a mark on his head, his life comes crumbing down and he flees New York City. Thirty years later, Noodles returns to his old neighborhood, alerted by a letter which suggests he’s been found and isn’t safe. He’s summoned to Commerce Secretary Bailey’s manor and meets an old, familiar statesmen—who offers him a twisted deal. I’m going to leave my synopsis here, to keep all of the twists, turns, and spoilers intact.

If that synopsis is too long for you, then the film might be too! Clocking in at 3 hours and 49 minutes, this film is a true epic. With a kid in the house, I needed to watch it over two viewings! While I enjoyed most of it and couldn’t imagine cutting anything out, it was a marathon. I think I would have preferred it as a “Watchmen”-style mini-series (and this exercise worries me for the Snyder-cut, which I still haven't seen), but hey!

The film, directed by Sergio Leone, is both an extension of his signature style and a refinement of it, replacing splashy close-ups with a broader sense of world building. I loved the time-jumping and I loved how rich the Manhattan sets appeared as they evolved from era to era. I also loved the rise and fall of Noodles and Max’s friendship (brilliantly played by Robert De Niro and James Woods)—one man lured by women and the other by money, both to criminal extents. Then again, this made it hard to root for either character. While De Niro’s Noodles is positioned as the reasonable soul, his propensity for rape makes him a disgusting protagonist. I don’t believe the film glorifies his choices but still, it’s a lot of film to have no one to root for. But in the spirit of story, placemaking, and revealing truths about the ever evolving American urban landscape, this film triumphs.

Week 10; Film 167 - That Thing You Do [1996]

A band’s drummer breaks his arm and their replacement drummer decides to pick up the tempo of their ballad. That act of fate was all it took for their song, titled “That Thing You Do”, to catch on like wildfire. The song gets pressed into records, which fly, and then gets local radio play. The band signs a manager, begins playing a few gigs, and then gets national representation from Mr. White (Tom Hanks) of Playtone Records. Mr. White coaches the guys on their look, their performance, and takes them on a national tour where they meet other music acts. “That Thing You Do” rises in the charts, earning the guys fame and a few significant promotional gigs. But cracks emerge. All four members are each chasing something different and in the face of rapidly growing fame and success, the group buckles. On the day they were meant to record their first true album, the band falls apart leaving them with a one hit wonder—“it’s a very common tale.” But where traditional success alludes our drummer, a jam session with his hero and surfacing love will carry him to a happy ending.

“That Think You Do” is cute, and fun, and funny. I thought it had some story issues, but I liked it. It was like a banana split (go with me on this): it was three distinct and kinda unrelated acts (scoops), but hey—it was dessert. Act 1 featured a bunch of character dramas that sort of just get dropped as the band makes it big. The film goes to great lengths to depict drummer Guy’s girlfriend losing interest and his disapproving dad, but we sort of just move on from that drama. Act two is the band’s rise. I suppose the “tensions” are starting to emerge, but mostly we’re just there for the fun ride. And in act three, when everything falls apart, it happens real fast and it feels like we’re watching a different movie all together. I suppose that’s sort of the point of it all—how serendipitous a smash-hit song is and how fragile its magic is. But for all of this nitpicking, I enjoyed this film and am in awe of the flick’s ability to produce a bonafide hit—a catchy song that we come back to over and over again and never tire of. This film doesn’t work without it and, quite frankly, I’m still humming the tune.

Week 9; Film 166 - The Blues Brothers [1980]

Jake Blues is released from prison and his brother Elwood arrives to pick him up in the new Bluesmobile, a beat up old police car. The two drive to the Catholic orphanage where they were raised and learn the joint is $5,000 in the hole on property taxes. Wanting to help, but not sure how to (legally), the pair move on to the Triple Rock Baptist Church where Jake has an epiphany—they can put “The Blues Brothers”, their old blues/rhythm/soul band, back together again and raise the money through gigs. “On a mission from God”, the pair drives around, collecting their old band-mates and convincing them to rejoin. But finding a booking that pays is a grind. To make matters worse, the brothers are making enemies along their quest: There’s the Good ‘Ole Boys (a country band), the American Nazi Party, an unnamed woman trying to murder the bros, and of course the entire Illinois police force. Jake and Elwood managed to skirt around each threat and play a 5,000 seat venue, raising the tax money. All that was left to do was to lead all their enemies on an insane car chase, 4 hours back to Chicago, where the tax bill could be settled.

I warmed up to, and fell in love with, The Blues Brothers. I went into the film unfamiliar with the SNL framing skit, so to me, some of the earlier ‘zany’ bits felt a bit unearned against the gruff start to the film. But I was soon smirking and laughing. The film’s jokes were zany (some pretty insane physics/surviving murderous explosions and being unfazed), subtle (“they broke my watch!”), and literally slap-stick (Sister Mary Stigmata’s disciplining). But the humor was balanced with some legitimately great action and soul. The finale car chase was probably one of my favorite car chase sequences ever. There was so much silly carnage, and story-wise so much is set up and paid off, that it’s truly one of the greats. The music was terrific and the contributions of music legends James Brown, Cab Calloway, Ray Charles, and Aretha Franklin makes this an interesting time capsule for American music. I’m trying to not read too much into the obstructions of southerners with guns, Nazis, and militarized police officers against our main characters’ divine mission to help a primarily black orphanage. What remains clear, after 41 years, is the uniting and healing power of music—a kind of magic this film has so much fun with.

Week 8; Film 165 - The Adventures of Robin Hood [1938]

You know the story—King Richard the Lionheart has been captured on his way back from a Crusade. Prince John capitalizes on his brother’s ill fortune, takes the throne, and taxes the Saxons mercilessly. Saxon nobleman Sir Robin of Locksley opposes Prince John’s reign of terror and hides in the Sherwood Forest. He assembles a band of merry men to harass Prince John’s minions, retake tax money, and aid the poor. On one raid, Robin captures the Lady Mariam. She is initially contemptuous of him but begins to learn of Prince John’s treachery. The cowardly Sheriff of Nottingham recommends an archery tournament to expose Robin, the best archer in England. The trap works and Robin is set to be hanged when Mariam, now sympathetic to his cause and falling in love, arranges his rescue. King Richard returns to England and is nearly killed by Prince John’s assassin. Robin’s men give the king safe passage and rally around him to retake the throne. Reinstated, King Richard commands Robin to marry Lady Mariam. And they lived happily ever after.

This film is a classic Hollywood, swashbuckling, Technicolor, action-adventure-comedy-romance-popcorn film and you know what—it totally holds up. Yeah, it’s plain in areas, it’s been parodied into oblivion, and Robin Hood is an arrogant American dude who basically winks at the camera. But the film is still fun. While the characters don’t really grow or change (except for Mariam, who pulls a 180), their characterizations are charming and consistent. The script is funny, has excellent pacing, and moves like a Marvel movie (honestly, Robin Hood is basically Tony Stark). I kept looking for reasons to slight the film for being a popcorn flick, but screw it—the film shines with its own artistic merits. The sets are expansive and lush. The camerawork is fantastic (in my favorite shot, Robin and Sir Guy’s duel carries them out of frame, but the candle-lit silhouette of the fight continues on a castle wall). The film’s music, composed by the famous Erich Wolfgang Korngold, is boisterous and romantic, forging the path for the John Williams adventure scores we so love today. And themes of corruption, pillaging the poor, leading by fear, and the power of hope, loyalty, and integrity remains as relevant today as it was in 1938.

Week 7; Film 164 - The Exterminating Angel

A group of aristocrats gather for a lavish dinner party at the mansion of Señor Edmundo Nóbile and his wife Lucía. After dinner, the party migrates to the house’s music room where Guest Blanca plays a piano sonata. When the party winds down, rather than leave, the Guests make preparations to sleep in that very room. They are each confused by the choice and yet continue to lay down on chairs, sofas, and even the ground. In the morning, the reason for the impromptu sleepover becomes understood: try as they might, they are all incapable of leaving the room, as if a magic forcefield prevents them from even trying to take a step out. And out on the street, we learn that police officers, reporters, clerics, and even the Guests’ children are incapable of entering the house in the very same way. Over the next few days, the group begins to devolve, growing hungry, thirsty, irritated, desperate, backstabby, and animalistic. A pipe in the wall is tapped for water and sheep, loose in the house, are captured for food; in a closet, porcelain vases become putrid potties. A man dies. Others commit suicide. But right before more life is lost, Guest Leticia encourages everyone to sort of ‘finish the moment’ that started this chaos and the batch are freed from the terrifying curse—for now.

“The Exterminating Angel” is like an episode of The Twilight Zone crossed with Downton Abbey, and painted with the claustrophobic aesthetic of “12 Angry Men”. But whereas “Men” slowly sheds its uncertainty to arrive at a spirit-lifting conclusion, this film delights in never ever explaining itself. And while it is critically praised, I didn’t have the patience for it. Perhaps if the plot was tighter, I could have gotten behind it (the original Twilight Zone episodes never exceeded 51 minutes), but I didn’t find the story entertaining enough to carry my interest. I believe there was power in watching the “upper class” devolve into animals. I watched their niceties and polite mannerism slowly shed away as scarcity and mortality drove them to speak and act on their truest feelings. I also now understand that the film, made by famous Spanish-Mexican director Luis Buñuel, is black comedy cracking at the Francoist upper class, “trapped in their own bourgeois cul-de-sac”—but this a admittedly a historical blind spot for me. Thoughtful and mysterious, this film both dragged and yet flew over my head. When the ‘curse’ reasserted itself at the end, I feared I would be in for another dreary 90 minutes; luckily, the film sparred us.

Week 6; Film 163 - An American in Paris [1951]

Ex-GI Jerry Mulligan lives in Paris where he’s trying to make it as a painter. One day, wealthy heiress Milo Roberts finds Jerry and falls for his art and his attitude. Milo shares her intent to advance Jerry’s art through her influence and also shows romantic interest in him. When he doesn’t reciprocate these feelings, she still commits to supporting his art but is made jealous by his interest in other women—such as Lise, a woman Jerry meets and basically stalks into a date. Meanwhile, Jerry’s friend and neighbor Adam, a struggling concert pianist, has an ongoing working relationship with French singer Henri Baurel. We (the audience) know that Henri is set to marry Lise (the same one). But as Jerry and Lise’s fling unfolds, she grows increasingly conflicted by which man to commit to. It’s a love-quadrilateral quagmire that can only be resolved by a 17 minute fantasy ballet sequence.

“An American in Paris” managed to establish five rather interesting characters with competing desires and motivations—and then sort of just sings and dances through a story that doesn’t know what to do with them. There’s actually a lot that I loved and wanted to love about this film. I really dug Gene Kelly’s Jerry, both carefree and cantankerous, until he couldn’t take Lise’s “no” for an answer and kept looking at Milo’s gift horse in the mouth. I also liked Adam, the “ugly-faced” pianist but he literally had no role other than to be the conduit between Jerry and Henri. It’s a funny reveal, but c’mon man, we sat through a whole fantasy concert for his character! I loved the music and at one point thought, “damn, this sounds an awful lot like ‘Rhapsody in Blue’”—you can imagine my mildly-curious surprise when I realized that the soundtrack was stocked with George Gershwin’s music. I think I was better primed to tolerate the 17 minute dance sequence than I was in “Singin’ in the Rain”, and I liked the art design and choreography of the sequence. But the sequence never really addressed the film’s drama. Rather, the film resolved itself through the hokiest of Hollywood endings. But maybe that’s what everyone needed in post-war America.

Week 5; Film 162 - The Passion of Joan of Arc [1928]

Joan of Arc is escorted into a courtroom to stand trial for heresy. She has been captured by the English and will be tried by French clergymen loyal to them. These judges interrogate her and try to pick apart her claim that God instructed her to drive the English from France. But Joan remains unwaveringly committed her faith and her mission. She is sentenced to torture and then to death. Coerced by the clergymen and frightened by a fiery death, Joan finally confesses to heresy, sparing her life but condemning her to prison. In her cell, Joan’s faith is reaffirmed and she calls to rescind her confession. She is burned at the stake as locals watch in horror and sadness. A riot breaks out as enraged and invigorated Frenchmen and women begin to fight back against the English.

“The Passion of Joan of Arc” is a simple story, told expertly. I’d argue that the film’s performances, cinematography, and storytelling are so advanced, it could be released today and everybody would buy it, simply accepting the ‘silent-part’ of this silent film as an artistic choice. The obvious anchor in this film is Renee Jean Falconetti’s devastating performance as Joan. Falconetti plays this faithful woman with a drugged demeanor, allowing pain and tears to break through her longing stares. And the actors who surround her bring the fullness of their characters as well, depicting evil, doubt, and mercy with only the expressions on their faces. The film does a lot with shadows, highlighting the cold sets and clergymen’s ugliness. Expertly portrayed symbolism shines through, like an ungodly priest stepping over a cross-shaped shadow or the image of a worm, winding through a scull, sewing doubt in Joan at the end. And the camerawork—closeups, off-kilter shots, and dizzying pans—feel like a collaboration between Tarantino and Nolan.

With these very old films, it’s often difficult to know how closely today’s “streaming” version matches what people saw in 1928. For this screening, I watched the Criterion Collection version of the film. It has been stunningly restored into 2k and 24 FPS and the score accompanying the film was Richard Einhorn’s “Voices of Light” (composed in the ‘90s, inspired by this very film). This music is dramatic, haunting, uplifting, and spiritual. It matched and elevated the emotions on screen, giving the images historic weight while serving a ‘modern’ taste. Like the maintenance of a historic wooden roller coaster, gradually rebuilt over and over again, I acknowledge this film has been updated and enhanced—parts have been swapped out. And yet, the spirit of the original film, including the inventive camerawork and gutting performances, remains.

Not to mention (last, but certainly not least), the film’s themes and messages. Youth verses age. Homegrown power verses institutional power. Political power verses religious power. Conventional dress and “cross-dressing”. Martyrdom and the call to arms. And then there’s the image of a young woman being tried and berated by old, power-hungry men. The images reminded me of Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony at the Kavanaugh trials—and countless other instances. The film’s themes are eternal and live on to this day.

It’s for that reason that I am comfortable listing this picture as one of the greatest film’s I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure if it’s in the top 20, or top 50, or top 100. But it’s up there and is one of the oldest films on the list.