Movie Reviews
Paprika
by Satoshi Kon
In their January/February 2007 issue, the long running anime magazine Protoculture Addicts published an article titled “Top 9 Anime Directors (Who Aren’t Hayao Miyazaki). The list included a number of noteworthy names, including Mamoru Oshii (Ghost In The Shell) and Shinichiro Watanabe (Cowboy Bebop). However, the name at the top of the list—Satoshi Kon—might have taken some readers by surprise.
But the fact is that, with the possible exception of Oshii, no one is currently making anime that’s as intelligent, unique, and, well, adult, as Satoshi Kon. He’s made a career out of constantly pushing the boundaries of the artform, and with none of the usual clichés that tend to permeate it. And Paprika is yet another example of this.
If you’ve seen any of Kon’s other words—specifically Perfect Blue, Millennium Actress, and Paranoia Agent—than you know that his pet themes include exploring the boundaries between truth and reality, fact and fiction, dreams and waking life. (If Hayao Miyazaki is to be considered the Walt Disney of anime, than Kon is surely the David Lynch.)
He loves to explore how they shape and influence each other, how we as humans try to differentiate between them, and what happens when the usually clear lines delineating begin to blur and shift. And it doesn’t hurt that he usually also adds in some social commentary about materialism, modern society’s tendency to alienate, and the role that art and media play in shaping society.
With Paprika, he’s taken that exploration to an entirely new level.
Haibane Renmei
by Tomokazu Tokoro
To this day, I still don’t really know why I picked up the first disc of Haibane Renmei when I saw it sitting there in the store. I don’t recall ever hearing much about it beforehand, and a quick glance at the synopsis would probably have done nothing to really pique my curiosity. Perhaps it was the moody, ethereal artwork on the cover, or that Yoshitoshi ABe’s name appeared in the credits.
Whatever the reason, though, I did pick it up and subsequently found myself enthralled by the series’ world, almost from the first moment. And to this day, Haibane Renmei remains one of the most unique, thought-provoking, and affecting anime series I’ve seen.
Haibane Renmei‘s greatest strength lies in its ambiguity. Now, much of anime loves to toy with ambiguity and engimatic elements, be it through shadowy character motivations, obscure philosophical/religious/cultural references and discussions, or half-explained technological deus ex machina. But oftentimes, these simply feel like attempts to instill more depth, substance, and style to a series than it really needs, demands, or supports. And so when all is said and done, the weaknesses only become more glaring, and the series more frustrating and underwhelming than anything else.
This is most happily not the case with Haibane Renmei.
A State Of Mind
by Daniel Gordon
Though many folks probably see films as mindless entertainment, as things to experience once you’ve shut off your brain and begun eating handfuls of popcorn, films have an ability that is unique among all artforms. That is, they can allow us to enter and experience lives, circumstances, and cultures in a way that music, poetry, or sculpture cannot. Films can plop folks landlocked in the middle of America smack dab in the middle of a foreign land to see sights and hear sounds would otherwise remain distant and unknown.
This has been the theme, for the past few months anyways, of the movie discussion group that I lead. And the goal was to see how movies might actually elicit understanding and even compassion, rather than serve as mere escapist entertainment.
As such, it makes sense that the final film we watched was 2004’s A State Of Mind. This fabulous and fascinating British documentary peels back some of the secrecy that surrounds North Korea, and is probably the closest that any of us will ever come to seeing the citizens of that most isolated country.
There are probably few countries as vilified as North Korea, and this due to a litany of factors: a brutal and oppressive regime; strict isolationistic policies; staunch defiance of international regulations; extremely poor human rights records; and the incredibly poor conditions in which many of its citizens live; to name but a few. Not surprising, I suppose, for a country that many folks have placed on an “Axis Of Evil.”
However, as I’ve watched A State Of Mind, I’ve found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable with the strong rhetoric that often surrounds North Korea, rhetoric that originates from both within and without its borders.
Hot Fuzz
by Edgar Wright
It would be way too simple and too easy to label Hot Fuzz—the latest work of cinematic brilliance from the folks behind Shaun Of The Dead and Spaced—as a parody of the stereotypical, big budget Hollywood action movie. Sure, Hot Fuzz contains countless references to such films as Lethal Weapon, Bad Boys (1 and 2), Point Break, and Die Hard (not to mention The Wicker Man, Terminator, Chinatown, He-Man, and Harry Potter).
However, parodies often seem to have an element of mean-spiritedness and cheekiness about them, which is not at all the case with Hot Fuzz. Rather, just as Shaun Of The Dead was obviously the work of folks who knew and loved zombie horror films, Hot Fuzz is the work of folks who obviously know and love action movies.
Danielson: A Family Movie
by J.L. Aronson
One of the more amazing and intriguing concert experiences I’ve ever had took place at a sidestage during the 1998 Cornerstone Festival. It was late at night, and my friends and I had skipped out on M.C. Hammer(!)‘s main stage performance to catch a couple of Cornerstone oddballs: Soul-Junk and the Danielson Famile.
The power kept cutting out from time to time, and so at one point, Soul-Junk started pulling people up from the crowd to breakdance onstage. When the power inevitably cut out during the Famile’s set, the band kept on playing, the passion and quirkiness of their music overcoming any technical difficulties and quickly becoming one of the most invigorating experiences of the fest that year.
In the following years, the Famile’s Cornerstone sets became must-see events for us. Sure, there was the off-kilter nature of it all—a band composed of brothers and sisters decked out in nurse uniforms and led by a guy singing in a most grating falsetto—that set it apart. But even more importantly was the amazing passion and even joy that they brought to their music, such that even the most hardened punk kids and metalheads could be found dancing, smiling, and praising during a Danielson Famile set.
All of these memories and impressions came rushing back while watching J.L. Aronson’s 2006 documentary, Danielson: A Family Movie.
300
by Zack Snyder
300 is proof that we are living in a bold new era of filmmaking. An era where, thanks to the prevalence of technology, movie directors can have an almost godlike control over nearly every facet of their movie—right down to the very last strand of hair, bead of sweat, and, in the case of 300, drop of blood. A director’s vision can now be captured and delivered on the silver screen to an extent that would’ve been inconceivable even five years ago.
Of course, even with that unbelievable level of power and technology, some truths of the artform remain the same. All of that control is worthless if there isn’t a story lying somewhere at the heart of the astounding visuals, if those visuals aren’t populated by compelling characters. And in the case of 300, that is painfully obvious from almost the very first frame.
The Amazing Screw-On Head
by Chris Prynoski
There are two sides to American history. There’s the boring side that’s been taught to you by history textbooks and schoolteachers. And then there’s the other side where, as it turns out, America is actually littered with ruins of ancient and alien civilizations (at least west of the Mississippi), where mad zombie scientists seek to overthrow the world, and where horrific demigods lay imprisoned within vegetables, patiently waiting to be freed from their parallel universe prisons to lay waste to Mankind.
The only bastion of defense against these horrors is Screw-On Head, a secret government operative at the beck and call of Abraham Lincoln (yes, that Abraham Lincoln), and who is, well, a screw-on head with an army of steampunk bodies at his disposal. And he’ll need them all, because the nefarious Emperor Zombie—once Screw-On Head’s closest friend and manservant before he began dabbling in ancient black magic—is seeking the power of an ancient kingdom to bring the world to its knees.
Tom Yum Goong
by Prachya Pinkaew
In 2003, a little unknown film from Thailand called Ong-Bak rocketed up the charts of action and martial arts film fanatics the world over, and for good reason. Unlike so many action movies these days, which make use of copious amounts of CGI, wire effects, stunt doubles, Ong-Bak was, for all intents and purposes, the real deal—no special effects, no wires, just lots and lots of jawdropping stuntwork and cringe-inducing martial arts choreography.
Not surprisingly, the film’s star—Tony Jaa—was soon being proclaimed as the successor to the throne of both Jackie Chan and Jet Li, due to his incredible abilities and seemingly suicidal risk-taking. All eyes were on Jaa’s next film, Tom Yum Goong (aka The Protector here in the States), and the clips that began popping up on the Web were certainly encouraging. Tom Yum Goong promised to be Ong-Bak turned up to eleven. Which, considering that Ong-Bak itself had turned the action movie thrills up to eleven, was something indeed.
But the fact is that Tom Yum Goong is a decidedly inferior film, and proof that Jaa isn’t quite up to Chan and Li’s levels as a martial arts star. He’s got the bone-breaking chops to be sure, but he’s missing the necessary charisma—and it doesn’t help when he’s backed by a storyline as weak and nonsensical as Tom Yum Goong‘s.
Curse Of The Golden Flower
by Zhang Yimou
I never thought I’d say this, not in a million years, but here it is: with Curse Of The Golden Flower, Zhang Yimou has become the George Lucas of “wuxia” cinema, and I mean that in both the good and bad ways.
But mostly the bad ways.
There’s no question that, by year’s end, Curse… will have been the most opulent, visually astonishing film to grace movie theatres in 2007. Compared to the elaborate set designs and costumes that fill every single scene here, Zhang’s previous period pieces—2002’s Hero and 2004’s House Of Flying Daggers—look like shabby high school productions. Thanks to the incredibly elaborate costumes and stunning sets, each frame of Curse… is awash with every color of the rainbow, so vibrant that it’s almost blinding.
Unfortunately, like those Star Wars prequels, visual splendor is about all that Curse… has going for it. And even the visuals ultimately fail to satisfy thanks to the shallow characters, threadbare-yet-still ponderous plot, and lumbering execution—qualities that I never thought I’d use to describe a Zhang Yimou film.
Shut Up & Sing
by
On March 10, 2003, while performing in London, the singer of the Dixie Chicks Natalie Maines said something that received cheers from the English crowd: ““Just so you know, we’re ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas.” And yet this single sentence would haunt her and her band mates for the next three years, and probably still does haunt them to this day.
At first blush, it doesn’t seem like that big of a statement. It’s certainly not the worst thing that an entertainer has said about Dubya. However, coming from the Dixie Chicks—a group that was deemed about as all-American as possible—it was nothing short of anathema.
Within weeks, Maines and sisters Martie Maguire and Emily Robison began experiencing a massive boycott from what had once been their core audience. Fans began destroying CDs, stations refused to play their music, corporate sponsors threatened to pull their support, and perhaps most shocking of all, began receiving death threats.
Shut Up & Sing captures this tumultuous time in the Dixie Chicks’ lives, chronicling both the intense criticism that they weathered as well as the intense loyalty shared by the trio, who respond to the threats with a raucous blend of fear, incredulity, stubbornness, and even laughter.
The documentary begins in 2003, as the Chicks are preparing for their latest tour. One of the most successful recording acts in recent history, having successfully bridged the gap between worlds of pop and country music, they’re literally on the top of the world. As they begin preparations for the tour, tensions in Iraq are mounting and war seems imminent.
When Maines says her infamous statement, it’s obvious from the footage that it’s partly in jest, that Maines is clearly not intending it as a political slam. And yet, in those halcyon days when Bush’s approval ratings were at their highest, and the United States’ involvement in Iraq seemed to be on sure footing, the statement was seen as incredibly un-patriotic, if not traitorous.
Although Shut Up & Sing attempts to capture the overall sentiment that was rising against the Chicks, from former fans protesting their concerts, from country music radio DJs decrying their records, and from talking heads like Bill O’Reilly (who said the Chicks should be “slapped around” for their comments), it’s primarily concerned with the three girls as they attempt to soldier on.