Bit random, but just before I get into the main thrust of my article, I do insist upon the ending of November and the beginning of December, to consider watching Sweet November, in my opinion one of the more underrated romantic films of recent years. I've never understood some of the spite thrown in good ol' Keanu Reeves' direction and I certainly like him a great deal here, it's not Oscar-worthy work by him but he's certainly a charming, funny and likable enough presence here. Charlize Theron gets some big emotional moments and she nails every moment, granted it's not up to the level of her work in say Mad Max: Fury Road or Monster, but why should it be? There's also Jason Isaacs in a nice small role, playing for once a kinda nice guy. Pat O'Connor's direction is nicely understated and the script, while cliché-ridden, is not bad for this sort of film. It's no masterpiece but certainly not deserving of its sub-20% ranking on Rotten Tomatoes. In fact between something harmless and charming like this, and say Pretty Women which I find hideously offensive and inane, or The Fault in Our Stars (shudder), choose this.
Source: maxim.com
I won't get into the quality of the film as of yet, but one of the things that surprised me most about Scott Cooper's Black Mass was the approach taken, both direction and acting-wise, with Johnny Depp's performance as Whitey Bulger. The trailers and stills from promotion material had given me the impression that this would be one of Depp's most 'strange' performances: I mean, that terrifying (and upon research, actually fairly accurate) makeup for the character certainly turned the good-looking Depp into one hell of a reptilian-looking, soulless-looking bastard. So naturally, I expected a classic 'mannered' Depp performance in turn.
Instead, what we got, as least how I see it, is probably one of Depp's most subtle performances--certainly his most understated one in recent years. There's always an underlying sense of threat to Bulger and it comes out in several intervals, but a large portion of his portrayal of Bulger consists of him carrying the character's actions and words with this distant, almost listlessly evil approach that's miles away from the over the top HAMMY routine of Jack Nicholson's sort of interpretation of the character in The Departed. He does go loud in certain scenes, and is perhaps a bit too broad in one or two scenes--I'm thinking the scene where he loses his rag at his girlfriend, although the scene as a whole is a bit flawed in its construction--, however for the most part this balance is incredibly striking. I found his 'quiet' portrayal of Bulger's 'normal' side to be very compelling, and his 'big' moments to be incredibly effective, especially the 'family secret' scene, his emotional denial of his role as a 'rat' to Kevin Weeks (Jesse Plemons), although my personal favourite is his confrontation with John Connolly (Joel Edgerton) at the Thanksgiving Parade. I wouldn't say there's that much 'depth' to Whitey as a character, so to speak, but in just the subtle character creation and suitable restraint and release Depp gives to the character, I say throw him the nom come Oscar time.
When I talk of 'mannered' Depp performances, I'm most likely referring to one of his performances where he goes on a limb insofar as characterisation, costume and mannerisms are concerned. The best-known one is definitely his Keith Richards-esque routine as Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Carribean which even after sequel fatigue is a character I still have a great deal of love for. Most of the time it works a treat if it fits in with the tone of the film (i.e. his bonkers detective routine really infuses a lot of life into the otherwise fairly rote Sleepy Hollow, and his drug-fuelled approach fit perfectly for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas). However, when it goes awry, it goes really awry; I still don't know what he was thiking for his whole Big Bad Wolf routine in Into the Woods which is a shame, had he downplayed it a bit I think he could've been great. Anyway I digress. Regardless of the quality of the performance, this sort of Depp portrayal always stands out.
There's also that brand of Depp performances which aren't exactly chameleonic, but rather use his star power to fit him into the character. This tends to have mixed results: he fits in admirably into the role of Gilbert Grape in a period he was mostly doing some low-key kooky stuff, with his low-key charm nicely settling into this brotherly role to Leonardo Dicaprio's standout performance as his younger brother, and he's certainly quite effective, if not amazing, as John Dillinger in Public Enemies (though there again the show is stolen by another player, this time round Marion Cotillard). I'm mixed about his portrayal of Willy Wonka: on one hand, it's quite an interesting and at time fascinating take on this sort of eccentric, lonely genius character. On the other hand, he's so uncomfortably creepy in the role at times, which I'm not entirely sure was the intent.
Then there's the sort of roles where he disappears into the role in a different sort of way, retaining both his charismatic presence but adding little bits of character work here and there. I've always liked his work as the nominal lead in Donnie Brasco a great deal, and he is pretty brilliant as the 'worst director ever' (though I disagree) Ed Wood in the titular biopic, where he utilises his boyish good looks and enthusiasm to excellent results in this fantastic film. Downside is when he coasts in this sort of role, he really coasts: see, Transcendence. Ugh.
There's a few other performances where Depp is playing almost 'caricatures' of his persona: quirky fellows who are clearly Depp but who are also distinct characters in their own right. This is probably my favourite brand of Depp: his meticulously understated, heartbreaking work as Edward Scissorhands is one of the most tenderly wondered works of acting I've ever seen, and I find him very enjoyable in the likes of Secret Window, Sweeney Todd, Don Juan de Marco and Finding Neverland whwere he plays (at first) seemingly normal guys before peeling away the layers of quirk underneath. His most underrated performance of all, in Benny and Joon, falls into this category, where he effectively plays the manic pixie boy of the piece, and is just so effortlessly sweet and endearing in the role.
Depp's most boring performances come when he's playing just average blokes. Nick of Time is not a horrible film but Depp's performance in it is fairly unremarkable. The Tourist is a dreadful waste of time and Depp might just give his blandest performance in it as he's basically just sleeping through the role--and I'm not sure I'm talking literally here (based on the scenery on that film, it's clear that a holiday as well as the paycheck was a large part of the allure).
Finally there's his voiceover roles which I'm glad to say, I've never seen Depp phone them in for. He is quite remarkable in disappearing vocally into the role of a nervous Hugh Grant-esque gentleman in Corpse Bride and is a nicely engaging Western lead in Rango.
I'm unsure thus far which of these categories Depp in Black Mass falls into but rest assured if you're going to see it in the cinema, it's a very good performance.
How far have we come along in cinematic portrayals of women insofar as Bond is concerned?
From IGN
Previsioning the 'Bond Girl':
Insofar as the cinematic depictions of Bond girls are concerned, a clear inspiration can be found in the many 'femme fatale' female leads of film noir genre from the 1940s to the 1950s. The likes of Jane Greer, Barbara Stanwyck, Marie Windsor etc. against strong, assertively masculine leads like Robert Mitchum and Sterling Hayden, and the onscreen pairings of Humprey Bogart's private eye characters of Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe against Mary Astor and offscreen paramour Lauren Bacall, respectively. These female 'leads'--although their purpose was always more to support the male leads--would parry the male's wisecracks with equally saucy innuendo, setting the template for the Bond dynamic with his female opposites; a distinct difference, however, being in the very nature of these flirtations. In the film noir genre these saucy discourses were either harmless bits of fun, or the female manipulating the male through her sexuality; the Bond films in a sense, provided a sort of subversion of this by having the male use his sexuality to win over females as a means to an end. There's that one scene in The Big Sleep (1946) which previsions this sort of dynamic through the one scene where Bogart's Marlowe uses his sexual allure to entice Dorothy Malone's bookstore propietress. The seductive back-and-forth between them is perhaps, the most clear precursor to Bond besides perhaps North by Northwest.
From IGN
This brilliant Hitchock thriller, starring Cary Grant in the frequent character trope of the 'man on the run' for a crime he did not commit, has been frequently described in many cinematic circles as effectively the first Bond film. Not so much in terms of the conception of Grant's Thornhill itself, who's more of an amateur 'spy', a somewhat bumbling but lucky advertising executive who just happens to be ensnared into a world of espionage, but more for the deliciously villainous portrayals of James Mason and a very young Martin Landau as some very depraved, verbally astute individuals, the action set-pieces, and of course Eve Marie Saint's Eve Kendall sort of femme fatale figure who in fact provides a very interesting dual portrayal of very distinct types Bond girls would soon take up the mantle of. The cool seductress, and the warmer fellow agent/comrade to Bond: Saint plays both sides excellently with the right amount of style, class and wit for each, and her portrayal of the character provides a very interesting template with which to view the later Bond girls with, and charter the progress they make with these roles.
The First Wave of 'Bond Girls': The Fetishizing Movement
The Connery films can be grouped as 'snobbery with violence' as James Chapman terms it: adaptations which fully embrace box-office excess, and treat women with a patronising, fetishizing excess of sexual exposure. They can be seen as the espionage equivilance of the Hammer Horror films, contrasting with the British 'new wave' movement of the Angry Young Men, which embraced naturalistic and gritty acting and directorial style, contrasting with the campy smoothness of the Connery Bond films. Indeed, Laurence Harvey's portrayal of an 'Angry Young Man' in the kitchen-sink drama Room at the Top could be contrasted with Connery's bond in terms of their approach to women: using them as means to an end. Harvey's Joe Lampton aspires to climn the social ladder with them; Connery uses them to crack the case and save the day, women's rights be damned. This can be all seen as a bit of a subversion of the femme fatale figure: the women are prized and cast for their looks, but the characters, rather than using them to ensnare men, are instead being ensnared by men.
To be fair to Fleming himself, the character of 007 had been even more misogynised by the filmmakers b the increasing of sexual partners to him in the films; it was definitely an intelligent bit of marketing decision-making on their behalf, and I suppose if the themes were there, might as well milk it for all it's work. The dim view with which the Bond films took to the likes of Honey Ryder (whose actress, Ursula Andress, was clearly cast for her looks alone as she was dubbed for both her speaking and singing voice) and Jill Masterson (whose sole purpose in Goldfinger so it seems, is to act as sexual fodder and then be killed off in the most sexually fetishized way possible, covered head to toe in golden paint) seems to be mirrored in the likes of The Spy Who Came in From the Cold. The character of Liz Gold/Nan Perry, played by Claire Bloom, may be in a way the 'damsel in distress' of the piece, strung along by MI6 to be a pawn in the game being played by Richard Burton's Alec Demeas, but the subversion is that that's not the spy's intent at all. Burton's fantastically cynical and downbeat performance, by far the best I've seen him in anything, and Bloom's diametrically luminous turn, have great chemistry that's not at all one-sided. Bloom plays her female foil with intelligence even within the character's naievity and at its conclusion, a brave, righteous sense of indignation that's far removed from the nonchalance of Bond girls at the times to proceedings, so long as they got to get in bed with Bond at the end.
From 007james.com
The Connery Bond films in this wave pretty much continued along the same sort of fetishizing wave, with an added touch of 'meta' to it. As the qualities of the films and Connery's investment in the role dwindled, the Bond girls were increasingly used as tools for the film. Casino Royale remained untouched (aside from that admirable effort of a parody film starring David Niven, Peter Sellers and Woody Allen). Increasingly the ladies became disposable playthings for the dominant male hero. Good actresses like Julie Christie were turned away by producers because, according to the producers of Thunderball, she wasn't voluptuous enough. Roald Dahl, when adapting (loosely) Fleming's You Only Live Twice, was allegedly given a specific 'girl formula' to the various roles Bond girl (s) should play in the films: one who is to be killed off as a attractive sacrificial lamb, one who's (secretly) a villain but who Bond gets the better of by the end anyway, and a 'pro-Bond' female who is involved in the third act and should preferably be saved as a damsel in distress, and swept off her feet into Bond's bed.
Pro-Female Progression (?) in On Her Majesty's Secret Service?
From Wikimedia.org
On Her Majesty's Secret Service was such a change from these immediate predecessors in more ways than one. I for one have a great deal of love for this particular Bond entry, for even though it in many way overturns the Bond scheme in many ways--there's a streak of meta humour, a decidedly downbeat ending, and the portrayal of Bond does differ a great deal (which I'll get onto in a bit)--, but all in all it's a fantastic motion picture with many an excellent set-piece (particularly the Swiss Alps chase which features some of the best camerawork I've ever seen in any 1960's action film); Peter Hunt's direction is unforced and lets the intricacies of the plot linger before a second-half onslaught of great action pieces. A rather intriguing depiction of Blofeld by Teddy Savalas as not just a cold megalomaniac, but a rather depraved one, a rather thoughtfully written script that delves into surprisingly dark territory, and of course the wonderful Diane Rigg as Countess Tracy di Vicenzo. Perhaps most well-known to modern audiences as the scene-stealing Oleanna Tyrell in Game of Thrones, her Bond girl is one of the reasons the film works so well. She plays the troubled side of the character well, showing the cynicism and inherent sadness over past failed relations and bringing into her performance a sense of rejuvenation at meeting Bond. She doesn't feel like a cipher, or fodder but rather, a well-written character in her own right, testament to excellent work by screenwriters Richard Maibaum and Simon Raven. There's even a female side villain: Ilse Seppat as Irma Bunt, a henchwoman to Blofeld later to be parodied in the Austin Powers films, but who here makes for a suitably intimidating presence.
For once it's not a one-sided affair for Bond is equally enamoured with Tracy, and it's easy to see why: Rigg's performance is not only so, so very sweet, with her porcelain good looks and softly intoned lines, but she's also got 'lots of guts' as Lazenby's Bond would say. The character is written not as just someone who needs to be rescued, but who can do a fair bit of rescuing on her on: matching Bond with a quip to match each of his, and is a rather cracking driver to boot. I've read a lot of reservations about Lazenby's performance as being flawed in its uncertain, softer and sometimes even a bit whiny Bond, but I actually like his performance a great deal here because it fits so well with Rigg's: they make quite the winning couple, and Lazenby's more tender approach to Bond makes his passion for Tracy all the more palatably felt, and gives the film's ending so much of its power. It's clear why later films like For Your Eyes Only and Licence to Kill continued to make references to Tracy: she's just a great example of a Bond girl who lingers on in your mind even after the credits roll.
Moore Focus on the Bond Girls
The last Connery entry (technically speaking non-canonical) Diamonds are Forever, and the Moore's Live and Let Die, and The Man with the Golden Gun all revert to a campier, more screwball-esque style of seduction with regards to Bond's sexual escapades. The misogyny is still quite appalling, but it's somewhat tempered by the broad approach that's take with it: innuendo, broad humour and self-aware one-liners (Moore's speciality), as well as an extreme depiction of the majority of females as bimbos (for example Bond's daffy assistant Mary Goodnight in The Man with the Golden Gun who really is as silly as her name sounds). The self-mockery these films verge upon may well prove that Moore and his various directors were secretly genius, scoffing at the Bond conventions and satirizing through their distinctly mock-comic approaches. There's nothing particularly substantial about Bond girls from this period aside from the fact that they had funny names like Jill St. John and Solitaire, and had quite the stylized approach to their performances: for example, Jane Seymour plays in Live and Let Die is the closest the films have to a 'manic pixie girl' with her campy, enjoyable take on the female psychic.
From schmoesknow.com
The Spy Who Loved Me proved to be a turning point for these films: the titular agent as gradually, villains become less 'important' insofar as more emphasis on writing given to female characters. The titular Anya Amasova (Barbara Bach) is a Russian agent who works with Bond to uncover and stop a plot to initiate a WWIII. Her introductory scene is particularly interesting: shot with her lover on the side, a phone call calling for a spy to duty being answered by not HE, but rather SHE, completely subverts the audience's attentions. There can be female spies, this film insists, and or such a campy and fun Bond film there's a surprising amount of depth given to the dynamic between her and Bond as firstly there's a cool, uncompromising rivalry tinged with a hint of mutual respect, representing perhaps the Transatlantic-Russian relationship at the time (Anya's Russian nationality becoming quite a significant plot point here): this international scope given to the Bond girl extends to later on Moonraker where the CIA agent Holly Goodhead (Lois Chiles) would represent the tenuous but grudging alliances between Britain and America in many international respects in this period. Aside from the nominal lead Bond girls, the 'supporting' Bond girls too began to have rather interesting arcs of their own: May Day (Grace Jones) in A View to Kill, henchwoman to Max Zorin, is a muscular, domineering presence and actually has a heel-face turn near the end of the film, making her little story within the film resonate.
From esquire.com
The 'Stylized' Bond Girls
The Timothy Dalton entries The Living Daylights and Licence to Kill don't have much in the way of interesting discussion about love interests, the main focus on those films being of cours Dalton's excellent, edgy interepretation of the character as one cool, cold and calculating fellow. Worth noting though that one of the central arcs in Licence to Kill is the avenging of Felix Leiter's wife murder by Bond. Women aren't necessarily an afterthought, then, though it takes the Pierce Brosnan films to return back to creating memorable Bond girls, for better or worse.
trentonherzog.wordpress.com
Famke Janssen's Xenia Onatopp in Goldeneye is one of the most fascinating examples of a contemporary Bond girl: almost an amalgamation of the classic Bond girl types as she's both an incredibly alluring presence and a very depraved psychopath. Janssen's physicality is very well harnessed in this performance: the best modern-day equivalent I can find is perhaps the depiction of Mystique in the X-Men films, a character who uses sex as a weapon, literally. She stands out as a villain, perhaps the best one, in a film chock-full of them, and starts off a trend of Bond girls who are clearly archetypes of specific styles, but nevertheless interesting in their own right. Sophie Marceau's interesting take on a victim of Stockholm Syndrome in The Worlds is Not Enough and Michelle Yeoh's Chinese spy in Tomorrow Never Dies are fairly thinly written characters, but the strong performances behind them help to elevate them into memorable sparring partners for Bond. Marceau in particular helps to make the otherwise fairly predicatable TWINE into quite a cliffhanger insofar as you're never quite sure (and neither is Bond) her Elektra King is going to do. Others fair less well (in the same film as Marceau Denise Richards is the least convincing astrophysicists ever, and Rosamund Pike and Halle Berry in Die Another Day are examples where the style of 'badass action girl' and 'ice queen' can verge on self-parody if done poorly), but nevertheless this period in Bond films provides an interesting discussion regarding the fairer sex.
Revisionist Bond, Revisionist Bond Girls
The franchise experienced a major rejuvenation and change in tone with the entrance of Daniel Craig as 007 in 2005's Casino Royale, and the role of the Bond girl followed suit. Eva Green's Vesper Lynd stands as one of the best Bond girls in the series: Green, who just naturally has quite the exotic air to all her performances, plays a perfectly capable treasury agent who accompanies Bond to take down Le Chiffre at a poker tournament. She has a terrific dynamic with Craig, with the sexual and romantic chemistry between the two providing enough substance to convince the audience that Bond would seriously consider leaving the service for her. The allure of her character is always prevalent but importantly, it never is the defining feature: to use the cliché, she's more than just a pretty face.
From nerdynothings.com
The tonal imbalance by the ladies of Quantum of Solace make the jarring comparisons of Olga Kurylenko's Camille, an vengeful agent, and the easily manipulated Strawberry Fields (Gemma Arterton), feel considerably less impactful, but thankfully the last two entries Skyfall and Spectre have rectified this by some sterling portrayals of women. Judi Dench's M is the nominal Bond girl lead of Skyfall and her relationship to Javier Bardem's Silva is one of the most interesting aspects of the film: Silva becomes a character rather easy to see him as a figure more sinned against than sinning, through his treatment as a sacrificial lamb by the MI6 and M, and M's complicity in his downfall as an agent, and ascension as a villain, as an insufficient maternal figure is surmised by Bardem's chilling delivery of the line ‘Mommy was very bad’. The reimagining of Ms Moneypenny as an action girl in her own right by Naomie Harris is also quite interesting, and Berenice Lim Marhole's tragic, if somewhat shortchanged, arc as a showgirl with a dark and sordid past gives much depth to what could've, and probably would've, been the thinnest of stereotypes in some of the old Bond films.
From dailymail.com
Spectre is in many ways a modern-day reinvention/reimagining of many of the 'greatest hits' of the old Bond films, and I loved it for that. Monica Bellucci's cameo is arguably a not particularly necessary bit of gratuitous sexuality but she plays her grieving widow as well as anyone could've, and with her more emotional approach contrasted well with Lea Seydoux's Madeline Swann, who starts off her character arc with that icy doctor routine that's really quite effective in establishing her independent nature, and gradually in her relationship with Bond thawing this side out and carrying her side of the film very well, both as an emotional anchor (the scene where she watches footage of her father's suicide is heartbreaking) and of course, as a love interest for blonde, making sure to depict her character as a bit of a scattershot mess in terms of her affectations. There's certainly a great deal more potential with her character, and if the ending of Spectre is anything to go by, we might see more of that.
Conclusion
The Bond girl has always been a mainstay of the films and will continue to be so long as they're churned out on a regular basis. The progression made has had its fair share of ups and downs, but if the arc it's been going in is any indication, we've come a long way from the days of them just being sugarcoated paper-thin 'objects'. No matter the subjective opinion about the performance or writing behind the character, it's clear that the Bond girl is now respected by directors and actresses as a role with potential to create a character sufficiently interesting to carry her own side of the film, without having to just be a lifeless foil to Bond.
Bemoaning the lack of snow in London, up right now a few analysis of some of my favourite movie scenes set in the slushy wonders of it...(note: have not included scenes from films I may be covering in my next few blog posts)
Edward Scissorhands is one of my all-time favourite films and this is a marvellous example of why. Technically speaking this scene is chock-full of inaccuracies and plot holes. Where'd he get all that ice from? Quite frankly though, I really couldn't care less as it presents perhaps the most perfect example of Tim Burton's excellence as a director (really hope he finds this sort of form again some time soon), and of course the beauty of Danny Elfman's score.
What I really love about this scene is the slow reveal. Winona Ryder's Kim slowly moving to the doorway, the camera lingering upon her expression as she first sees snow, then sees where it's coming from: the tender scissorhands of our titular protagonist. Everything about this scene works perfectly, from the composition of music to the soft seguing in and out of the expressions of Kim and Edward, and even how it ends on such a blunt jarring note, with Kim's asshole boyfriend Jim coming out of nowhere to ruin the duo's moment with Edward's icy angel: the closest thing to a personification of the devil in the film ruining this quietly moving moment.
I couldn't find a proper version of this scene online but perhaps that's for the best, for to experience the true power of this scene requires you to experience Akira Kurosawa's masterpiece in all its entirety. Takashi Shimura's lead performance, in my opinion the second greatest of all of Kurosawa's film, helms this incredibly moving film about a dying office worker trying to find meaning in life beautifully, hitting each and every emotional beat of this man's journey, and the closing moments of his performance are magnificently handled both in terms of acting and direction. The snow here simply just adds to the beauty of the scene as (not to spoil too much) we find Shimura's Watanabe with just a blissful sense of contentment across his face, erasing away all the sadness that had been prevalent on it before, as the snow brushes across it. It's an incredible scene that is one of the highpoints of this criminally underseen drama. Here's the song for your ears only: not one of the most beautiful voices ever, but the way its rendered on film will certainly strike up the feelings within you:
3. James Mason ambling alone in the snow in Odd Man Out
From Criterion
Quite possibly the most underrated of all Carol Reed's films, this thriller centering around an IRA agent on the run from the authorities in a tight-knit town is a terrific example of what any thriller should be like: suspenseful, but also humorous, thoughtful, and beautifully shot. Any scene which involves the physical degradation of Mason's Johnny as he trudges through the snow-ridden streets of his town is just a marvellous composition of all things great about this film.
moviemorlocks.com (not a great film but beautifully shot as always)
5. Kill Bill: YES, that scene.
Overall I prefer Volume 2 for its sheer complexity. But Volume 1 has this fantastic scene which is essentially the Spaghetti Western infused with swords and snow to make it all the more awesome. I don't know it they necessarily had to fight it out outdoors but why not, Tarantino knows his aesthetics.
In this lead-up to Christmas (well it's a bit early but yeah, who cares) I'll be ordering my blog posts (sort of) in line with this theme: doing head-to-heads with at least one of the two films having 'wintery' themes, gradually increasing in their 'Christmasy-ness'. First up: Michael Gondry's quirky romantic science-fiction drama 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind', and the biography of Jean Domonique-Bauby, 'The Diving Bell and the Butterfly'. First off I have to say, these two films have some of the most beautiful titles ever. One's quoted from an Alexander Pope poem which automatically makes it awesome, the other's just so beautifully abstract and yet makes so much sense from the opening scenes of the film. Anyway, enough about that because if a film's a drag, no amazing title can save it (see: Shadowboxer starring Helen Mirren and Cuba Gooding Jr.. I know, I thought I was in for a treat too).
Let's start at their respective beginnings; both films are very high concept motion pictures in their own different ways, and they throw the audience into the thick of things without much introduction from the outset. The first 36 minutes or so of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is told entirely from the paralysed first-person perspective of Jean Domonique-Bauby (Mathieu Almaric), editor of ELLE, as he lies in a hospital bed, is wheeled around in a wheelchair, etc. all from the view of his eyes--and soon, just the left eye, for fear of infection of the right due to irrigation. This all allows for director Julian Schnabel of course, to have a great deal of fun with his directorial style, as within the static POV of Bauby people and images flit around the screen, magnified and diminished based on their proximity to Bauby, voices of visitors and hospital staff are modulated at different volumes even at the same distances. Low dutch angles to show his bedridden position, as well as deep focus on the faces of people while blurring the background in different shades, are all very effectively used to show Bauby's feelings of physical confinement. Here's a really good website which shows the imagistic disorientation the film beautifully achieves: http://evanerichards.com/2009/415
Bauby's physical limitations are vividly conveyed by Schnabel, and you certainly get that repressive feeling from both the frustrations of the man himself, and the sadness of his loved ones when they come visit, but one thing I rather love about the film is that it does not compromise one of the best elements of the original source material: humour. I'll get onto Mathieu Almaric's performance in a bit, but there's never that sense of looming, excessively depressive air to many films of this sort, instead there retains that dreamy, wry sort of style to Schnabel's approach and the internal dialogue of Bauby that helps make this somewhat oppressive peripheral vision from within an man's head, oddly engaging and comfortable.
From actorblogspot.com
With Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, as is typical with a Charlie Kaufman script we begin proceedings in a very muted sort of way. Following Joel Barrish (Jim Carrey, in an incredibly subtle turn for the usual overactor) on his way to work (or is he?), director Gondry films the opening scenes of the film in such a casual, breezy way that upon re-watches one is all the more impressed by how he resists the urge to make any sort of immediate 'impact', so to speak. Everything just chugs along quite nicely as we're treated to a 'meet-cute' between Joel and Clementine (Kate Winslet). It's a Valentine's Day we're in but a very casual-feeling one as Kaufman's script carefully scripts around the central concept of the film (I'll get to that in a bit), making everything very normal while leaving hints here and there of something altogether more of an oddity. 'Why is it that I fall in love with every girl who shows me the slightest bit of attention?' bemoans Joel--oh how the feels come up every time I watch the film, delivered with the normality of the everyday musing it is.
fandomania.com
Clementine is very much the archetypal 'Manic Pixie Girl' audiences have all generally grown to love/hate/been indifferent to the trope surrounding it, and from the audience's POV she's all the more luminous in comparison to the reserved Joel. Winslet's performance here is excellent as she does not really disappear into the role, rather she uses the inherent star quality she has to all of her performances and really makes Clementine into her very unique sort of quirky love interest: very off-kilter, constantly changing topics (and hair colour), and you (and Joel) are immediately drawn to her. Which makes everything that follows, resonate all the more strongly.
After the opening third or so of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly we move out of not only Bauby's POV, but also occasionally make detours into Bauby's past, giving Amalric a bit more 'space' for his performance insofar as character creation is concerned. To be honest though, even without these flashbacks, Amalric would still have given a magnificent performance in my books. His voiceover alone is worth the price of admission as it's just so in line with the voice of Bauby I had in my head when reading the book: sly, cheeky, and definitely a bit of a rogue, but with that tinge of poetic appreciation with not only the beautiful things in life, but also finding beyond the surface just anything to remark upon, and find the complexity within. 'I decided to stop pitying myself', remarks Bauby at one point, and this is marvellously conveyed within Amalric's performance through the gradual progression of his inner voice from grudging acceptance of his fate, to a newfound appreciation of life from his limitations of view.
Equally impressive is his physical performance: like Eddie Redmayne in the recent The Theory of Everything, he shows the disabilities of the man so well and accurately, and somehow within these limitations finding ways of showing emotion through just his eyes. It's performances like this that really show to me an actor is great, or has potential to achieve greatness. Conrad Veidt and John Hurt, in The Man Who Smiles and The Elephant Man, achieved magnificent feats of acting with just the use of their eyes: it's one of the reasons why I'm constantly on the lookout in hope that Amalric will find better roles suited to his talents, or why The Theory of Everything proved to me that Eddie Redmayne is the next big thing.
It's certainly not a one-man show though: there's of course Schnabel anchoring everything magnificently, structuring the film's back-and-forth linear plotting wonderfully and showing both the degradation of the body and the elevation so well by the different lightings he uses in certain scenes, the aura of dreaminess he gives to the scenes he's playing with his family to the blunt, unsparing tone to the scenes where Bauby questions his faith, or has his stroke. The montages he uses never feel extraneous, but so mellifluously convey the state of Bauby's mind. The rest of the cast is very solid too: Emmanuelle Seigner is terrific in a limited role as his loving wife, Marie-Josée Croze and Anne Consigny are stellar as Bauby's bedside confidants (and absolutely stunning to boot), Issach de Bankole and Niels Arestup poignantly fill the shoes of smaller but no less impactful friends of Bauby, but the star of the lot is definitely Max Von Sydow as Bauby's father, whose one big emotional scene is just a killer.
There aren't really any big emotional scenes in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and they really wouldn't have fitted in with the way the film progresses. I'm not going to give too much away; half of the enjoyment of watching the film is just being perplexed by what's going on, and not having things explained to you but sort of blindly feeling your way around, till you grasp at the beautiful heart of what Gondry is getting at: love. Love, love, love. Joel, so it goes, has undergone a memory erasure process. Very Philip K. Dick-esque, eh? Well, not really. That too is grounded and made real in its very own way, and really the main point of it all is to get a retrospective look into Joel and Clementine's relationship--who as it turns out, he has met, and dated for two years before. It's here where Gondry's style really lets loose: take this scene here.
As we go back further and further, the film gets deeper and deeper, and what I really enjoyed about the film is that it never really loses that dreamy edge, but rather uses it to add poignancy. As we move into happier days and more nostalgic moments of the relationship, we grow uneasy and unhappy about them being lost forever. It's heartbreaking stuff. I cried multiple times throughout Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, as I did with The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Not because they're weepies or anything, but because with such peripherally limited visions (the inside of Joel's and Bauby's heads) we find such beauty in perception, and in the former watch it ruthlessly taken away, and the latter find it so heartrendingly cherished before Bauby's demise. The endings of the two films are quite different in terms of the tone, with Schanbel opting to end on a high note while Gondry chooses to, after the emotional toll of the 'final' scenes within Joel's brian, to end on a quiet one. I haven't really done full justice to either of them, but I can assure you, watch them both, watch them to the end. Their just beautiful, beautiful works of motion picture art.
Straight off the bat, I would like to say that Microbe et Gasoil has to be one of the
most charmingly sweet and funny films I’ve seen in a while. Going in to watch a
French coming of age film by Michael Gondry (of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind fame) I honestly didn’t know
what to expect. I was hoping it would be nice and pleasant watch; but I certainly
didn’t expect to leave the cinema after 2 hours with the biggest smile on my
face. Microbe et Gasoil is a
surprisingly profound film and incredibly insightful but never dishonest or
cheesy. Gondry maintains a perfect balance between different emotions
throughout, and the film is as filled with hysterically funny moments as it is
with thought-provoking adolescent themes.
There’s a scene halfway into the film where Daniel’s
(Microbe in the title) brother gives him a GPS (actually an iphone idk why they
didn’t just call it that) (Calvin’s
note: quirkiness for quirkiness’ sake perhaps?) and when Daniel asks him why
he’s being so nice to him. The brother’s silence says a lot, the film doesn’t
exploit this with more screen time or background music for that scene, which is
the great thing about this film, it never cashes in on clichés and remains so
truthful to its characters and their realistic, relatable personalities.
This was not a very ‘big’ film so I don’t know if you will get to see this very
easily but if you get a chance to, then don’t think twice, the film will leave
the sweetest taste in your mouth.
RATING 4 / 5
Why you should watch 'Beasts of the Southern Wild'
I still haven't seen Microbe Et Gasoil yet but Ivan's excellent review certainly has me intrigued. Since we're on the topic of coming-of-age films though, I might as well go review one myself. Moonrise Kingdom, Stand by Me, Son of Rambo...list goes on and on about films I could talk about.
Today though I think I'll stick with one I've most recently seen, 2012's Beasts of the Southern Wild. Before I get into the film itself, have a listen to its soundtrack:
'Beautiful', I think, is the perfect word to surmise this whole film. In fact I'm going to do my best to limit...in fact, completely eschew any number of images I put in this review as the best way to get into Beasts of the Southern Wild is with a completely blank visual slate insofar as your expectations of the film is concerned. It's a fantasy drama that's both realistically grounded in reality, and yet at other points mystically transports you into this otherworldly place that's both within the world created by the film, coupled with that directorial touch of Benh Zetlin which makes it just...words cannot really describe why this film makes one feel the way it does. In fact a true review would be a bit futile, so I might as well just focus on specific parts of the film I loved; though I loved the film on the whole (yes I know I'm dragging and not making much sense, it's a Friday)
It centres on the journey, both outwardly and inwardly, of young Hushpuppy (played wonderfully by Quvenzhané Wallis) into adulthood as she deals with all manner of incidents befalling her tight-knit bayou community: melting icecaps, an ailing father, government interference and the imminent threat of the titular beasts. That's the plot but if I'm to be frank the film isn't really driven at all by it, which I loved: despite all of the oddities and fantastical elements, the fact that it maintains the tonality of a 'slice of life' feature film is pretty darn impressive. A lot of this is helped of course by Wallis who does the almost unthinkable for a child actor which is to act as the anchor of the film: rather than just some cutesy fodder or unrealistically sage 'man-child', she carries the film wonderfully with her very naturalistic performance.
enstarz.com
Perhaps even more impressive though is Dwight Henry as her father Wink: representing the coarser but yet no less admirable qualities of humanity through his craggy, blunt, intense and yet ultimately very moving performance. I thoroughly loved every moment Henry's characterization brought him full circle from the man who in the past had loved and lost, to the 'tough-love' father who beset by illness maintains a defiant, defensive stance, and ultimately revealing in the film's closing moments the tender soul of a truly divine being, in his own very earthly way. It's a marvellous performance that's oh so close to usurping Ben Whishaw as my 2012 Best Supporting Actor (another performance I do love a great deal)
The cinematography and script of this film are in their own ways highly minimalistic, there's of course that very precise sense of style to the fantasy elements, but what the film does so well is in making them all seamlessly merge together in what I consider the closest film, alongside The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, to verge on true poetic cinema. Instead of an image, I'll close this short review with the opening sequence of the film: watch. And then watch the film.
The tragedies of the past week or so have led to an influx of media of all sorts to help inspire people through the tough times. Heartrending letters pledging not to give into hate but rather cherish love, stories of bravery, and the circulation of this final speech from 'The Great Dictator':
I've posted the original version, sans the Hans Zimmer score many people have cleverly input into the scene. I really do like those cuts of the final speech but really I think Chaplin's direction, dialogue and acting in it really does speak for itself already. What I find incredible about this particular scene is how technically speaking, it's all rather out of character--up till this point, the Barber has been perhaps the most quiet, understated variation of his Little Tramp role--and yet still packs such a powerful punch. The whole build-up to this climactic speech is firstly, incredibly well done as Chaplin does not compromise the film's billing as a comedy, inserting quite a bit of humour with the Barber's clumsiness, and his friend Commander Schultz's gently exasperated reactions (Reginald Gardinier in a highly underrated 'straight man' performance as a great deal of humour in his scenes with Chaplin is derived by how straight-laced and confident he remains no matter how ridiculous the situation), to merge well with the tension. The speech itself is brilliant: one might call it on the nose, but I disagree. In fact I think it's some of the most personal, humanely moving pieces of cinematic literature I've ever heard uttered onscreen. The voiceless are given voice in the form of this humble little Barber who, separated from the love of his life, having endured the toils of a labour camp, and witnessed the atrocities of the anti-Semitic troops, finally finds strength to speak out not on behalf of himself, and not even just his beloved, or the Jewish race, but rather for the whole human race, espousing their capacity to love.
'We all want to help one another, human beings are like that'. I like to believe in that--and I still believe in it. Chaplin's belief in the innate potential in us to choose good over evil, gentles and kindness over hate, still resonates in me, and this speech, at the risk of sounding a bit cheesy, is one of those that just compels me to do the greater good. 'You are not machines'; we are all with autonomy, and that's crucial. We could just mindlessly walk into dooms of hate, but no, we shall not. We shall continue through dooms of love. I'm an idealist, yes. And Chaplin's contributed a great deal to that: even if the world's filled with horrible happenings and hate and intolerance, and kindness and love may not always prevail, it can always persist, and fight on for a better tomorrow.
It would've been very easy for the whole film to be purely centered around this final speech, and become just another propaganda piece, but Chaplin being Chaplin as both director and actor ensures that's never the case. In 'The Great Dictator' he so seamlessly blends together comedy and pathos, slapstick and social commentary, largely due to his terrifically differentiated performance as the titular dictator, Adolf Hynkel, a Hitler parody who is stupendously entertaining with his gibberish German, and immaculately 'imposing' but hilarious physical comedy; and his quietly moving depiction of a downtrodden barber who finds, loses love but in the end, gains the will the stand up in defiance of tyranny. It's terrific work that finds such differences between the two figures, and yet giving them both such distinctly Chaplin-esque flavours.
It's not a one-man show either: Jack Oakie is hilarious in a very broad parody of Mussolini who's really more buffoonish than intimidating (he and Chaplin's Hynkel vie for the most incompetent dictators of all-time), Maurice Moskovitch breathes such gentility into the role of a kindly neighbouring elder, and of course Paulette Goddard is fantastic as always as Hannah, Hynkel's love. In their comic scenes they have such fabulous chemistry of timing, such perfectly balanced reactions to the other's, and in their more dramatic scenes together they give such heft to the tough times they're going through. Her final reaction shot (which again I've ensured the clip above has concluded) works perfectly with Chaplin's speech to show hope for a brighter tomorrow, bringing a luminous end note much needed in those bleak days.
From Wikipedia. The chemistry between Goddard and Chaplin is, as always, fantastic.
Speaking of luminous notes, it's also a darned funny film: but what did you expect? To end on a high note, quite possibly one of the funniest movie scenes ever:
His “racial attitudes, like his explorations of gender and class…(being) often contradictory, even violently conflicted at any given moment of his career”, it is difficult to define what stance Faulkner took towards racial issues in his native habitat of Mississippi, one of the more epitomized regions of the Deep South, which reinforced Jim Crow segregation laws. In the eyes of the law blacks were “separate but equal” from whites, legally on an equal level, but with African-Americans differentiated on the basis of skin colour, perceived and judged as being inferior to the Caucasian race. Disfranchisement became a prominent issue over the voting rights of blacks, as well as the education system which divided mere children over skin colour; increased lynchings ensued, with tensions broiling over economic hardships and the perceptions that immigration was taking jobs awat from the whites. Even in places where blacks and whites lived in close proximity, parents would be required to teach children about the mandated social distance between races, and the necessity of adhering to the racial status quo.
Race became not so much an issue over the difference between the differences between the facial and physical features of different races but became a series of socio-political categorizations. Consequently began the constant conflict between various racial communities in the South that has since spread all over the world, albeit in less overt ways: symbolic violence owes its existence to the preoccupation with categorizing members of society into roles prescribed by their race. Critics have interpreted the racist language used by Faulkner in his novels to be a way of like Hemingway and Gertrude Stein, using them not only to reflect the racist backdrop of much of America, but also bringing a sort of visceral energy to the novel, infusing the unsympathetic racist characters by using them in “exploiting the word’s particular taboo charge”[1]. What is for certain is that the issue of symbolic category and symbolic violence was a very prominent theme in Faulkner’s works, most notably in The Sound and the Fury.
By “submerging himself in the mentality of the community where he was born”[2], Faulkner delves into his Southern heritage in exploring the racial tensions that defined the late-19th Century and early 20th century America. A late novel, Intruder in the Dust, explores the subject of racial domination through the story of a Negro who has embraced his role as an “Uncle Tom” figure to the extent that he is too submissive to even defend himself against a murder charge; in The Sound and the Fury, on the other hand, the black characters are decidedly less passive than this subservient figure. They are still servants—a family of them, indeed—but in many ways Faulkner presents characters who diametrically oppose the justifications for racial domination and symbolic categorization of the blacks in the South on account of their intelligence and wits, as well as forcing the reader to confront the realities of symbolic violence through the racism of characters like Jason Compson.
Samuel L. Jackson's Stephen in Django Unchained is perhaps the most recent, well-known example of an Uncle Tom figure
Like Benjy, the blacks in The Sound and the Fury are outcasts from white society, and are freed of many of the neuroses and problems that plague the white, adult characters in the book. A telling example is presented by the “motionless” old Negro Quentin sees on a train who moves with the “timeless patience” of the train with “static serenity”, in contrast to the torment Quentin is feeling inside that eventually drives him to suicide. Faulkner satirized the classist and often racist values of the South, and scathingly, comically attacked like Mrs Compson, Mrs Bland and to an extent, Quentin and his father, all of whom place much emphasis on their Southern self-image, and how to cultivate themselves while asserting dominance in both race and class over the supposedly “inferior” impoverished and coloured persons. Such is the way Faulkner deconstructs these values of the South that hinge so much upon symbolic violence, that his “concept of tradition—specifically Southern tradition—has nothing to do with the Technicolor grandeur of the cliché of the old South”[3].
A lowly character like Dilsey can still have power to dictate the actions of others—even Jason Compson, head of the household; her cries of “Hush, you, Jason!!” are sufficient to quiet down perhaps the most extrovertly violent character in the book. Through the character of Dilsey, the Negro housemaid who cares for Benjy with genuine love, but keeps her hands out of the more unsavoury matters of Jason and his philandering and petty crime, she can observe the Compson family without any sort of prejudice, and see “the full picture of the Compson household in all its incredible decrepitude” [4]. This seemingly passive role of the Negro servant is lampshaded by the constant repetition of the words “door” and “window” in the fourth chapter with predominantly views events from the viewpoint of Dilsey, but not through her narrative voice. She is still a lowly servant, and even the reins of the narrative voice cannot be given to her, but nevertheless her point of view provides the reader with more insightful, and less clouded, a judgement of the disintegration of the Compson family.
Victims of symbolic violence and prejudice like Benjy (prejudiced against by both family and complete strangers for being mentally underdeveloped), and Dilsey and her family, who are prejudiced against—though on what basis differs through the interpretations of the characters themselves. Dilsey’s grandson, Luster, sees himself being victimized by the Caucasian race as an individual—“That white man hard to get along with. You see him take my ball”, he bemoans at one point—and tells the white Benjy that he “’aint got nothing to moan about”. He reflects the attitude of a non-White in America experiencing the effects of racism in its basest form, racial domination, alongside the categorization of different races and ethnicities into different categories. Yet Luster is also, ironically, subverting the ethnic roles of the South by essentially having power over his own white master, Benjy; he orders him around, telling him to “Hush” at regular intervals, mocks Benjy by repeatedly uttering “Caddy” to provoke a reaction. Though he does occasionally find himself at the mercy of white characters—like Jason who holds in his hands money for Luster to go to a show and cruelly burns it—he is a character who Dilsey herself describes as having “sass” and is decidedly not submissive.
From The Guardian: James Franco as Benjy Compson
The view taken towards racial categorization back in Faulkner’s time had already begun to develop into a classification based on actions over appearance; in the South, “you are not black because you are (in essence) Black; you are Black…because of how you act…in an every-day matrix of performative possibilities”[5]. Faulkner’s black characters, despite their lowly status in the community, are able to “get things done, not in spite of their rational deficiency but rather because of it”[6]. The deceptively comical-looking figure of a black preacher who is “undersized” with “a wizened black face like a small, aged monkey” is able to transcend the submissively “thin, frightened, tuneless whispers” of the black churchgoers to deliver a powerful sermon with a voice that “was level and cold…sounded too big to have come to him”. The intensity of posturing gives him an air of “virtuosity” he seems to take over the scene—essentially Faulkner’s literary equivalent to the trope of “chewing the scenery” and this seems to spread throughout the Negro congregation, “hearts were speaking to one another in chanting measures”. The preacher and the Negro race embody endurance and persistence; his speech to this “Breddren en sistuhn” of the black community implores them to continue to endure against the “long, cold years” of symbolic violence and categorization, and to persist through “de darkness and de death everlasting upon generations” for in the end, they shall experience the power and the glory of the Lord.
After hearing this speech, Dilsey emotionally cries that she has “seed de first en de last”; the preacher’s act of defiance against the symbolic oppression of the Negro as a passive figure has opened up Dilsey’s eyes to a future in which blacks can finally transcend fickle racial profiling and categorization, and all men and women, regardless of colour or creed, can be all seen as the children of God. They do not contribute to symbolic violence against their own race because they do not adhere to stereotypes, they do not internalize prejudice against one another and most certainly do not participate in “accepting and supporting the terms of their own domination”[13]. Their “willingness” to serve their White masters is a pragmatic choice, a “patient willingness to endure is another mask they assume in order to find their way through a hostile world”[14]
[1]JOHN JEREMIAH SULLIVAN, How William Faulkner Tackled Race — and Freed the South From Itself, The New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/01/magazine/how-william-faulkner-tackled-race-and-freed-the-south-from-itself.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0
[2] Edmund Wilson, William Faulkner’s Reply to the Civil-Rights Program, Faulkner: A Collection of Critical Essays, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1966, p. 219
[3] Robert Penn Warren, Faulkner: The South, the Negro, and Time, Faulkner: A Collection of Critical Essays, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1966, p. 256
[4] Robert A. Martin. ‘The Words of “The Sound and the Fury”’. North Carolina: University of North Carolina Press, fall 1999
[5] John Jackson Jr., Harlemworld: Doing Race and Class in Contemporary Black America, Chicago, Il, University of Chicago Press, p. 171, 188
[6] Peter Swiggart, “Moral and Temporal Order in The Sound and the Fury”, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, spring 1953
[7] Matthew Desmond and Mustafa Emirbayer, What is Racial Domination, W. E. B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Research, Du Bois Review, 6:2, 2009, p.247
[8] Arthur F. Kinney, "Faulkner and Racism," Connotations 3.3 (1993-94)
It's that time of year where there's nothing better to do than to whack on a bit of Charlie Chaplin on your laptop. Having luckily kept my head above water insofar actual work is concerned, I did need however a bit of respite from some of the intense reading on my course syllabus.
Anyway, enough with that little digression, and onto Modern Times itself. Quite possibly the finest Chaplin comedy of them all (I'm torn between this and the equally fantastic TheGreat Dictator), so far as I'm concerned the man was a genius. Sound or silent, he was equally adept at honing both mediums to the best of his abilities, and this film, centred on the exploits of his most famous character the lovable, well-meaning but clumsy Tramp as his does his best to navigate through an increasingly industrialised modern-day world, represents the best blend of the two--though it really is like the recent The Artist, a silent film at heart, with speaking not so much to make concessions to the audience but as an artistic stroke in its own right.
The 'first words' out of the Tramp's mouth come from this film; most of the general public would have most likely never heard Chaplin speak before this. Fittingly it's all utter gibberish, and yet with Chaplin's excellent knack for physical acting we understand every bit of the silly song he's singing/motioning out. Perhaps a jab at those who said the silent film genre was a dead genre, and that only 'talkies' could possible convey meaning? Perhaps. Another instance in which dialogue is employed is through the disembodied voice of the President of Electro Steel, the assembly line where the Tramp is working, representing the oppressiveness of vocal power in contrast to the (near) mute Tramp's meek, modest and retiring nature. I might be reading too much into this linking into later allegations of Chaplin being a Communist supporter and refusing to 'out' his fellow supporters, with the 'vocal'-ness of those who did. But there you go.
It's in many ways a classic Chaplin Little Tramp flick, and that's a good thing. A segment in a department store where Chaplin's Tramp 'fends off' robbers ends up becoming not only an excruciatingly funny scene but also a masterclass of direction by Chaplin himself. As well as these large setpieces, there's also those funny little moments here and there with those little mannerisms audiences then and now have all grown to adore. Him fighting three prisoners with bare hands is funny enough a sight in itself, but its those little moments in between the big comic ones (for example his bemused facial reactions at being congratulated as a hero) are what makes his comedy all the more special.
Yet it's also a deeply moving film in its own quiet little way. The romance between the Tramp and Paulette Goddard's scruffy, unkempt yet incredibly luminous little ruffian is fantastic in both its lighter moments, and the more heartfelt ones. How they slowly move from a amiable friendship to deep, understated throngs of not only love but incomparable care and affection, resonates the strongest out of all of Chaplin's work I've seen (and yes, I've seen City Lights). Him and Goddard share such flawlessly natural chemistry together that they make this unlikeliest of couples (although I've always found the Little Tramp quite adorable in his own little kooky way) really work. The ending, in they walk into the distance, is reminiscent to me of Paradise Lost: on the run from authorities, with an uncertain future ahead, and yet hand in hand bravely venturing forth. It's underplayed endings like these which really bring a filmgoer down to his or her knees--take note, modern-day weepies.
