Monthly Archives: September 2012

I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School: Hints of Joseph Campbell in ‘Boogie Nights’?

Welcome to I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, my weekly article to prove that I have it in me to go from movie buff to film critic.  With each column I try to better understand the art of filmmaking.  As these are longish discussions, spoilers follow.  For more from me, check out the rest of Defeating Boredom or follow me on Twitter, @Rob_Samuelson.

[Author’s Note: I’m finally going to see The Master this weekend, so I thought I’d dig through my old papers to find one on writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson’s breakthrough, Boogie Nights.  I wrote this a couple years ago for my Media Criticism class.  I’d like to think I’ve improved as a writer, but I still think it’s interesting to note the quasi hero’s journey in Dirk Diggler’s story, so here’s a “warts and all” version of my younger self.]


The 1970s had many iconic elements that came to define the decade.  Watergate, solo Beatles, cocaine’s rise to prominence, The Big Red Machine, and many other things are cultural touchstones from that era.  However, few things defined that time more than the pornography industry, with its outlandish acting, funk guitar solos, and blatant subversion of societal norms.  Boogie Nights, a 1997 film from writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson, depicts the porn industry in its only-in-theaters days and the rise of the videocassette market which would revolutionize the trade at the expense of the lofty ambitions of the film’s central characters.

The film involves an industrious adult film mogul, Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds), discovering the film’s protagonist, a young nightclub dishwasher named Eddie Adams (Mark Wahlberg).  Entering Horner’s world of sex, drugs, and stardom has a profound effect on Adams, who begins to live his life as the character he creates for Jack’s films, Dirk Diggler.  He becomes one of the most widely acclaimed adult film stars in the business, helping Horner create a version of cinema unthought-of before they entered the picture, and the success goes to his head.

The film opens with Horner discussing his ambition to turn the porn industry into its own genre of film—rivaling things like science fiction—with his girlfriend, and frequent star of his films, Amber Waves (Julianne Moore).  He expresses his desire to find a crossover star for his films, one that can add a bit of acting to the films’ raunchy nature.  This is when Horner notices Eddie, then a 17-year-old dishwasher at the club, from across the room.  He sends one of his other collaborators, simply known as Rollergirl (Heather Graham) for her refusal to ever take off her roller skates, to see if Eddie has what it takes for his kind of work.

After joining Horner’s troupe, things start getting very good for everyone involved.  Dirk quickly becomes a favorite among porn viewers and critics alike, and begins winning industry awards.  His greatest success comes after creating yet another character, a private eye named Brock Landers, who not only has sex with myriad women, but also solves cases with his partner, performed by Dirk’s friend and Horner movie staple, Reed Rothchild (John C. Reilly).

The film takes many interesting turns with the supporting characters, such as the drug addictions of Amber, Buck Swope’s (Don Cheadle) aspirations to open an electronics store with the money he makes performing in Horner’s movies, and the tragicomic relationship of Horner’s assistant director, Little Bill (William H. Macy), and his constantly cheating wife.  All those subplots are intriguing and entertaining, but the action mainly rests on Dirk’s shoulders.

That degradation of Diggler’s life is altogether fascinating.  The turn his life takes as the ‘70s end, going from a life of constant success and affluence and devolving into a nightmare of cocaine, failure, and egotism works tremendously well.  He has a mansion, a 1978 Chevrolet Corvette he cherishes, and the love of a surrogate family—particularly the older, more experienced mother figure to all of Horner’s actors, Amber—but his success gets in the way of clear thinking.  His descent begins on New Year’s Eve 1979, when a business associate of Horner’s declares that the days of their movies being shown in theaters across the country would soon be coming to an end.  Horner dismisses the news for a time, but eventually evolves with the industry.  Diggler, on the other hand, does not, ending in a downward spiral that leads to prostitution, a horrible vanity musical project, and armed robbery.

Literature Review

Anderson’s slick, stylized direction, including the intricately blocked tracking shot in the nightclub that opens the film, indicates a mastery of the technical side of filmmaking.  Moments like the filming of the first Brock Landers film are interesting and extremely funny in dialogue, poor acting of the porn stars, and the aesthetic change from widescreen format to the squared look of the adult film industry.

There are plenty of entertaining winks and nods to the audience—the Raging Bull-recalling scene at the end, etc.—throughout, but like all great stories, the film centers on the characters and their relationships.  The most interesting is the Freudian nightmare of a relationship Dirk has with Amber, a lonely cocaine addict dealing with her legal inability to see her biological son due to her addiction.  Dirk has his own mother issues, as shown by the few brief fight scenes with his mom, and he forms a bond with Amber steeped in duality.

They clearly love each other very much, but at times it’s unclear what kind of love they have for each other.  The majority of the time, Amber attempts to replace her lost son with Dirk.  She buys him Christmas gifts, calls him her “baby boy,” and things like that.  However, on camera they have gratuitous, and repeated, sex.  This implies plenty of deep-down issues of Amber’s own and it greatly helps enhance the enjoyment of the movie.

The lesser characters all have their moments to shine, as well.  Reilly’s Reed is a sweet, dumb, and unattractive guy who doesn’t at all seem to be a good fit for the porn industry, but the “family” keeps him around, even if at times it’s just for his interest in performing magic tricks at parties.  Cheadle is great as the ambitious Buck, enhancing a background character with sadness and a take-what-life-gives-you attitude when a horrific accident provides him a tremendous opportunity.  Philip Seymour Hoffman portrays a young gay man named Scottie who longs to be with Dirk, and Graham’s Rollergirl is more than just a bimbo; she’s a very sweet girl who stands up for herself when she needs to.  And William H. Macy gives a great performance showing the downside of the “swinging ‘70s” culture as Little Bill.


Something that sticks out about Boogie Nights is its ability to defy expectations of what these characters should be.  After all, it is a film about a widely derided profession, but these are all sympathetic and wholly relatable characters.  A big reason for this is Anderson’s slyly methodical application of Joseph Campbell’s monomyth.  Nearly every step Dirk takes throughout the film is informed by Campbell’s elements.

The best way to analyze a text like this is to first watch the film with a notebook and pen.  Each step in the hero’s journey, from the call to adventure to freedom to live (“Monomyth Summary”), should be listed in the notes and for every moment in the film that relates, specific notes should be taken.

After the first viewing is completed, a good understanding of the monomyth is reached.  At that point, the film should be watched again with the director commentary, and that informs further understanding of the text, including the intentions of the writer/director.

Monomyth: Departure in Boogie Nights

The film begins, like any mythic story, with the call to adventure.  In Boogie Nights, however, that call is prolonged for a long time.

After an aesthetically complicated—and incredibly impressive—opening tracking shot that consists of several minutes, the camera settles on a conversation between Jack and Amber at a night club.  Jack is suddenly distracted as the action goes to slow motion and the camera settles on the hero of the piece, Eddie-Dirk, who is picking up dirty dishes across the club from Jack.  Eddie is young, strong, and has a look-at-me factor that Jack can’t ignore.  This serves him well not only as an adult film star but as the star of the movie, because it provides the audience with a likable character despite the perceived immoral profession he works.

Jack confronts Eddie in the kitchen, and Eddie takes the conversation to be a solicitation of prostitution, and names a price for Jack.  Jack tells him it’s nothing like that, and instead asks him to have a drink, but Eddie refuses, saying that he has to work, promptly refusing the call.

Jack returns to his table with Amber, but enlists Rollergirl, the most bubbly of his actresses, to check out Eddie’s “credentials.”  She corners Eddie in the kitchen where she engages in sexual acts upon him.  She returns to Jack at the table and lets him know that Eddie is incredibly well endowed.  In a scene involving Eddie’s then girlfriend, his admission of, “everyone’s blessed with one thing” implies an almost godlike quality to Eddie, and Rollergirl’s entrance into his life takes the place of supernatural aid in Campbell’s list.

The night ends and Eddie leaves work.  He’s walking down the street when a car rolls by.  It is populated by Jack, Amber, and Rollergirl.  Jack invites Eddie to join them, and he gives in, as he gets in the car and they eat at a diner, where Jack outlines his ambitions for their films, which he wants to be a true cinematic genre as opposed to simply a sexual release for viewers.  This impresses Eddie, who then joins the group to Jack’s house, where Jack insists Eddie have sex with Rollergirl so he can determine whether he can use Eddie or not.  This represents Eddie’s crossing of the first threshold in a big way.  He then returns to the home he shares with his parents, only to be greeted by his seething mother, who starts a monumental fight with him and kicks him out of the house, never to be seen again in the film.  She fulfills another of Campbell’s requirements, as the hero often has issues with a father, or in this case, parent, figure.

After getting kicked out of his house, Eddie returns to Jack’s house, as he has nowhere else to go.  Jack is having a party that day, and the members of his filmmaking troupe are all there.  This all represents a complete departure from Eddie’s known life, as cocaine, sex, and all manners of general partying are everywhere around him.  It is not at all what Eddie is used to, especially when a young girl overdoses at the party.  He is surrounded by new, strange people, all of whom share in an affluence he had only been able to dream of up to that point in his life.  This is when Eddie meets the Colonel, a producer who funds Jack’s projects.  When told Eddie is a new actor for their stock, the Colonel tells Eddie to possibly think of a stage name.  In an entertaining scene in a hot tub, Eddie tells Jack he can see his name emblazoned in neon, and the words are shown on the screen as “Dirk Diggler.”  This complete renunciation of his former life is the last part of Eddie-Dirk’s departure, known to Campbell scholars as the belly of the whale.

Monomyth: Initiation in Boogie Nights

The newly christened Dirk now has to start working for Jack.  He soon finds himself at his first film shoot.  He’s nervous about being called for his first scene, and waits in his dressing room, talking to himself in the mirror, trying to diminish his nerves.  He then walks to the set, where he is to have sex with Amber.  Sensing his nerves, she tells him that he looks great, and this calms him, setting up their odd quasi-mother-son relationship that will define much of each of their lives in the coming years.

They film the scene, but Jack is unable to get the shot he needed, so he thinks all is lost for the rest of the day.  However, as per usual in monomyth stories, Dirk says he is able to go again right away, passing the first of many trials, something Campbell says needs to happen for a story to be truly monomythic.

One of the interesting things Anderson does in his telling of this story is blending the various monomyth stages into one scene.  This is obvious as Dirk’s first trial involves having sex in his meeting with the “goddess,” Amber.  She is older than the rest of the actors and performs that aforementioned mother role because she’s dealing with the loss of her own biological son.

The next relative departure Anderson takes from Campbell’s rules is in his dealing with the “woman as temptress” stage (“Joseph Campbell’s The Seventeen Stages of the Monomyth” p. 15).  As the movie takes place within the pornography industry, women aren’t so much sexual temptresses as they are necessary components in what is required of the genre.  This is why Anderson chooses to use other things to tempt Dirk along his journey.  This is when he introduces something that tends to be a common thread among newfound celebrities: success leads to many things that may not necessarily be good.  The story soon finds Dirk becoming increasingly egotistic as his success as an actor continues to grow, making him rich and providing him a steady stream of drugs.

Anderson’s dealing of the “atonement with the father” (“Joseph Campbell’s The Seventeen Stages of the Monomyth” p. 16) is also a slight departure from what Campbell wrote.  After his mother kicks him out of his house, Dirk never sees his parents again.  He instead forms a lasting bond with both Jack and Amber, who perform the roles of parents as best they can.  They may not live the most upstanding lives, but they do love Dirk in their own way, and this leads to a catharsis for Dirk.  He has the love he needs, and the rest of the film involves him squandering that love and trying to regain it.

The way Boogie Nights portrays apothesis—“[dying] to the self to live in spirit (“Joseph Campbell’s The Seventeen Stages of the Monomyth” p. 17)”—is by having Dirk completely do away with the Eddie Adams part of his persona.  He lives as Dirk, makes sure nobody else calls him Eddie anymore, and even creates another character to perform as in the porn films, Brock Landers.  It appears as though he just wants to forget Eddie Adams entirely as he transforms into a much more successful person.

That success is shown as Dirk throws a party at his new house to show it off to the troupe.  This is part of Campbell’s ultimate boon, as the house has a lavish bedroom, a display specifically for his “best actor” awards won at porn industry ceremonies, and a huge garage for his brand new 1978 Chevrolet Corvette.  A scene at another award show depicts Dirk as moving further from the sweet kid he used to be, as he gives a blasé “thank you” as his entire speech, and walks off the stage.

Monomyth: Return in Boogie Nights

Things start to turn sour for the film’s characters as the 1970s draw to a close.  In fact, New Year’s Eve 1979 provides the catalyst for much of the change.  This is when Dirk refuses the return to normalcy, as his egotism gets out of control with his first foray into the world of cocaine, when Amber, showing the type of behavior that got her banned from seeing her real son, goads him into snorting with her.  This starts a downward spiral for Dirk, as Jack fires him, separating him from the rest of his surrogate family.  He decides he wants to get into the music business, and he pours all his money into recording a demo—in a hilarious turn of events, it’s “The Touch,” the theme from the 1980s animated Transformers movie.

When Dirk realizes he does not have the money to pay for his demo, he hatches a plan with Reed and another friend to swindle a rich man by selling him fake cocaine.  As this deal goes bad very quickly, a shootout ensues, and Dirk and Reed barely make it out alive, highlighting the magic flight section of Campbell’s monomyth.  Dirk realizes the madness surrounding his life and he returns to Jack in tears, broken.  Jack acknowledges the insanity that’s invaded Dirk’s life, aiding in his “rescue from without,” which involves “powerful guides and rescuers to bring [the hero] back to everyday life (“Joseph Campbell’s The Seventeen Stages of the Monomyth” p. 21).”

Dirk’s return to Jack pulls double duty, as it also counts as his crossing of the return threshold.  He goes back to the life that made him happiest, which was working with Jack, Amber, and the rest of the troupe, and although he can’t make amends with his real parents, he does his best to gain back the trust of his surrogate family.

As the film draws to a close, Dirk is still working on becoming a master of two worlds.  It’s clear, though, that he is working on getting along with everyone again, and he has learned a lot about being good to the important people in his life.  The film’s last scene—the one reminiscent to Raging Bull—in which Dirk tries to psyche himself up before his first scene back with the group, ends with him walking out the door, his freedom to live intact.


Boogie Nights.  Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson. Perf. Mark Wahlberg, Julianne Moore,
Burt Reynolds, Don Cheadle. New Line Cinema, 1997.

The film follows the story of a young nightclub dishwasher who goes on to become one of the leading stars of the adult entertainment industry.  It follows him from 1977 through 1983 and depicts his rise and fall, addictions and faults.

Boogie Nights. Retrieved October 10, 2010.

A summary of the film, its cast, awards, and distribution history.

Ebert, R. (October 17, 1997).  Boogie Nights. The Chicago Sun-Times.  Retrieved from

This is simply a review of the film by a critic who I’ve admired for a long time.  He praises the film for its direction and stars.

Joseph Campbell’s The Seventeen Stages of the Monomyth (N/A). The Royal Society of Account Planning. Retrieved October 8, 2010.

This is an in-depth account of each stage in Campbell’s Hero’s Journey theory.  It looks at various forms of pop culture that display this storytelling technique and shows its ubiquity.



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Can’t Wait: ‘The Silver Linings Playbook’

While my other movie series, I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, looks back, I figured I should place at least one foot in the here and now of giddy anticipation.  Therefore, Can’t Wait focuses on upcoming movies I, well, can’t wait to see, along with a few reasons why.

Robert DeNiro’s career has, to put it gently, slowed in the last 15 to 20 years.  After years of being perhaps the greatest actor of his generation, he’s seemingly been content to ease himself into supporting roles in light comedies like Meet the Parents and Analyze This.  There’s nothing wrong with phoning it in a little after a lifetime of greatness, but it must get a little dull without having to stretch himself.  Hence, he looks like he’s combined the two phases of his career in The Silver Linings Playbook, David O. Russell’s follow-up to 2010’s The Fighter.

As wonderful as DeNiro looks, the two leads, Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence, seem primed to knock it out of the park.  Cooper’s long been a reliable actor but one relegated to bland “leading man” types of characters.  He was the kind friend on Alias and had some fun with smarminess in The Hangover, but hasn’t had much to chew on in his roles; playing a recently released mental patient should remedy that.  Lawrence, who already has a great role under her belt (Winter’s Bone), could easily play it safe after striking gold in franchise films like X-Men: First Class and this year’s huge hit, The Hunger Games.  Nobody would fault a new star for doing so.  The fact she’s not playing a woman with a quiet resolve (as she has in her best known roles so far) is exciting; her character’s bipolar warmth/insanity is a welcome change.  Even if it weren’t directed by Russell, one of the better young-ish filmmakers of our day, the cast would be plenty of reason to grow excited for the film.

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I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School: John Sayles’ ‘Matewan’

Welcome to I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, my weekly article to prove that I have it in me to go from movie buff to film critic.  With each column I try to better understand the art of filmmaking.  As these are longish discussions, spoilers follow.  For more from me, check out the rest of Defeating Boredom or follow me on Twitter, @Rob_Samuelson.

[Author’s Note: Last semester, I took a class about American history as seen through cinema.  Our bi-weekly essays were supposed to give a lengthy plot description and the specific film’s historical accuracy.  This is one of the pieces that made me feel pretty good.  It’s not great, but it’s nice to see one’s progression as a writer.  As for when I’ll generate new content, I’m working on it; school is difficult and I do not handle it well.  I apologize again.]

Work is hard; it always has been.  What people tend to forget is, work has grown significantly easier over the last hundred years.  After a “grueling” eight-hour day, we go home, complain about our bosses, coworkers, and any other annoyances that meet us at our places of business (when dealing with the public, some of these complaints can be warranted).  The coal miners in Matewan, West Virginia, were not so lucky.  In fact, it is due to their—and others like them—sacrifices, that people today can work reasonable jobs.

Those miners, as portrayed in director John Sayles’ Matewan, decided they had had enough of working endless hours for miniscule wages, especially when combined with the coal company’s refusal to reduce any of the dangers associated with the job.  When Joe Kenehan (Chris Cooper), a pro-union man, arrives in town, his ideas about workers’ rights catch on with the miners.  They struggle to organize, provoking lethal action from the powerful and ruthless men atop the Baldwin-Felts coal mining company, fueling a literal rich-keeping-the-lower-classes-down powder keg.

At the film’s outset, Kenehan rides a train bound for the small West Virginian town.  Also aboard are a group of black workers from Alabama.  The train stops well before reaching the Matewan station, and the black men are ordered off the train.  A group of angry white men ambush them, brawling over their perception of the blacks as “scabs.”

Kenehan watches the fight from the train and the realization sets in he’s in for a tough go of it.  When he reaches Matewan, he moves into a boarding house run by a miner’s widow named Elma Radnor (Mary McDonnell) and her teenage son, Danny (Will Oldham), a child laborer at the mine and also a promising preacher.

That first night, Danny preaches at the local church about the need for a union and is shuffled off the altar by the head minister, an anti-union man played by Sayles himself.  During this, Kenehan meets with a collection of miners who had loosely been trying to organize.  While there, one of the new black men, Few Clothes (James Earl Jones), enters, wishing to be a part of the union.  Despite the vehement antipathy shown toward Few Clothes by the white miners, Kenehan convinces them they will need everyone to stand up to coal company.  Without workers, he explains, the company cannot excavate its product.

Kenehan meets with the black miners and also the recently arrived Italian immigrants to persuade them to join with the other men.  The men are unsure of what to do.  Later, when the white miners learn of the blacks and Italians working night shifts behind their backs, they confront them on the hill.  Ready for a fight, the white miners are then met with Baldwin-Felts men aiming rifles at them.  To diffuse the situation, the night shift workers throw down their shovels and join the striking white miners.

The next day, Hickey and Griggs, company men hired as muscle, arrive in town.  They take up residence at the Radnor boarding house, displacing Kenehan, who graciously vacates his room to avoid any unnecessary fighting.

Hickey and Griggs begin to break the union by evicting miners from company-owned houses.  However, Police Chief Sid Hatfield (David Strathairn) refuses to allow such strong-armed tactics without any eviction notices, and deputizes each Matewan man to enforce his will against the company men.

The striking union men move their families to a camp in the woods outside of town.  Hickey and Griggs, along with other hired men, take shots at the camp at night, injuring some of the miners.  The next day, they further try breaking the strikers by demanding all company-owned goods and food be returned.  However, some hill people arrive in the camp.  Saying they are unhappy with the noise the company men made the night before, they draw their weapons on Hickey, Griggs, and their lackeys and force them to leave.

C.E. Lively, a company infiltrator, tries to drive a divide between Kenehan and the strikers by getting a local widow to accuse Kenehan of sexual assault.  This greatly angers the men, who decide to kill Kenehan.  After drawing the short straw, Few Clothes is elected to perform the duty.  After bonding with him over a campfire, Few Clothes is conflicted and unsure of how Kenehan could have done such a thing.  Just as Few Clothes builds the resolve to carry out his order, another miner enters the camp with the truth about Kenehan’s innocence, strengthening Joe’s message.

After the Baldwin-Felts men murder a young miner, the powder keg is ready go blow.  As company reinforcements arrive to fulfill the promise of evictions, Chief Hatfield begins shooting at the men.  Kenehan rushes to try to stop the fight, wanting to prove the union’s goals can be accomplished peacefully, but is unsuccessful.  The Baldwin-Felts men are all killed, as are several miners and townspeople.  Danny and Mrs. Radnor find Kenehan at the train tracks, dead of a gunshot wound.  In voiceover, an elderly Danny reveals the strikers never beat the company, and he worked the rest of his life in the mines.

Matewan is a powerful film, especially given its historical relevance.  In the years preceding the events of the movie, unions struggled to give workers around the nation some security and safety.

According to America: A Narrative History, “[o]n May 12 [1902], some 150,000 members of the United Mine Workers (UMW) walked off the job in West Virginia and Pennsylvania.  They demanded a 20 percent wage increase, a reduction in daily working hours from ten to nine, and formal recognition of their union by management (723).”

However, the animosity between the upper and lower classes burned brightly in those times.  “The operators dug in their heels and shut down the mines in an effort to starve out the miners, many of whom were immigrants from eastern Europe,” just like many of the men depicted in Sayles’ film.  A key example of this utter disregard was one of the mine owners, who said, “The miners don’t suffer—why, they can’t even speak English (723).”

Moving beyond historical accuracy, Matewan more than holds its own as a work of art.  The acting, from the top billed Cooper on down, is phenomenal.  Cooper’s turn as Kenehan feels like a classic film hero, but filtered through a nervous dread of impending collapse.  Oldham, who in real life is a singer-songwriter who tours under the name Bonnie “Prince” Billy, uses his stage presence to great degree when delivering his sermons; his convictions would sway even the most pessimistic of audiences.

You feel for these people as these injustices are performed against them, but Sayles does a great job of pulling back to expose their own prejudices and infighting with the immigrants and black workers.  The fight outside the train at the film’s beginning prepares the audience to not give themselves over wholly to the strikers.  However, as the film progresses, you begin to understand their feelings toward the black men are less about racism and more about their own lack of security in their positions in their jobs and world around them.

And that understanding is the lesson that one should take from Matewan.  Everyone deserves a fair shake, and if those in power refuse to give that fair shake, there can be grave consequences.

Work Cited

Tindall, George B., and David E. Shi. America: A Narrative History. 8th ed. Vol. 2. New York: W.W. Norton &, 2010. Print.

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Can’t Wait: ‘Skyfall’

While my other movie series, I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, looks back, I figured I should place at least one foot in the here and now of giddy anticipation.  Therefore, Can’t Wait focuses on upcoming movies I, well, can’t wait to see, along with a few reasons why.

The James Bond franchise has never been one to employ directors anyone would recognize.  Usually the realm of journeymen who will toe the brand line — it’s no surprise many of these directors, like John Glen and Guy Hamilton, are pretty much only known for 007 films — things have seemingly changed with the hiring of Sam Mendes.  American Beauty won him a Best Director Oscar, and he’s continued down the art-film path with Jarhead and Revolutionary Road, among others.  Not exactly the type of resume that screams, “Bond director.”  But alas, the brand has dipped its toes in the artsy waters, and based on the trailer, it’s seemingly paid off.

The “bang zoom” properties remain intact, with fist fights atop moving trains, explosions aplenty, and even a return of Q’s gadgets to the series.  It is Mendes’s eye for detail, though, that makes Skyfall so promising after the general letdown of Quantum of Solace.  007 himself (Daniel Craig) looks haggard; his suave facade invaded by stubbly, unkempt facial hair.  Visual flourishes (M’s Judi Dench staring at Union Jack-draped coffins, Bond standing on a boat on his way to a ritzy party of sorts, Javier Bardem’s villain in silhouette sauntering from a flaming building) place greater emphasis on eye-popping colors and shot composition angling to add some specialness to what could be a soulless action flick.

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I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School: The Fascination of ‘Sunset Boulevard”s Norma Desmond

Welcome to I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, my weekly article to prove that I have it in me to go from movie buff to film critic.  With each column I try to better understand the art of filmmaking.  As these are longish discussions, spoilers follow.  For more from me, check out the rest of Defeating Boredom or follow me on Twitter, @Rob_Samuelson.

[Author’s Note: Again like last week, I have to apologize for a short post.  In what may need to be the new normal for this column (I go to a nerd school that requires perhaps too much of my time), this is another class-related essay about Billy Wilder’s 1950 noir-Hollywood takedown classic, Sunset Boulevard.  While William Holden’s Joe is an interesting guy in his own right, he is not the draw of the film.  To find that, one need not look further than his co-star.]

Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) would seemingly like to believe she gave it all up for the movie business.  Whether she had other career prospects is left to our imaginations, but one might assume she had never given second thought about what she wanted in life.  She got what she wanted, then it was gone; she was shuffled to her trophy house as the talkies ushered in a new era.  While she probably realizes deep down that her career is dead, the steady stream of “fan” letters penned by her butler/former husband, Max (Erich von Stroheim) are enough to keep her delusion working.  She’s unbalanced enough — her chimpanzee pet and frequent suicide attempts enhance this notion — to believe her own lies, as it were.  Until Joe Gillis (William Holden) enters her life, she is at least content with the status quo.  His detached, sardonic wit keeps her at arm’s length, but she thinks she’s found everlasting happiness.  Joe’s editing work on her “return” (she hates the word “comeback”) script gives her inflated sense of self the extra push into insanity.  Her deluded reasoning tells her that Cecil B. DeMille (playing himself) wants to make her picture, and her preparations for the role take her from dignified beauty — she’s aged quite gracefully for a 50-year-old woman — into a bug-eyed grotesquerie.  Her beauty treatments leave her with unsightly things stuck on her face at all times, and they seem to undermine their own central idea: To return her to her peak years.  Norma does not see this. In fact, she clings desperately to the idea that she has something (or rather two somethings, with Joe and her rebounding career) to lose.  She’s not about to let them go without a fight; hence the treatments, domineering neediness, and ultimately, murder weapon.

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Can’t Wait: ‘Django Unchained’

While my other movie series, I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, looks back, I figured I should place at least one foot in the here and now of giddy anticipation.  Therefore, Can’t Wait focuses on upcoming movies I, well, can’t wait to see, along with a few reasons why.

For all the “importance” that their epic running times imply, the spaghetti Westerns of Sergios Leone (The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly and Once Upon a Time in the West) and Corbucci (the original Django) are some of the most gleefully fun stories ever put to celluloid.  Throughout his career, Quentin Tarantino has channeled that playfulness and, after years of crime and kung fu pastiches, his 2009 war film, Inglourious Basterds, he finally borrowed a spaghetti structural template.  With his upcoming Django Unchained, Tarantino’s doubled down on the Leone-Corbucci influence by crafting a cowboy hats-and-horses shoot ’em up himself.

Jamie Foxx and Chrostoph Waltz seem to continue doing their thing: Acting well.  Leonardo DiCaprio, though, is the surprise.  He plays against type as the gregarious villain, Calvin Candie.  His joy at being bad is palpable.  He looks comfortable in his skin without having to play a pained, tragic hero that has been his career of late — his work with Martin Scorsese in The Departed and Shutter Island especially.  Hopefully that ease will rub off on the film as a whole, outside of the promising glimpses provided by the trailer.  If that does happen, DiCaprio may finally win the Oscar that has thus far eluded him in his career.

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I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School: What Makes ‘The Artist’ Special?

Welcome to I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, my weekly article to prove that I have it in me to go from movie buff to film critic.  With each column I try to better understand the art of filmmaking.  As these are longish discussions, spoilers follow.  For more from me, check out the rest of Defeating Boredom or follow me on Twitter, @Rob_Samuelson.

[Author’s Note: As will become apparent to you, this week’s post is short enough to be a capsule review.  But thanks to my school’s library closing for Monday’s holiday, I have to spend most of my time there Tuesday evening to do work.  This is a slightly edited version of a piece on the 2011 Best Picture winner, The Artist, I wrote for a class I’m taking.  This may have to become a more regular occurrence on this site when I’m short on time for longer essays.  Sorry in advance.]

What transforms The Artist from a mere genre exercise into a resonant film is its brief use of diagetic sound.  Its utilization of retro techniques — 1.33:1 aspect ratio, long takes, and the “mugging for the camera” common in the silent era — is charming and engaging, but would ultimately result in interesting emptiness without its acknowledgment of itself as a modern (re: talkie) film.  George Valentin’s (Jean Dujardin) nightmare about sound’s implementation in his business is a masterful use of impressionist ideas — dream logic, such as his inability to speak in a world where sound envelopes him —  and practical implementation of sound design.  Up to the point of his nightmare, the only sound in the film is its score; a whimsical, enjoyable score that bores itself in a viewer’s head.  Within the dream, though, George’s powerlessness is enhanced by his dog’s insistent barking, the shock of hearing a drinking glass clink against a table, young actresses on the upswing mockingly laughing at him, and eventually, a floating feather that lands like an atom bomb, waking him from his fitful sleep.  This experience shakes him, and instead of facing the changing film landscape over which he had previously reigned, he becomes obstinate and doubles down on his insistence that talkies will just be a short-lived fad.  His waking nightmare, the one in which he loses everything in a blur fueled by arrogance and the Depression, will continue for several years, before the sobering reality of the necessity of adaptability finally sinks in.

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Can’t Wait: ‘Hyde Park on Hudson’

While my other movie series, I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School, looks back, I figured I should place at least one foot in the here and now of giddy anticipation.  Therefore, Can’t Wait focuses on upcoming movies I, well, can’t wait to see, along with a few reasons why.

Bill Murray has had one of the more unique career arcs of any actor from the last four decades.  A stand-up comedian who became a masterful improv artist who became a Saturday Night Live legend who became, along with Eddie Murphy, the biggest comedy star of the eighties, Murray has since departed the big stage for understated independent roles.  He is now the elder statesman/secret weapon of directors like Wes Anderson and Jim Jarmusch; that’s a Madonna-style rebranding.  While Murray’s latest role as former U.S. president Franklin Delano Roosevelt in the upcoming Hyde Park on Hudson keeps him in the indie realm he’s occupied for the last decade-plus, it looks like his most dramatic yet.

Murray’s FDR would, on the surface, appear to be in line with his usual stable of characters, but that assumption would not be quite right.  His recent turns as dour, deadpan men searching for meaning in old age — think Lost in Translation or Broken Flowers — have added a new dimension to him.  In Hyde Park on Hudson, Murray seems to be fun, but not in the same way he was in his eighties heyday.  Gone is the detached, sardonic wit, and in its place is a damaged man who cares about people and life.  For the most part, the film’s trailer carries a light tone, but its implications of British royalty lobbying the U.S. president for help in World War II, along with FDR’s affair with his distant cousin, Margaret (Laura Linney), point to a darker reality the marketing campaign would be loathe to show.  The film probably stays away from the “icky factor” of the affair, but the frankness in its admittance of said infidelity is a rarity among the syrupy, awards-bait films that usually arrive in December, like this will.  A deeper look into the psychology of one of America’s most prominent twentieth century leaders (hopefully) without typical biopic hero worship is indeed something to look forward to.

P.S. There are few things that have brought me as much joy as this video.

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