Tag Archives: Stanley Kubrick

BFI’s Greatest Films of All Time 2012 List Revealed; I Feel Like a Know-Nothing

If you consider yourself a movie buff like I do, you probably make an effort to see the films noted by critics and filmmakers as the best.  In the last few years, I’ve made great strides in expanding my horizons in that regard.  As of my most recent count, I’ve seen 248 of the 1,001 Movies You Must See Before You Die (albeit the now slightly outdated 2005 edition), and I feel like I’m relatively educated on the subject of cinema.

That is, of course, until I saw the British Film Institute released their once-a-decade Top 50 Greatest Films of All Time list yesterday.  Looking at the top 10, I felt I’d done pretty well.  I’ve seen Vertigo, Citizen Kane, La Regle du jeu (The Rules of the Game), 2001: A Space Odyssey, and 8 1/2.  Quibbles about the worth of La Regle aside (Maybe I’m a dumb American for not appreciating it, but I think Robert Altman did a far more interesting version of the rich-people-and-their-servants-stuck-together-in-a-big-house story with Gosford Park — “BLASPHEMY!” I can hear you all yelling at me), I felt pretty good about myself.  Then I read choices 11 through 50.  In total, I’ve seen a meager 16 films on the list, and haven’t even heard of a large portion of the entries.  Once again, I’m humbled, and for the umpteenth time in my life, I feel this is appropriate.

What should you take away from this?  I guess it would be the un-profound, “Don’t be a know-it-all, because you don’t.”

And now, I’m left wondering what my own top 10 would be.  I’m too indecisive to rank them by worth, so it will have to be of the “in no particular order” variety.  This is something that could change by the hour, and some of these don’t necessarily reflect my feelings on the “best” cinema has to offer; rather, they are the ones I most enjoy and can watch multiple times.  Entertainment value plays a huge role.  So, here is my list of favorite movies (Thank you, Josh, for the formatting idea).

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb – dir. Stanley Kubrick.  I could really go with 2001, The Killing, Paths of Glory, or The Shining here, but this one is the funniest, so it makes the cut today.

Boogie Nights – dir. Paul Thomas Anderson.  This is the movie that made me say, “I want to make those.”

Ghostbusters – dir. Ivan Reitman.  It’s both sentimental — when I was a toddler, it served as my babysitter while my mom took care of my little sister — and still really funny.

Raiders of the Lost Ark – dir. Steven Spielberg.  This week, it edges Close Encounters of the Third Kind.  Ask me again next week and it’ll probably be the opposite.

Ran – dir. Akira Kurosawa.  This is the newest addition, as I only saw it a week and a half ago; see what I mean by the evolving nature of this list?

Goodfellas – dir. Martin Scorsese.  Like Kubrick and Spielberg, this could be any number of Scorsese’s films, particularly Taxi Driver and Raging Bull.

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre – dir. John Huston.  Bogart goes unhinged and gets desperate while Huston explores the depths of human greed without neglecting entertainment.

Bronson – dir. Nicolas Winding Refn.  This is my generation’s (improvement on (here come the “BLASPHEMY!” charges again)) A Clockwork Orange and features Tom Hardy’s portrayal of an earthquake of a character.  Perhaps the finest film of the last five years.

Chinatown – dir. Roman Polanski.  A movie without fault.  Its story, characters, and themes create one of the greatest stories ever put to celluloid.

Fargo – dir. Joel and Ethan Coen.  In this, the Coens show a rare affinity for a character — Marge — and play with noir conventions in an Elmore Leonard way.  I watch it every six months or so, which is what helps place it above Miller’s Crossing and Barton Fink on my list.


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I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Film School: Peter Bogdanovich’s ‘Paper Moon’

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.  Each week I’ll cover movies I’ve heard feature prominently in film school, films I believe are worth exploring deeply, classics I’m ashamed to have never seen, and occasional new releases if they strike me.  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.

Craft is often forgotten — and occasionally abandoned — in deference to style.  Style is what makes people take notice.  When asked what makes a director’s films work, many people will point to the director’s visual flair, genre trappings chosen, and their movies’ overall tone.  Kubrick had his obsessively perfect shot compositions and reverse tracks; Altman’s camera never stopped moving or zooming; There’s the stupidly named but not untrue “Spielberg Face”; The list goes on.  Those are tangible things onto which a viewer can latch, and they often enhance the picture as a whole, but they are not what make a story work: rounded, imperfect characters whose decisions make sense given their previous actions, and a plot with every scene advancing the story in a meaningful way.

Film critic, historian, and director Peter Bogdanovich understands the importance of craft.  He understands it so well, in fact, that his 1973 con artist film Paper Moon is an exercise in craft; everything he does is in service of the story and characters.

Bogdanovich wastes no time throwing the audience into the Depression-set tale.  He opens at nine-year-old Addie’s (Tatum O’Neal) prostitute mother’s funeral as swindler Moses Pray (her real life father Ryan O’Neal) arrives late in a backfiring jalopy; he “knew” Addie’s mother with strong implications he may be her father.  Her handlers learn Moze is heading to Missouri, where Addie’s aunt and soon-to-be caretaker lives.  They convince him to escort her there safely, and he reluctantly agrees.

This exchange occurs in no more than three minutes.  Nothing extraneous can be found.  The audience learns the situation (an orphan needs to reach her remaining family, her “father” must get her there) and necessary characterization (despite his reservations, Moze doesn’t put up much of a fight when asked to care for Addie; she needs a parental figure).  His cranky car and shifty attitude (and wispy mustache) provide enough of a mysterious hook to pull us in, and Bogdanovich expeditiously goes about answering our questions in their episodic journey.

The pair heads to a grain mill owned by the man whose brother killed Addie’s mother in a car accident and Moze demands money on Addie’s behalf.  Moze is not great at doing this.  Instead of bargaining for the thousands he requested, he eagerly accepts the $200 the man offers, surprised to have gotten any amount.  After receiving the money, he pockets it.  Addie, who had listened to the exchange outside the door, confronts Moze at a diner.  She’s tough as nails and angrily demands her money from him, although he had already spent it.  She tells him he has no choice but to earn her repayment with her by his side.  What a cool nine-year-old.

That diner scene is emblematic of the film as a whole.  Each character wants something: Moze wants to keep the money and continue with his life unburdened, and Addie wants the money owed her.  Incrementally, it advances the plot while revealing more about each character (the child is stern and sharp while the adult of the pair is irresponsible and a little inept).  The rest of the film follows suit.

From there we learn Moze’s profession.  He’s a grifter posing as a traveling Bible salesman.  He reads obituaries and swindles the deceased’s family by saying the dead person had recently put a down payment on a “deluxe” edition of the Bible and he’s at their doorstep to deliver it.  Upon seeing Moze at work, Addie looks to improve his methods by casing the rich people and discounting the poor; it’s a liberal sensibility that speaks perhaps more to our current political climate than the 1970s, but that’s a discussion for smarter people than this writer to have in another venue.

The clockwork nature of the film boggles my mind.  There is no fat on the script.  Each time Moze and Addie enter a hotel, you know a pivotal character building scene will happen, with Moze’s paternal instincts growing with each room key that touches his fingers.  Each episode — Moze and Addie carefree while selling Bibles, a dancer named Trixie Delight (Madeline Kahn) wooing Moze into being her sugar daddy, and run-ins with a cop in the bootlegging business and a hillbilly family with a penchant for wrestling matches — serves to deepen the film’s central relationship.

Any film that acts purely as an exercise, no matter how well done, would still be a failure.  Stylistic exercises like Kill Bill and Drive wouldn’t work without healthy portions of character work, and likewise a craft exercise like Paper Moon requires a lot of style to succeed.  Bogdanovich and crew inject plenty of style into the film and achieve deeply felt resonance in the process.

While I think Bogdanovich’s direction, outside of the sharp black and white cinematography, could be described as unfussy, that would be misleading.  He uses several extra wide shots throughout the film that not only look beautiful but also show us just how bleak a world Moze and Addie inhabit, which makes their fun loving nature more impressive.  Noteworthy, too, is how little Bogdanovich zooms the camera.  Instead, the camera dollies in and out and booms up and down, creating a retro look you don’t see much in filmmaking today; it is a neat callback to the camera techniques used in the time the film takes place.

Bogdanovich isn’t alone in the film’s success, though.  The O’Neals take their father-daughter chemistry and create characters that never feel manufactured; you can imagine them having lived this existence.  Moze is a man who disdains responsibility, to the point where he’s found a lucrative-but-unfulfilling business he would never outgrow if it were not for Addie, who seems to be destined to run a Fortune 500 company by the end of the film, given her shrewdness, eye for detail, and fairness in regard to those less fortunate than she.  The character actors, especially Kahn as the seductress, make the most of their small screen time.  Kahn’s heart-to-heart with Addie rings especially true; she’s an aging dancer trying to make the  most of her fading beauty in a time when a woman without real world skills would be eaten alive.

Bogdanovich set out to make a film that fulfills every key aspect of storytelling.  That sounds like a lofty goal, but it isn’t.  By following the simple rules of (1) make every scene count in the grand scheme of the film, (2) make the characters grow in every scene, and (3) change the characters — for better in this case — by the end of the story, you will create an effective work.  Paper Moon reaches transcendence, though, by utilizing actors who never hit a false note and visual techniques that feel both fresh and oddly antiquated at the same time.  It’s a “full package” film if there ever was one.


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Can’t Wait: Paul Thomas Anderson’s ‘The Master’

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.

I have no trouble picking favorites.  My problem lies in picking so many favorites that I need to impose arbitrary categories on them in order to not come off as someone who loves everything.  Filmmaker Paul Thomas Anderson is a prime example: he is my favorite director (in his prime).  And when my favorite director (in his prime (I will soon write an article further explaining my thoughts on this (so many parentheses))) will soon release the thoroughly intriguing The Master, his first film since 2007’s There Will Be Blood, my giddiness is off the charts.

That second teaser trailer for the October film shows a filmmaker furthering what has been a three-film-long stylistic transition.  While Anderson started, in movies like Boogie Nights and Magnolia, with a style highly reminiscent of Robert Altman — huge ensemble casts, epic running times, a constantly moving camera, et cetera — his last couple directorial efforts, Punch Drunk Love and the aforementioned There Will Be Blood have sharpened his focus.  He’s become a colder, more analytical director.  He has increasingly depicted a single character’s journey (Adam Sandler’s Barry Egan in Love and Daniel Day-Lewis’ Daniel Plainview in Blood).  It’s clear Anderson has changed his storytelling touchstone from Altman (with large doses of Martin Scorsese and Jonathan Demme) to Stanley Kubrick.

Hints of Kubrick — tied for first with Scorsese in my favorite director (all time) list — litter that trailer, and the one that preceded it.  It opens with Joaquin Phoenix’s character, Freddy Sutton, placed far from the camera, voyeuristically waiting alongside a road for a passing truck to hitch.  That draws parallels to the faraway, let’s-step-back-and-hide-while-these-characters-live-their-lives framing Kubrick used in Eyes Wide Shut.  The fact that Sutton is to some degree mentally unhealthy recalls famous deranged Kubrickian characters like Lolita‘s Humbert Humbert, A Clockwork Orange‘s Alex, Dr. Strangelove’s General Jack D. Ripper, and The Shining’s Jack Torrance.

The Shining’s influence is particularly apt in this Master trailer.  Any time light filters into a room through windows, it washes out everyone and everything, just like any Shining scene in the Overlook Hotel’s lobby.  The score, courtesy of Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood, brings the same sense of “off” as did Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind’s musical work on Kubrick’s horror masterpiece.  The Master looks downright frightening, which is not what I expected when I heard the rumors its story is a thinly veiled (and unflattering) biopic of Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman).

Showing the worst sides of society’s institutions were a penchant of Kubrick’s, and with There Will Be Blood‘s and now The Master‘s skeptical approach to faith, Anderson appears headed in the same direction as one of cinema’s all-time greats.  Count me in.


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