Last of the Mohicans (1992)

The Last of the Mohicans has been adapted several times, including as a play, a silent film, a 70s television miniseries, and a film in 1936. None, however, have been as successful nor as well made as Michael Mann's 1992 film. 

Starring Daniel Day-Lewis as Hawkeye, Madeline Stowe as Cora, and Wes Studi as Magua, Mann's Last of the Mohicans is a complex, moving, and historically rich film, albeit one that is only loosely based on Cooper's novel. There are deviations, certainly, but the changes made are undoubtedly improvements on both the themes and characterizations, most of which in the source material are at best "quaint" by today's standards. 

As a period drama and an action movie, Last of the Mohicans proves action films don't have to be mindless morasses of explosions. There is surprising depth to this film, and in spite of my having watched this movie more times than I can count, I was still able to detect the many layers in this richly American movie. And I stress "American" because the very essence of this film is about the myriad clashes that took place with the germination of this country. The colonials' rising resentment of British rule; the collision of white settlers, Native Americans, and the British and French governments; the clashes between European and guerrilla warfare; the erosion of Native American culture: all of these themes intersect in the most moving and exciting ways in the hands of Michael Mann. 

Mann is often a hit or miss when it comes to directing. He has the skills, certainly, but his movies do not often reflect his talent. Last of the Mohicans and Heat, however, represent Mann at his best--although, Mann has done much to sabotage this. 

The theatrical cut of Mohicans was released on video tape in the early nineties, and it is the best version. However, Mann refuses to put this version on DVD or Bluray. In the early 2000s, Mann released what he called the "Director's Expanded Edition," which could not have been a more dishonest title; the so-called "Expanded Edition" cut nearly all of the best one-liners from the film, some of the music, and even some scenes, resulting in a clunky dud of a movie. I still remember watching this version when I (foolishly) purchased it as a teen. I yelled "No!" the entire time and truly considered writing Michael Mann a letter. Evidently Mann saw the error of his ways (not one human being preferred that edition) and then released his "Director's Definitive Cut" on Bluray. This version does restore many (but not all) of the lines from the theatrical version, and it brings back the beautiful Clannad song ("I Will Find You"), but like its predecessor has a few places that feel clunky due to Mann's using different takes in a few scenes or editing the dialogue in a way that simply does not make sense. As I watched it tonight, I felt annoyed by the changes. Nevertheless, the "Definitive Cut" is the closest you can get to the theatrical cut. I have no idea why Mann refuses to put out the true version of his best movie, but there you go. 

The production value of this film is astounding. The score itself is magnificent and one of my favorites; the scenery could not be more lush and beautiful; and the acting is excellent. I would like it to be known that I consider Wes Studi's performance as Magua one of the best movie villains of all time. The fact that he was not even nominated for an Oscar must rank as one of the most colossal Oscar-snubs in history. He plays Magua as a complex man driven by anger and hatred that he has allowed to poison his very soul. Without a doubt, Magua is a victim of colonization, which is made clear when he recounts his suffering at the hands of "the Grey Hair" to French General Montcalm. Yet, he has allowed his anger to define him completely, and in the end he is completely consumed by it--all to his own detriment. It is a fantastic performance and one of my favorites. 

In some slick and imaginative casting, Mann cast Indian rights activist Russell Means as Chingachgook. As one of the many improvements on the novel, Chingachgook here is a father figure to Hawkeye. In the books he's more of a "gentle savage" who is always subordinate to Hawkeye/La Longue Carabine/The Deerslayer/and all of the other nicknames he has in the books. I read The Pathfinder a few years ago and was struck by the massive difference in characterization. Means plays him with dignity and depth, which again enriches the film's themes.  

The battle sequences are probably one of the best things about this movie. When it comes to building tension before an action sequence, few surpass Mann. The two massacres are still enthralling to watch, and the violence is realistic (especially the scalpings). 

The final 15 minutes or so of this film should be required viewing for anyone interested in film making. Without dialogue, Mann employs pure cinematics to tell the story's conclusion. The placement of the shots in this scene is still moving to watch (despite how many times I've seen it). This scene is among the finest in terms of pure visual storytelling as it captures visually the emotions, action, and themes that simultaneously climax in this sequence. 

In short, Last of the Mohicans is a stirring, exciting film. Michael Mann has never surpassed it in the 24 years since it came out, and he will not cease to suppress the true version. For the time being, the "Director's Definitive Cut" must suffice. 

Grade: A

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

To explain fully why this movie is so abysmally bad, I will have to write about spoilers. If you wish to avoid them, do not read this review. 

Early this morning my brother and I saw Star Wars: The Force

Awakens at the local theater. Rising early to watch a sci-fi film certainly resurrected memories of Saturday morning cartoons in the best possible way...until the film started. 

I have always enjoyed Star Wars for what it is, but I've never been a fanatic. It's an important piece of American pop culture and beloved by many. The rancid prequels and the teddy bear movie aside, the Star Wars franchise is exciting, suspenseful, and above all, fun. The latest installment, however, derives its entire essence from this nostalgia people have for the original movies. What we get is a slop of quips and references whose sole purpose is to put butts in seats and sell an unimaginable amount of toys. (There's a reason this film came out at Christmas and not the summer.)

After viewing Star Wars: The Force Awakens, I think I can say unequivocally that J.J. Abrams is a lousy director. His Star Trek films burn my soul, and this one was yet another addition to his pantheon of lens flares and exploding robots. Every few minutes we're fed action sequences of explosions so vibrant they left me with a migraine - truly, each scene contained some combination of the following:

• Running from explosions
• Shooting up things and causing explosions
• Stopping explosions.

One would assume with so much action that the film was exciting, exhilarating even. Not so. I kept yawning and struggled to stay awake the whole time. Yet, this explosion plot is perhaps the least offensive thing about this movie.

The original cast is never together for any shots in the entire film. Not one. In fact, the whole story surrounds Luke's absence. When we FINALLY do see him, he doesn't even have a line, he stares at the camera. Han and Leia are divorced, which was irritating, and the conclusion is made so obvious from the second Han appears that the actual scene is boring and offensively banal. They never kiss; they only hug, which taps into Hollywood's ageism. However, the most egregious ageism is Lupita Nyong'o's character. Nyong'o, the only Oscar winner in the film, is reduced to playing a CGI old lady. Yes, you read that correctly: an old lady. Hollywood has a terrible legacy of casting off actresses once they reach their thirties. I just never expected them to be so blatant about their thoughts on just how over-the-hill women over 30 are. Good lord.

The new characters are boring and reduced to quips. Oscar Isaac is completely wasted here; the only thing he does is shoot lasers and shout, essentially, some version of "Ya-HOO!" the whole time. Finn is equally lame and played by one of the dullest new actors I've seen in a while. The girl, Rey, has potential, but all she does is run from explosions or look sad. The new bad guy, Kylo Ren, played by Adam Driver, also has potential, but the writers used his character in the lamest and most predictable way possible. 

All of this said, the one thing that drove me from disliking the film to outright hating it was the plagiarism. In 1977, when Star Wars first appeared, legendary sci-fi author Frank Herbert of Dune fame almost sued George Lucas for the gross similarities between Star Wars and his novels. If you feel I'm overstating, take a look at this link, which features a chart comparing the two. The similarities are astounding. 

While I sat in the theater, I felt my teeth grinding; not only have they copied many of the essential elements (desert planet, the Voice/the Force, Sardarkur/Storm troopers, and many more), but Star Wars: The Force Awakens took almost its entire plot from the third Dune novel, Children of Dune. 

In Children of Dune, Paul is missing - like Luke Skywalker, whose character was basically lifted from Paul Atreides - and his sister, Alia, now runs his empire...much like Leia is a general in Luke's absence. Someone who goes by "The Preacher" lurks around Arakeen, and he is brought to Paul's children, a girl and boy who are twins and have greater innate knowledge of the Prana Bindu - oh, excuse me, "the force" - than anyone else...just like Rey and Kylo Ren. (Kylo Ren is Han and Leia's son, and it's pretty obvious Rey is either Leia's or Luke's daughter.) Also, let's not forget that Baron Harkonnen, like Darth Vadar, is dead in Children of Dune, but his presence - and his bloodline in his grandchildren - still burns. Leto II, Paul's son, becomes known as "the Tyrant" in the fourth novel (my second favorite) God Emperor of Dune...kind of like Kylo Ren is now embodying Vadar's evil. Granted, Children of Dune is far more interesting and complex than The Force Awakens could hope to be, but the similarities, which build on the elements already copied in the earlier Star Wars installments, are impossible to deny. I kept wondering why Frank Herbert's estate did not sue, frankly. 

Altogether, Star Wars: The Force Awakens is a long and expensive toy commercial. Remove the nostalgia, and it is nothing but a host of really bland new characters and explosions that do little more than cause headaches. I have no idea why hard core fans enjoyed this movie because it violates so many precious elements and completely misses what is great about the first three films (teddy bears notwithstanding): suspense, action, and character, and a celebration of friendship. 

Grade: D-

The Counselor (2013)

The Counselor marks Cormac McCarthy's foray into screenwriting, and the film is oozing with McCarthy's signature elements: pornographic violence, boring, symbolic dialogue, and stereotypes instead of women characters. Twenty minutes into the film, I checked the time only to be shocked and disheartened there was over an hour and a half left. The abysmal quality of this film is worse than anything I've seen in a while, and that's saying something. 

The plot makes little sense, but here's an attempt at summary anyway: The counselor (Michael Fassbender - the character has no name) has some kind of relationship with a scarily orange Javier Bardem. (I have no idea what Bardem's character's name was, so we'll just call him Bardem for the sake of clarity.) Rosie Perez has a 3-minute role as one of the counselor's former clients whose son is in jail. The counselor gets him out, but he is soon killed in an elaborate murder plot that made no sense and was executed with the kind of gross-out violence one would expect from McCarthy. At the center of the plot is Cameron Diaz, who does little besides strut and look evil. Brad Pitt has a part in this, too, although I have no idea why; he was just there to offer surly opinions and be killed in one of the most excessively gruesome scenes I've seen in a while - one that makes Neil Patrick Harris's demise in Gone Girl look child-friendly. I really have no clue who his character was or why he was even in the movie, and honestly the same goes for almost everyone else in this meandering drivel. 

The most striking flaw, and one that mars all of McCarthy's fiction (and now his screenplays), is the women characters. I'm using the word "character" loosely because that's not actually what they are: they're symbols solely there to show us the torment of the male characters. Penelope Cruz co-stars as Michael Fasssbender's lover (named Laura!), but she has maybe ten minutes of screen time - and that's a generous estimate. I kept a list of everything we see Cruz do in the entire film:

• Complement Michael Fassbender on his bedroom technique (this is the first scene);
• Accept Fassbender's marriage proposal;
• Show off her diamond to Cameron Diaz, then blush at talking about sex (so we know she's a "good girl");
• Restrain Fassbender from fighting some creep to defend her honor;
• Plead with Fasssbender to run away with her to escape danger;
• Arrive at airport in red dress and flowing white coat where she:
• Screams
• Is chased
• Is kidnapped;
• Dumped into landfill as a decapitated corpse.

So, basically, "Laura" exists in this movie only to look pretty, tell the audience what a great lay Fassbender is, and die. There are several scenes with Fassbender weeping about her, but I felt nothing. The film has no pathos: the plot makes no sense, the characters are symbols, and the violence has no point. 

Sadly, the misogyny doesn't stop with Cruz; Diaz is equally ridiculous and only does the following:

• Lie (mostly) naked on a bench and quiz Laura about her diamond and sex;
• Plot murder on the phone;
• Strut;
• Have sex with a windshield (yes, you read that correctly: with not on);
• Taunt priest about sex at confession;
• Plot murder;
• Strut;
• Plot;
• Plot;
• Strut;
• Plot.

Now, if these lists do not embody the most misogynistic (and boring) stereotypes about women, I don't know what does. I found myself sighing loudly throughout the whole thing and begging my bluray player to hurry up and end this torture. Sadly, at almost two hours, this trashy, boring, meaningless junk is like a case of diarrhea that won't go away. The dialogue is bland and goes on and on and on and on without any point. The cinematography is ugly and almost as orange as Javier Bardem's spray tan. Considering the amount of talent involved with this film, the tacky result is startling and embarrassing. 

As the credits mercifully arrived, I struggled to think of one positive thing about this film, and realized there really is only one: getting to hear Michael Fassbender say my name. For that, I give it a slightly higher grade....

Grade F+

The Age of Innocence (1993)

The blog is back! So sorry for the long interim, but my blu ray player stopped working on Halloween only to come back to life miraculously just a few days ago. Given I was in the middle of purchasing a new player, my relief at my current one resurrecting itself is almost inexpressible.  

In celebration of my player's return, I watched a film I have not seen in at least five years, but one that never ceases to stir me: Martin Scorsese's The Age of Innocence. Based on Edith Wharton's novel, this adaptation is superb and easily my second favorite of all time (only Ken Russell's Women in Love surpasses it, but that is for another post). 

I must confess that I am a Whartonion, to coin a new phrase: she has easily been my favorite author since I was in high school, and this adaptation of her work is actually a most personal film for me. The memory of viewing it religiously in high school, absorbing its vivid sensuality and lush symbolism with determined focus, is still fresh; I remember how deeply this film affected me, especially as a teenager with health problems, because of its unflinching plunge into a world of aching rigidity and cruel gossip. Having been the target of such exploitation myself (as recently as this summer) for issues beyond my control, I can truly say this film - and the book to an even greater extent - encapsulates the emotional turmoil of codes and rumors and ignorance and cruelty, above all, better than any other work of art I can think of. This film left such an impact on me in high school that I soon read the novel for the first time as a teen and have treasured it ever since. In fact, I wrote my MA thesis on Wharton, with one chapter discussing The Age of Innocence. Not only shaping my world views and emotional experiences, this film also germinated my studies and career, for which I am indebted to Scorsese for creating such a faithful and impactful adaptation. 

For those who are unfamiliar, The Age of Innocence, set in the 1870s, tells the story of Newland Archer, an aristocrat who is not quite part of the leisure class because he has do something as vulgar as "work," who is engaged to May Welland, only be to swept off his feet by her exotic, older cousin Ellen Olenska, who is trying to divorce her philandering husband, a Polish count whom we never see. The title is ironic, and Newland and Ellen's love is never consummated; truly, the torture of this film comes from seeing these two people who share such an intense connection never allowed to realize it fully. 

It is actually difficult for me to put into words precisely how raw and agonizing the emotions of this film are. Scorsese himself has actually called this one his "most violent film," and it is not difficult to see why. Does the film have people getting shot in the head or being beaten to death and buried alive in the desert? No, but to associate only physicality with violence is ignorant at best and is a complete misunderstanding of the very nature of violence. Violence is raw, cutting, and scarring; it can be physical, certainly, but emotional violence leaves scars far deeper than a punch or bullet can. Newland's internal violence, which the audience experiences through him, is so suffocating that one can actually find breathing difficult while watching this film. Although most people may assume Goodfellas or Casino is Scorsese's most violent, neither of those films reaches the depths of distress or melancholy that is realized so beautifully and hauntingly in The Age of Innocence. 

How is The Age of Innocence more disturbing than Goodfellas, you ask? The fact is that despite the world in Age belonging to a very specific time and era, the truth beneath its setting is applicable to any time. The film is all about how it feels to succumb to others' expectations for you and to disregard - or even suppress - your own desires for your own life. It's about learning everyone around you has gossiped about you behind your back. It's about giving in to habit and normalcy at the expense of sacrificing your own self merely to maintain propriety. These experiences apply to anyone in any time, and they certainly resonate with me. 

Newland's world is lush and gorgeous; indeed, the film itself is a visual feast. Like a strong perfume, though, his world is too beautiful, suffocatingly beautiful. The novel is full of death imagery, and Scorsese leaves much of this dialog in the film. The contrast between the extravagant wealth and "polite" conversation and the actual meaning behind these words is startling, especially when compacted with Elmer Bernstein's magnificent score. 

Truly, this is a film that demands re-viewings; it is impossible to absorb all of the details of this film in only one viewing. Tonight, after watching this film countless times for more than 15 years, I still caught new things. That is how much skill went into this film. The production design is peerless in both its beauty and its authenticity; the music is gorgeous; and the acting is perfect. 

If you ever want to measure Daniel Day-Lewis's talent, simply watch both of his Scorsese films. The gulf between Newland Archer and Bill the Butcher (Gangs of New York) is so vast that it is difficult to believe they're played by the same actor. In The Age of Innocence, Daniel has increasing difficulty speaking, becoming more tight-jawed as the film progresses. Michelle Pfeiffer is in one of her best roles as Ellen, and Winona Ryder complements as the seemingly oblivious May. 

Sadly, The Age of Innocence may be both Scorsese's best film, yet also his most underrated and overlooked film. Criminally ignored by film critics and even dismissed by so-called Scorsese aficionados (the ones who only think of Scorsese as a master of blood and guts; those folks are also called "idiots"), The Age of Innocence receives little attention, which has led to some unfortunate consequences. One cannot even purchase a 35 mm print of the film - not even the editor Thelma Schoonmaker. Yet, if one looks closely, one can see the similarities between Goodfellas and The Age of Innocence: both films deal with entities that have specific codes of conduct - and thinking - that must be followed in order to survive in their respective worlds; when someone challenges this order, he or she must be axed, which is what happens to Ellen Olenska. 

I cannot say enough good things about this movie, and it has been difficult for me not to write about the book in this post. My only suggestion is that you watch this film, then watch it again, then watch it again until you finally grasp the enormity of its messages and veracity. 

Grade: A+

Sunday Bloody Sunday (1971)

"I've had this business of anything is better than nothing. There have got to be times when nothing is better than anything." --Alex (Glenda Jackson) 

Today I felt compelled to view and write about one of my (new) all-time favorite movies, Sunday Bloody Sunday. The plot of the film is simple yet provocative: Alex Greville (Glenda Jackson), a straight woman, and Daniel Hirsh (Peter Finch), a gay man, are each having an affair with the same man (Murray Head). Here is the trailer, which definitely serves the movie's themes well: 

The first time I watched this film was only back in July. I was ill that day and bedridden, and, as a Glenda Jackson fan, I had checked this film out from the library on a whim. There are only a handfull of times in which I was watching a film and wished it would never end; Sunday Bloody Sunday is one of those films. The characters' lives, fears, anxieties, and frustrations are so real, so palpable, that I could not tear myself away. As soon as it was over, I grabbed my laptop and ordered myself the blu ray.

Sunday Bloody Sunday is often touted as being one of the most moving films about relationships, but to me this is actually the best movie about living alone I have ever seen. In Alex and Daniel, we see two intelligent, hard-working people who have both...settled. Bob, the lover, is a shallow, self-absorbed loser in many ways. There are some who have criticized the film for having two such complex people in love with such a bozo, but I think that's the point: throughout the film, which takes place over the course of only about ten days, we see Daniel and Alex both sampling what they want from relationships--children, stability, romance--but they never quite make it there. It makes sense for them both not only to accept Bob's greedy terms--that they have to share him, essentially--but also that they fall for him. 

Both Alex and Daniel feel so real in this film; I identified with Alex so strongly--perhaps more than any other character in a movie--and Glenda Jackson plays her with a blend of toughness and vulnerability. (Also, the fact that Alex takes all of the books in her divorce and nothing else--and that her family is puzzled by this--felt like something I would do. I've never been married, let alone divorced, but I completely understood that one!)

The first half of the film takes place over one weekend in which we see Bob alternating between Alex and Daniel. Alex has agreed to babysit her sister's children, all FIVE of them, while the sister, her husband, and a professor all go away for the weekend. At the suggestion of her sister, Alex decides to bring Bob along for what she calls "a proper weekend." She rushes out the door when we first see her character on a Friday night, tossing her dirty coffee cup into the sink and tripping over her ashtray, which she just leaves on the floor. The children are loud as can be and almost out of control, but so very cute. The eldest, Lucy, who appears to be about 10, is the one with whom Alex identifies, as we come to see later. 

Watching this movie for the seventh or eighth time (I've lost count), I did catch some new things. For one, when Alex is rushing out the door, she grabs what I realized tonight were children's books and stuffs them into her bag. She seems incredibly happy when she and Bob are watching the kids together: she plays with them outside, cuddles them, and seems blissful. It is when Bob suddenly leaves, however, on Saturday evening, that we see this all fall apart. Bob leaves to go to Daniel--of whom Alex is very aware--and Alex is devastated. Later, she makes fudge for the children, but eats some of it herself, sitting alone, crying. She tries to cuddle one of her other nieces, who only wants to get back to playing. The self-imposed isolation as a result of Bob's abandoning her reinforces the fact that this dream life--house, kids, husband--is something that will forever be out of her reach. Indeed, the next day, Sunday, we see a similar fate, which Alex and Bob take the children to the park, only to have something tragic happen, which prompts Alex to have flashbacks--done most appealingly by director John Schlesinger--in which she identifies with Lucy. Also, a bit of trivia: the park scene marks the film debut of...Daniel Day-Lewis! He's about 14 years old here, playing a little punk who scratches up cars (at 1:35):

Despite her divorce, Alex still wears her wedding ring, which is a emblem of how frozen she is. She works at a job she hates and spends much of the film composing her resignation letter; she is watching children she genuinely loves but who don't belong to her; her boyfriend is involved with another man; and her parents, we see later, want her to return to her ex-husband. Yet, Alex remains a resilient character; she endures the painful journey of this film in which she learns it is possible to reject the sentimental lie about the glories of domesticity and be okay. As the quote at the beginning of this review sums up: "There are times when nothing has to be better than anything."

Daniel is in a similarly trapped position. As a Jewish doctor whose family, as we learn during his nephew's Bar Mitzvah, has no idea he is gay, he seems to exist for the sake of other people. Patients call him and pop into his house frequently, and he always puts his own life aside for them. Much like Alex identifies with Lucy, Daniel is reminded of his own Bar Mitzvah, which provokes powerful memories. When he is at the nephew's party, which is nothing short of a gala, Daniel is isolated in the crowd, so to speak. His family has seated him next to a woman in the hopes he will "finally" have a girlfriend...much like Alex's sister wants her to have a weekend alone with Bob and the children. And neither situation leads to any sort of "happily ever after."

This film is revolutionary in many ways, but especially in the honesty with which it portrays a gay couple. There is a passionate kiss between the two of them, one that was shocking in its day, and we see Daniel and Bob in bed a few times. One of the most significant revelations of this film is that Daniel is a man first and a gay man second. Truly, throughout the film his sexuality feels almost irrelevant; instead, the audience is invested in his feelings, struggles, and, ultimately, disappointments. In a way, Sunday Bloody Sunday may be more important to the portrayal of gay people in film than Brokeback Mountain. 

As I said earlier, Sunday Bloody Sunday is the best movie about living alone that I have ever seen, and I stress this because although the movie centers on the "relationship among three sensual people" (as the tagline from the 70's goes), it's really about the failure of this relationship. Daniel and Alex are isolated and alone; they never quite fit in among their families or their friends, and neither of them find any kind of "true love" by the film's end. One of my favorite scenes is when Alex returns to her apartment after being with the children all weekend. After being bombarded constantly with so much noise and chaos, she is now completely alone; her apartment is silent--uncomfortably silent. She enters and sees her dirty dishes still in the sink. She scans the room, taking in the mess and the quiet, after which she spots her turned over ashtray, picks up the cigarette butts, and rubs the ashes into the carpet with her foot while the screen fades to black. This is a powerful image to me; as an aunt who lives alone, I could fully understand the weight of emotions flooding her in that scene. It's so simple, but so relatable and real. 

Sunday Bloody Sunday is one of the truest films I've ever seen, which is something absent from today's movies. The only stories we ever see are what I call "man movies": comic book films, biopics about white men, or true stories about white men. I'm at a loss trying to think of a film from the past five years with a woman character half as complex as Alex Greville--or even a man half as complicated as Daniel. There are no stories (and certainly no original stories) in today's films about everyday life. Nothing. 

Sunday Bloody Sunday is a masterpiece. Truly, the depth of this film cannot be overstated. I have barely begun to scratch the surface of this beautiful film, despite my lengthy review. It's a beautiful, sensual, and sentient film about two people who have allowed themselves to settle. 

Grade: A+

Whore (1991)

I'm just gonna say it: I'm a Ken Russell fanatic. 

In the seventies, Ken was unstoppable: Women in Love, The Music Lovers, The Devils, Savage Messiah, Mahler, Tommy--all of these films are masterpieces. I would go so far as to argue no other director had a more innovative, artistic, and masterful run of movies in the seventies than he. Granted, there are a few contenders--Martin Scorsese and John Schlesinger come to mind--but not even those two could touch Ken's creativity and innovation, which is what makes the critics' vilification of him puzzling and infuriating. Roger Ebert and Pauline Kael, for instance, constantly savaged his movies, branding him "extravagant" and "eccentric." In fact, Kael said she thought Ken should have a stake driven through him for The Music Lovers. As a result of so much vitriol, Ken had increasing difficulty getting funding in the eighties and by the nineties was considered washed up, a "has been." 

Poster for Whore

For Russell fans, watching his late work is like watching an angel fall. There are nuggets of brilliance, but the cracks left by shoestring budgets from the late 80s on is palpable and leaves those of us still fawning over his early work feeling mournful. Whore is one prime example of this. 

It's worth noting Whore was released the same year as Pretty Woman, a film Russell despised for its cheesy glamorization of prostitution. Indeed, Whore does not glamorize anything about the oldest profession. It's a stark, unflinching look at the world prostitutes inhabit, the title being perhaps the most blatant aspect. 

The film stars Theresa Russell (no relation to Ken) as Liz, a prostitute who is trying to escape her pimp and find a better life. The film takes place over the course of one day, giving the audience a glimpse into what her life would be like, while telling her life story through flashbacks. The entire movie is edited in rondo, much like Ken's experimental (and, to me, brilliant) film Mahler. This style works on many levels, and I was deeply moved by the contrast between where she is in the present and what happened to her in the past. 

The most innovative part of this movie is the narration: Liz looks directly into the camera for much of the film, which positions Whore as probably the only feminist look at prostitutes I have seen in a movie. 

In 1975, Laura Mulvey crafted the term "the male gaze" in her essay "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" to refer to the way women are depicted in film...and how the audience views them. She basically argues women are presented as objects of the male characters; they exist only to show the men's feelings or conflicts; they have no character of their own. She also says women are objectified by the audience, too--even if women are in the audience--because we view the women on screen just as the men in the film do. Of course, I'm oversimplifying, but for the purposes of this review, these are the most important things to take away.

bell hooks, one of America's best feminist theorists, writes of the "oppositional gaze," arguing women have the power to look back. This is exactly what Whore does so well.

Think about the representations of prostitutes we've encountered on film: Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, Shelly Long in Night Watch. These women are filmed so that we view them through Richard Gere's and Henry Winkler's eyes--indeed the eyes of everyone else in stories! They exist to be pretty, sexy, but still have hearts of gold. They are not supposed to have any value in the movie other than showing us what the male characters are going through. It's an exploitative, misogynist presentation of women and perhaps the most misogynist of all: not only are they objectifying women, but they are objectifying female characters whose existence depends on exploiting their bodies and their sexuality. 

In Whore, Liz stares directly into the camera, challenging you to see her as an object. She recounts horrible stories, the most terrifying being when she accepts a customer who is in a van, only to be beaten and brutalized. In that scene, and in fact for almost all of the movie, we do not see Liz naked at all. We see her pulled behind a curtain and we hear her scream and the sounds of punches, but we don't see it. This was a subtle but provocative choice on Ken's part because it places the emphasis on the terror of the situation, not only Liz's body. Her voice narrates the scene as well, which enables Liz to have power over how we as the audience interpret the scene and makes the two men's voices completely irrelevant. This simple choice actually challenges the male gaze and puts the woman at the center of the storytelling. 

The entire film is shot this way. In fact, few characters other than Liz even have any dialogue. She gradually digs farther and farther back into her past, revealing her marriage to an alcoholic abuser, how she escaped him with her little boy, and how she became a prostitute. The most moving parts of the film are definitely when she talks about how her son is in foster care. There is nothing sanitized about this presentation, which I found refreshing and quite moving. 

Casting Theresa Russell was an effective choice, as well. Rather than casting someone who looks like a movie star, like Julia Roberts, Ken's choice of Theresa brings more realism to the story. Theresa was not skinny and looks like someone you might know. She also brought a brashness and edge to the character, making Liz truly seem like a woman who has a rough life--a quality that strengthens the movie.

The few qualms I have with the film undoubtedly were the consequences of the minute budget in which Ken had to operate. The music is too over the top in scenes in which Liz's violent pimp shows up, and there are a few wacky scenes in the present day portions of the movie. 

One narrative problem is the fact that, at least an hour into the movie, after we have become accustomed to Liz telling her story, the pimp has a few minutes in which he talks to the camera. It felt out of place and, most important, at odds with the powerful oppositional gaze we have come to relish from Liz. Still, the pimp's dialogue is revolting and reflects just how evil and abusive he is. In a way, one could argue this brief interlude with the pimp is Ken's way of truly denouncing the male gaze: we are forced to look at Liz just as the pimp does, and it makes us queasy and guilty because we have come to see her as a person. 

When Whore came out, it was given a NC-17 rating although Pretty Woman was rated R. Ken felt he was being punished for telling the truth, and he did have a point. However, Whore is about reality, and I'm not sure anyone under 17 should watch this film--not because it's shocking, and not because of nudity (of which there is little), but because the subject matter is handled so unapologetically and so blatantly. Frankly, The Wolf of Wall Street is far more explicit than Whore, but Whore's embracing of a prostitute's reality and its forcing the audience to examine their own prejudices is more unsettling than anything in The Wolf of Wall Street. 

Whore has some structural issues and does feel like it was made with very little money, but it definitely has value. It is not Ken Russell's best--not by a long shot--but it is a worthy contribution to his canon. 

Grade: B-

Raging Bull (1980)

Last night I watched Raging Bull for the fifth or sixth time (I have lost count), and I still have at best mixed feelings about it. From a directing standpoint, an editing standpoint, an acting standpoint, a cinematography standpoint--truly, any aspect of filmmaking--Raging Bull is a masterpiece. However, there is something missing from the film for me that weakens its pathos and overall emotional pull. At just over two hours, it feels much longer. It is a beautiful film in many ways, but may also be the most violent film Martin Scorsese has ever made by a tremendous margin. 

Released in 1980, which was the same year of David Lynch's The Elephant Man, Robert Redford's directorial debut in Ordinary People, and Sissy Spacek's lovely performance in Coal Miner's Daughter, Raging Bull certainly was in good company. I've seen all of these movies and enjoy them all for different reasons, but Raging Bull is the one that haunts me the most, and not for necessarily good reasons. 

The film chronicles real life boxer Jake LaMotta's rise and fall in his boxing career, and it is a brutal, agonizing decline. Robert De Niro, whose performance is perfection here, got into incredible shape for the boxing sequences, then gained over 60 pounds to play LaMotta in his later years. It is a breathtaking transformation and one that anyone even mildly interested in acting or film must see. He captures LaMotta's anger, stupidity, paranoia, and (in my opinion) personality disorder flawlessly. One of the most perfectly shot, edited, and acted scenes is his final fight with Sugar Ray Robinson. If you've never seen this film before, you must watch this:

The editing in this scene is brilliant. Spike Lee points out that one of the greatest things about this movie is the boxing choreography, and it is perfect. The cuts of the lights, the punches, the blood--we learn so much about LaMotta as a person through these boxing sequences, and none more than in the clip above.

Although Raging Bull is recognized as one of the great collaborations between Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese, many people fail to realize this was the first in a long and masterful line of collaborations between Scorsese and Thelma Schoonmaker, who is without a doubt one of the great editors of the sound era. If you feel I'm overstating, just watch this interview with Scorsese and Wang Kar Wai in which they both gush over Schoonmaker's talent (13:00 minutes in):

Since 1980, Thelma has edited all of Scorsese's movies and now practically has a telepathic relationship with him. She's been nominated seven times for Best Film Editing, and she's won three Oscars--the first of which was for Raging Bull (The Aviator  and The Departed were her other wins). For some reason, every self-described feminist I know who is interested in film does not know anything about Schoonmaker, which bewilders me and speaks to how much editors are overlooked, especially women. In any case, Scorsese and Schoonmaker's collaboration on Raging Bull is nothing short of ingenious. The cuts on the Sugar Ray sequence are of course only one small example.

This film also marks the first collaboration between Scorsese and Joe Pesci. Anyone who is familiar with their later work, particularly Goodfellas and Casino, knows that in the Pesci-De Niro relationship, De Niro plays the calm one and Pesci the psychopath. In Raging Bull, the relation is much the opposite, with Jake LaMotta as essentially a paranoid, narcissistic psychopath (he is a "raging bull") and Pesci as the slightly more level-headed brother. Truly, Raging Bull is an American Othello, with LaMotta constantly suspecting and punishing his Desdamona, played by an extremely young Cathy Moriarty. 

So, with all of these accolades, why do I dislike this movie?

It's complicated. The first time I watched this film was in the midst of my and my brother's obsession with Scorsese's Goodfellas, which you can read about on my "About Me" page. We were in love with anything even remotely associated with Scorsese and wanted to see Raging Bull as soon as we knew what it was. I still remember Burt and me watching it on an old TV in our living room and both of us feeling...confused by the end. I don't know what I expected, but I do remember feeling let down. Because I was only about 17 at the time, it is easy to dismiss my initial reaction to youthful ignorance. However, I've watched it since then several times and always carry that same feeling of...disappointment. After watching the film last night, I am finally able to articulate that disappointment. 

Jake LaMotta is a character consumed by violence; it defines every fiber of his being: his masculinity, his passions, his home life, his career, his treatment of his family. He is a man who is drowned in violence, defined by it, driven by it, aroused by it. As a result, every single scene of the film is at the very least tinged with this violence. Watching the film last night, I felt emotionally exhausted only thirty minutes into the movie, and it was then that I realized why. 

The film puts you inside the mind of a man--a "raging bull"--whose obsession with violence permeates everything about him, and it fills the audience with anxiety, fear, and trepidation. You have no idea whom he is about to attack, what he will break or destroy, or to what extent he will explode. He is a ticking time bomb in the most extreme. If you look at other Scorsese protagonists, this is not an unusual characteristic; in fact, it is quite common. Johnny Boy in Mean Streets, Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver, Nicky in Casino, Tommy in Goodfellas--all of these guys are on the brink of explosion. For me, the difference is that LaMotta was not only a real person (this is a biopic, after all), but his anger and intensity feel so real. It is because of this constantly pulsing violence throughout the entire film that I believe Raging Bull is the most violent film Scorsese has ever done.

I can only speculate about how men feel watching Raging Bull, but for me as a woman, I feel anxious and tired the whole time. Although I have never been in a violent relationship, I have been on the receiving end of that kind of attitude LaMotta exudes: women as property, women as sexual objects, women as things. Indeed, every woman alive (and most girls) have been subjected to sexual harassment at some point (usually quite frequently), and the Jake LaMottas of the world are the ones we fear most of all. 

One scene in particular that made me feel queasy--in a way it did not when I was a teenager--was toward the end. LaMotta has a club and is quite fat and creepy at this point. He walks around the club kissing girls who may or may not be underage as a way to "test" and see if they are 21. I had to stop the film and walk around for a moment to calm down; De Niro's performance in that scene is so real, it provoked memories of every creepy, lecherous old man I've met at practically any social function: The ones who walk over to girls, sometimes still teenagers, and attempt to flirt by asking, "What's a pretty little girl like you doing here?" That familiarity and the underlying violence beneath it--sexual violence, violence that we as an audience know LaMotta is not afraid of using to get his own way, violence that threatens any woman who does not adhere to his idea of women as property--actually scared me; I say that without hyperbole. 

When we learn in a subsequent scene that one of the girls was only 14, and LaMotta is arrested, I had trouble sympathizing with him. In fact, I really have no sympathy for his character throughout the film, which I think compromises it. Although it is true almost Scorsese's entire filmography is about "bad people," I do not have trouble identifying or feeling interested in the protagonists of his other films, even the gangster pictures or The Wolf of Wall Street. Raging Bull, on the other hand, leaves me feeling nothing but revulsion and mercy when the final credits come. I don't really feel bad for him at all and struggle to empathize with anything that happens to him. 

One thing I would like to add is that over the years, critics have accused Scorsese of being misogynist, but I find that misguided at best. In Raging Bull, you are put inside the mind of a misogynist, and it is a creepy, unsettling place to be. The film, and almost all of Scorsese's movies, is an indictment of many of the things we associate with masculinity: violence, treating women like property, domination. There is nothing in this film indicating Scorsese endorses this behavior, but he forces you to experience it. I suppose this is one reason why I find this film so emotionally draining. 

All in all, Raging Bull is an exhausting, laborious movie to watch, but there is much to admire about it. I can see why people love it, and I do appreciate the many artistic elements of it; that doesn't mean I enjoy watching it. 

Grade: B+