Podcasting Them Softly

Walter Hill is one of the manliest directors of my lifetime, or any lifetime. He’s made a career out of telling tales of gunslingers, cops, criminals, and loners, and I instinctively respond to his particular brand of tough guy cinema. Southern Comfort is one of my favorite efforts from Hill, a totally nasty and rather disturbing tale of backwoods terror; it would pair extremely well with Deliverance on a double bill. Released in 1981, the film was co-written by Hill, Michael Kane, and David Giler, and features a surly and macho cast consisting of Powers Boothe, Keith Carradine, Fred Ward, Peter Coyote, T.K. Ward, Franklyn Seales, Lewis Smith, Les Lannom, Brion James, and Sonny Landham, and concerns a group of Louisianan Army National Guard members who are doing routine weekend combat drills in the bayou, and who become the prey of a band of local Cajuns who aren’t impressed with fatigue-clad and rifle-toting visitors in their backyard.

After a misunderstanding leads to a murder, all hell breaks loose, with the added twist that the good guys are carrying guns loaded only with blanks. This is a rather terrifying actioner, with a final sequence of violent confrontations that definitely get the blood pumping and the pulse racing. Setting the film during the latter portion of the Vietnam War also added a level of subversive topicality to the narrative, while the film has a purposefully grimy visual style courtesy of cinematographer Andrew Laszlo, which stressed the damp and grubby environment. It genuinely hurts when people get shot and stabbed in this movie; not a moment in the fleet running time is wasted. Despite the film not making much money in theaters, it has certainly attained the label of cult classic, and was somewhat recently released on Blu-ray by Shout! Factory. Apparently, the Iranian government heavily edited and altered the film’s narrative for release in that country, turning it into an anti-American military statement.

Training Day continues to be one of my favorite modern cop films. It smartly balanced entertainment value, social commentary, and genre expectations, with David Ayer’s superb script feeding into director Antoine Fuqua’s muscular visual style, aided by polished yet gritty camerawork from Mauro Fiore, and razor sharp editing courtesy of Conrad Buff. Denzel Washington delivered a massive lead performance as a morally bankrupt and wildly corrupt Los Angeles narcotics officer, with Ethan Hawke providing extremely strong and emotionally engaging support as a relative newbie who is taken under Washington’s volatile wing for a 24 hour period, where literally anything can (and will) happen. Some people complained that Ayer’s highly quotable original screenplay was too contrived, and yes, I’ll submit that much has to happen in a very specific way for the story to arrive at its destination. But I don’t care about any of that. This is a movie, not real life. And as presented by the creative team, this is a thrillingly cinematic tale of both sides of the law, and I respected how Ayer and Fuqua went for the hot-blooded jugular in all instances. The dynamic ensemble cast added colorful support, with Scott Glenn, Tom Berenger, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Nick Chinlund, Peter Greene, Cliff Curtis, Raymond Cruz, Macy Gray, Noel Gugliemi, Harris Yulin, and an especially sultry (and fully nude) Eva Mendes as one of Washington’s various women on the side. Tough and violent but never over the top or too loud for its own good, this is easily one of the very best of Fuqua’s efforts, duking it out with the even more ambitious policier Brooklyn’s Finest for top prize honors.

13 Tzameti, from director Gela Babluani, is a riveting piece of filmmaking that I’ve only needed to see one time, as I remember each and every moment, and honestly, I think my palms might still be a tad sweaty from the experience. Shot in shadowy and smoky black and white by cinematographer Tariel Meliava, the plot concerns a young immigrant worker (Georges Babluani, the director’s younger brother) who lucks his way into a Russian roulette tournament via a series of mysterious notes, but I guess that would depend on your definition of the word “luck.” The tension in this film is nearly unbearable, you never know what’s going to happen, and because the film is comprised of actors you’ve likely never seen, it becomes all the more engrossing and scary; there’s no movie stars here to save the day. Babluani was unfortunately coerced by Hollywood producers to remake his own film, and while I’ve never seen it, the fact that it sat on the shelf for a long period of time probably speaks to the overall quality; he’s also yet to issue a follow up effort which seems a shame. But beyond the needless remake, this is one of the more unnerving foreign language films I can think of, presenting a sinister, suspenseful world with deep swaths of mordant black comedy to match the visceral nature of the high-stakes “games” being played.

When one really takes a hard look at all of the films released in 2007, you really start to form the idea in your head that more great movies came from that year than possibly any other since the beginning of the 2000’s. Yet another superb piece of cinema from that year was Todd Haynes’ experimental, eclectic film I’m Not There, a willfully strange and bold work that strenuously avoided the routine conventions of the Hollywood musical biopic. Bob Dylan’s diverse career and life was the subject at hand, and Haynes, who had previously directed the colorful and piercing satire of 1950’s melodramas Far From Heaven, took his audience on a trippy, surreal, occasionally frustrating ride through the many moments of Dylan’s impressionistic life. Abandoning the traditional three act structure and casting six different actors to play versions of Dylan, Haynes’ film is unique and fresh in ways that seem almost impossible for the genre. Starting with the film’s title and continuing on with its defiance of a conventional narrative, I’m Not There is about how Dylan was/is, essentially, a vapor of an individual. Representing different things to different people and different points in time, Haynes’ nervy decision to cast multiple actors as the singer was an audacious move, a stunt that repeatedly paid off. It allowed the audience to indulge in a multitude of feelings and sensations about the legendary singer, and the actors he chose were more than up to the task.

And what a roster of talent he assembled: Christian Bale, Cate Blanchett, Richard Gere, Heath Ledger, Ben Whishaw, and youngster Marcus Carl Franklin all took on their roles with gusto and passion. All of them did splendid, varied work, with Blanchett leading the pack, followed closely by Ledger and Bale, and though I initially felt that Gere was miscast, multiple viewings have slightly quelled that first impression. They all brought a distinct style to their interpretation, and when melded all together, the result became mildly trippy to experience, as the various performances all help to bridge the film’s desire to marry the expected with the unexpected. I’m Not There was an artistic expression first and foremost, with entertainment running second in the goals department. It’s personal and uncompromising in its vision and design, and it’s unlike any other musical biopic I’ve ever seen. And if you’re a fan of Dylan (which I assume anyone who will take the time to watch this film will be), the music is predictably smashing, with a wide range of the master’s songs on display.

Haynes, who co-wrote the film with the supremely talented writer/director Oren Moverman, cut back and forth between the various actors, forming a kaleidoscope effect of emotions, styles, and moods. Blanchett (brilliant) is the drugged out Dylan, unable to respond adequately to the press and critics, stumbling around in a stony daze. Ledger is a famous actor playing a role in a film that is Dylan-esque; he’s married (to the lovely French actress Charlotte Gainsbourg) and has a kid and shows zero desire to be a part of the family dynamic. Bale is Dylan as innovator and creator; one of the best scenes in the film is the infamous Virginia Beach concert where Dylan went electric for the first time, much to the anger of his loyal fans. Whishaw, who was phenomenal in the criminally underrated Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, was a bit underused as the talking-head Dylan, spouting off lines of psychological assessment that work as links between the segments. Franklin, who has a natural screen presence despite his young age and relative lack of acting experience, is Dylan represented as naive child, and the tender moments with Franklin singing with some train hobos is lyrical and sweet. And Gere, who roughly approximates Dylan when the singer took a role in Sam Peckinpah’s classic Western Pat Garrett and Billy The Kid, plays Dylan as a lost soul, drifting around a Fellini-esque circus-setting that contains all manner of magical realism with direct homages to 8 1/2.

I’m Not There was crafted with love, passion, and reverence for Dylan by Haynes and Moverman, and it’s a film for anyone who considers themselves a true Dylan fan. The beautiful texture and diverse multi-format cinematography by the estimable Ed Lachman (Far From Heaven, The Limey) is a pleasure for anyone who considers themselves a cinematography buff. And as I mentioned earlier, the music is dynamic. I’m Not There is a private, challenging film that will certainly frustrate viewers who go into it looking for easy answers and clear-cut ideas. Haynes, who has established himself as a singularly idiosyncratic filmmaker (aside from the brilliantly conceived Far From Heaven his work includes the stunning glam-rock expose Velvet Goldmine, the creepy domestic “thriller” Safe, and last year’s achingly romantic Carol), is an artist working overtime in artist mode, never interested in playing it safe or capitulating to the studio suits. This is an epic yet intimate film that works up a full, heady stream of images, sound, and ideas, and culminates with an exceptional final shot that beautifully wraps the film up.