Podcasting Them Softly

**** (out of ****)
Denzel Washington, Angela Bassett, Albert Hall, Al Freeman Jr., Delroy Lindo.
Directed by Spike Lee. Written by Lee and Arnold Perl, based on the book by Alex Haley and Malcolm X.
Rated R. 203 minutes. 1992.

Like Amadeus and Raging Bull a decade before it, and Ali and The Aviator a decade after, Spike Lee’s galvanizing Malcolm X is one of the great screen biographies (joining Nixon in that categories for a pair from the 1990s), never taking for granted the hero status of its polarizing figure, but examining his psychology and what made the man into the martyr. Superficially, the structure is not uncommon. We see his upbringing, born Malcolm Little in Omaha, Nebraska, to a father later probably killed by the Ku Klux Klan in a “streetcar accident” and a mother who loses her nerve as swiftly as she loses the ability to support Malcolm and his brothers. He later leads a life of drugs, pimping, gambling, and racketeering, before being imprisoned, partially for cavorting with white women while doing so. In prison and after, he becomes smitten with the teachings of Islam, in particular through the mentoring of Elijah Muhammad, the leader of the Nation Islam. Black supremacy, in the guise of black self-reliance, is the subject of the teachings, as Malcolm, who sheds his “slave” surname and replaces it with the letter “x,” learns that all white men are devil spawn. After a pilgrimage to Mecca, he becomes considerably less radically anti-white, though returning the African diaspora from the Americas, Europe, or anywhere else to their mother continent remains his message until his violent assassination, probably by Elijah Muhammad’s henchmen within the Nation of Islam,  with which he becomes increasingly disenfranchised over the course of his life. Here is that life, entirely and sprawling, portrayed in just less than three-and-a-half hours by Lee and co-screenwriter Arnold Perl (adapting Malcolm X’s own autobiography, co-written by Alex Haley, presumably after the man’s murder), who earn the gargantuan film’s every minute. We see this man live, breathe, fear, love, hate, doubt, firmly believe, and orate, and in an astonishing performance that ranks among the best in the movies, Denzel Washington captures the spirit, the controversy, and the humanity of this great man. Surrounding him is a superb supporting cast, each of whom I could name, but at the center is Washington’s disappearance into the role of any actor’s lifetime. It’s a performance of great courage in a film of great candor.

**** (out of ****)
Kevin Costner, Kevin Bacon, Tommy Lee Jones, Joe Pesci, Sissy Spacek.
Directed by Oliver Stone. Written by Stone and Zachary Sklar, based on the book by Jim Garrison and Jim Marrs.
Rated R. 201 minutes. 1991.

Note: This mini-review is based on a viewing of the director’s cut of JFK.

The late, great Roger Ebert once said, “I don’t have the slightest idea whether Oliver Stone knows who killed President John F. Kennedy,” and that pretty much sums up my own thoughts on the matter. Oliver Stone’s JFK is, purely, simply, and truly, an examination of so-called “facts,” a conclusion that those facts are likely made of whole cloth, and a hypothesis that fills in the gaps with what Stone believes are probably the events. He is imparting truth here, not procedural facts about the killing of the 35th President of the United States of America. He tackles, through his protagonist Jim Garrison, the man on whose book (co-written by Jim Marrs) Stone’s screenplay (co-written by Zachary Sklar) is based and who is played by Kevin Costner, the facts of the assassination as provided to the American public by the government who investigated it. Garrison finds damning evidence in every nook and cranny, as witnesses and accomplices are killed with impunity and under curious circumstances or otherwise bought to keep silent, a series of connections are uncovered between the American government, the Dallas Police Department, and the branch of the Dallas mob that resided in the metroplex, and supposed assassin Lee Harvey Oswald’s guilt begins to appear increasingly coincidental. The footage of the actual shooting, captured by onlooker Abraham Zapruder, establishes, rather unexpectedly, evidence of more than one rifle used in the crime. A mysterious former military man lays the groundwork for Kennedy’s assassination at the feet of a U.S. government that desires war for financial viability. Stone’s most monumental achievement lay in Joe Hutshing and Pietro Scalia’s editing, which makes sense of the labyrinthine investigation laid out before Garrison, and in the astounding cast: Costner, sympathetic as Garrison; Tommy Lee Jones, superbly indifferent as primary defendant Clay Shaw; Gary Oldman, adopting Oswald’s unique vocal inflection and affording great humanity to a man seen around the world as a villain; Joe Pesci, a bundle of nerves as getaway pilot David Ferrie; Sissy Spacek as Liz Garrison, increasingly tired of her husband’s seeming obsession with the assassination; Jay O. Sanders, Michael Rooker, Wayne Knight, Gary Grubbs, and Laurie Metcalf as Garrison’s army of investigators; Donald Sutherland, fascinating in his single-sequence appearance as “X,” the mysterious whistle-blower later identified as Fletcher Prouty, who offers crucial points in Garrison’s investigation; Ed Asner, Jack Lemmon, Walter Matthau, Kevin Bacon, and John Candy, all solid as various figures within the investigation itself. The film weaves in, around, and through the varied ways that Oswald could not have acted alone. This, Garrison and the film reckon, was a conspiracy, and the result was a murder of great mystique, political expediency, and, worst, arrogance that led a consortium to believe a story with this many holes would survive scrutiny.

At this point, what can one really add to the discussion concerning Jules and Jim from legendary director Francois Truffaut? A movie of this sort is a product of its time, as this was made by a filmmaker exploring the medium with the zeal of a child, and telling a story that’s uniquely European and a clear reflection of a different era and society. It’s remarkable to observe Truffaut’s camera style in Jules and Jim; his aesthetic is a textbook example of the French New Wave movement in cinema, very ahead of its time, seemingly obsessed with momentum and kineticism, as fully alive as the passionate characters that consume the narrative. The various forms of imagery that Truffaut incorporated into his storytelling during Jules and Jim sort of feels like a precursor to the more extreme, kaleidoscopic aesthetic of 90’s-era Oliver Stone, with Truffaut opting for stock/newsreel footage, freeze frames, rapid-paced dolly shots, voiceover, and a seemingly freewheeling style. Jeanne Moreau, Henri Serre, and Oskar Werner basically projected every single emotion on screen during the course of this film; there’s vulnerability about each one of them that makes them all so empathetic despite some of the decisions that they all make throughout the poignant, funny, and finally tragic story.

The film’s energetic cinematographer, Raoul Coutard, had previously worked with Jean-Luc Godard, and was famous for using the lightest cameras possible at the time, in order to approximate a very organic and loose filmmaking approach. And because of this, there’s a nimble quality to the aesthetic, with the camera bouncing from one place to the next, and in tandem with the jaunty editing patterns provided by cutter Claudine Bouché, Jules and Jim radiates with a fizzy sense of life that runs up against honest sadness and moments of personal uncertainty. The gorgeous swirls of music came courtesy of master composer Georges Delerue; this film wouldn’t be all that it is without his uncanny melodic sense. The story, which involves a passionate love triangle between two men and one very free-spirited woman, is timeless romantic material, with an appropriately downbeat ending that feels justified and emotionally cathartic. The Criterion Collection Blu-ray is as crisp and clean as one could ever ask, with the beautiful black and white film stock perfectly capturing all of the emotions and thematic shadings on display. I’ve never seen a movie that feels as lighthearted as this one while still exploring deep, intimate, very dramatic life challenges that could hardly be described as easy-going.