Tag Archives: Warren Beatty

Quentin Tarantino’s kill bill volume i

“You know, I bet I could fry an egg on your head right about now, if I wanted to.”

What was once a film that would star Warren Beatty in the title role, wherein Bill would have been more James Bond and less David Carradine, tensions mounted as production stalled due to Uma Thurman’s pregnancy. Beatty grew impatient with not only the delay in production, but the constant reference to Beatty playing the role like Carradine would. Beatty inevitably left the picture, imploring Tarantino to cast the only actor alive or dead to play Bill, David Carradine.

The film marks one of Tarantino’s most dynamic screenplays, a soundtrack featuring score tracks only used in other films films, Robert Richardson’s richly fulfilling cinematography, and an ensemble bread from his most organically diverse cast.

What is encompassed within is his most seminal and homage laden film to date is referencing everything from Mark Goldblatt’s THE PUNISHER, to the STREET FIGHTER films, with a ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST capstone.

This isn’t just some hardcore, stylishly sexy revenge flick (which it is), at its heart is a story about a scorn lover whose hubris sets a deadly chain of events in motion. Bill, who is only heard and whose hands and boots are only seen, loves the heroine so much, he would rather kill her than to be without her. Potent stuff.

What ensues is a tale of bloody revenge where Tarantino’s most ass-kicking character stops at nothing to exact a near equal measure of revenge to those who killed what was supposed to be the greatest day of her life, marrying “some fucking jerk” and leaving behind her life of being a member of the Deadly Viper Assassin Squad.

In the Tarantino-Verse, things get much more colorful and downright self indulgent, but baby, it is absolutely glorious.

Uma Thurman gets shot in the head, Daryl Hannah is featured in the best Brian De Palma homage ever, Michael Madsen acts as the thread that directly leads into the second volume, Production I.G. came in and did an amazing animated segment, RZA supplied the sound effects, Lucy Liu gets a reintroduction sequence that any actor would kill for; not to mention getting scalped, Sonny Chiba gives an encore as Hatori Hanzo, Michael Parks returns as Sheriff Earl McGraw, Vivica A. Fox delivers one of the most memorable on screen deaths in a QT movie, and David Carradine is the man.

None of that even begins to scratch the surface.

The first volume of KILL BILL is what rebirthed Tarantino into an acutely self righteous auteur. Making films for not just his rabid and loyal fanbase, but most importantly films that he, as a passionate fanboy of cinema, would want to see on screen.

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Being Hal: An Interview with Amy Scott by Kent Hill

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There is no denying that a good percentage of the films we count today as iconic, came from the 70’s. With the birth of the easy riders and raging bulls, it would be the first and last time filmmakers would enjoy true creative freedom, as well as being able to present personalized films to the movie-loving audience at large.

Now. When we think of the 70’s, the new Hollywood, there are the usual suspects that come to mind. But, there is a name that, for whatever reason, has been absent from the list when it leaks from the tongues of cineastes the world over. That name is the name of Hal Ashby. One of the great individualists to come out of his era, Ashby’s cinema is at once quietly profound and intensely calm. He was an artist that saw the world for what is was – in its entire obnoxious, absurdist best, Ashby captured the beautiful frailty of the moment, no matter how strange, or violent, or sensual, or funny.

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Still, with all the freedom they enjoyed, the filmmakers of the 70’s were far from immune from the ‘tampering of the suits’. Ashby, like his contemporaries, raged against the ludicrous interference and mindless nitpicking of the powers that control the content that comes to a cinema near you. And, in fighting for his vision, he was labelled troublesome, rendered weary and eventually would succumb to a career that watched him bravely, and perhaps at times foolishly, burn the candle at both ends.

Amy Scott has produced, at last, the grand portrait of a man who made some of the defining films of his generation – or any generation from that matter. With the blessing of Ashby’s estate she as unearthed a veritable trove of Ashby gold, from letters to recordings of the man himself – telling it like it is, or was, or perhaps someday will be.

Hal is a documentary that has been on the road to find out. I for one can’t wait for you to see it – I for one, am just glad it’s out…

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE:

http://hal.oscilloscope.net/

https://www.facebook.com/halashbymovie/

MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER (1971) – A REVIEW BY RYAN MARSHALL

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Surely a seasoned connoisseur of the silver screen can relate the experience of watching a film to emotional responses which seem to transcend the medium all-together. For instance, certain films may have a distinctive smell; others might even allow one to taste something either delectable or truly putrid on the tip of their tongue. Robert Altman’s MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER, a whiskey-soaked indictment of American idealism filtered through the abstracted gaze of a hazy opium den, truly has the best of both worlds – the film smells strongly of musk and is bitter to the taste but nonetheless warm once it’s in you. It has the benefit of seamlessly evoking homeliness and absolute desolation in equal measures; not once is one allowed to truly sit back and take in the spectacle on a base level, but if that’s not somehow oddly ingenious in its own right, then I’ll be damned.

John McCabe (Warren Beaty) arrives in Presbyterian Church, Washington as a stranger, but soon establishes himself as a legend of his own distinct variety. A gambling man with a detrimental love affair with the bottle, McCabe is immediately met with suspicion on the part of the townspeople, who suspect he’s really a gunslinger that shot one of their own over a card game some time ago. Nevertheless, it’s his reputation – coupled with his intense personality – that allows McCabe to be seen as a leader among loners and losers in this quiet little Northwest town. It is here that he aspires to establish a brothel, the first step in doing so being the acquisition of three women from one of the neighboring towns.

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This, of course, will hardly be substantial in the long run. Along comes another stranger, Constance Miller (Julie Christie), who proposes that the two become business partners. It’s an offer that McCabe simply can’t refuse, and they’re all the better for it; it’s not long before three girls turns into about a dozen and the establishment is doubling as a bathhouse. As rewarding as this venture appears to be, the attempted intervention on the part of a nearby mining company indicates there may be trouble ahead for both business and personal pleasure alike.

Only a select few films have a kind of palpable density that the viewer feels right in the gut, and as it turns out Altman has made quite a few of them. Throughout the course of just two hours, man himself is challenged (the tragedy of masculinity suppressing all which stands in its path), and everything – land and life alike – has a dollar value. For instance, when McCabe continually refuses the offers from the mining company’s shady representatives, they send over a trio of bounty hunters to seal the deal. Afraid for his life but unwilling to leave the town and business he helped start, McCabe turns to his lawyer for advice, but is instead treated to a spiel that basically amounts to the company’s safety being favored over McCabe’s. The poor bastard’s response is genuinely haunting: “Well I just, uh…didn’t want to get killed.”

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This is a film that soars, perhaps even more-so than the average Western (MCCABE is revisionist). Altman’s uncanny genius can be traced back to his modesty, quite an appealing quality in any artist, though given the sense of scale and impeccable attention to detail present in his work it’s almost a bit amusing. And yet, even though there are moments of genuine humor, no doubt provided by McCabe himself, the character remains a tragic one; one whose deepest flaws would appear to be almost entirely of his own making. The man is an enigma and a half to the naked eye. And Mrs. Miller, who as it turns out has a bit of an opium habit, is essentially the product of an unnecessarily harsh world dominated by the opposite sex, a world in which her expertise doesn’t seem welcome. And thus, the romanticism of the genre is stripped from Altman’s warped worldview, and in its place a new kind of grandeur emerges.

It goes without saying at this point, forty-something years after the fact, that Vilmos Zsigmond’s cinematography is absolutely note-perfect. The world in which the tortured, titular souls occupy is one largely confined to dark rooms and dusty bars; and the town’s exteriors couldn’t possibly be any rougher. There’s an inherent bleakness to it, and yet when there is any semblance of light shining bright at the end of the tunnel, it does not go unnoticed. Not only does this feel absolutely distinctive in terms of its genre, Altman and Zsigmond go the extra mile to find beauty in even the most deliberately obscured of images. Form is no longer so well-defined and the rules no longer apply in the same way that they used to.

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Altman’s films tend to have rich, multi-dimensional soundscapes in which the abstraction of sonic perception gives way to a new language of its own. Here, no spoken word is free of the director’s unique grasp. Conversations are always overlapping to the point where the subject becomes more important to the viewer than the content, which is ultimately an effective method of conjuring up such an off-kilter atmosphere. Lou Lombardo’s editing is equally as inventive – time feels almost nonexistent in this town after we’ve spent a considerable amount of time there. The focus shifts between characters both integral to the central relationship and generally insignificant, adding to their collective mystique. Altman challenges us to embrace this very quality head-on, to return to a sort of exhilarating ambiguity that audiences of today have all but shunned.

The frontier unveils new angles from which to exquisitely immortalize it and the frontiersmen themselves remain largely the same. The cinema of transcendence is alive and well, drinking bourbon by the fireside, mumbling incoherently under its bearded breath. The lovely, brooding songs of Leonard Cohen allow it – and us – to drift off into a state of near unconsciousness; a state from which we’d hardly like to return. MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER is a subtly colossal achievement, especially in the positively brilliant final twenty minutes, a film of dreamy, universal resonance. It’s a world you could settle into for twice – perhaps even triple – the length we’re provided with. “I know that kind of man, it’s hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching for the sky just to surrender. And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind, you find he did not leave you very much, not even laughter.”

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PTS Presents Writer’s Workshop with Jeremy Pikser

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pikserPodcasting Them Softly is thrilled to present a chat with special guest Jeremy Pikser. Jeremy is the Oscar nominated co-writer of Warren Beatty’s hilarious and more relevant than ever political satire Bulworth. He also served as a creative consultant and did uncredited writing work on Beatty’s epic drama Reds. Other screenwriting credits include War Inc. and The Lemon Sisters with multiple new projects in the pipeline. Jeremy teaches graduate screenwriting at Johns Hopkins University, and before that, was a screenwriting teacher at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. He’s serves as Vice President of Writers Guild of America East, and he’s also a regular adviser at the Sundance Film Festival’s Screenwriter’s Lab. A lifelong political activist and graduate of Oberlin College, Jeremy was one of the original organizers of the Not in Our Name Statement of Conscience, which opposed the US-led invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq, while he’s written posts for The Huffington Post, The Guardian and CounterPunch. We hope you enjoy this fantastic discussion about films and politics!

ALAN J. PAKULA’S THE PARALLAX VIEW — A REIVEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Alan J. Pakula’s The Parallax View is one of the best paranoid thrillers from the 70’s, taking its ambitious and chillingly layered narrative concoctions and making them just believable enough. I’ve watched this film countless times, and each time I revisit, I find a new detail that had previously been left undiscovered, and it’s clear that the film served as a major inspiration for future efforts like Peter Hyams’ The Star Chamber, David Fincher’s The Game, and Rob Bowman’s The X-Files: Fight the Future, to name only three. It seems insane to think that this film hasn’t been given the unnecessary remake that Hollywood seems to love to throw out, and my hope is that people are smart enough to leave this one alone. I’m sure some savvy filmmakers could craft a solid updating, but there’s something so incredibly 70’s about this film, from Warren Beatty’s look and attitude, to the cryptic plotting, to the downbeat finale. Gordon Willis shot the ever living hell out of this film, the diabolical screenplay by David Giler and Lorenzo Semple Jr. (with uncredited rewrites by Robert Towne) never lets anyone off the hook, and the beyond creepy musical score by Michael Small immediately sets a nervous, anxious tone that Pakula maintains for the entire duration. Effective supporting performances by Hume Cronyn, William Daniels, Paula Prentiss, Earl Hindman, William Joyce, Walter McGinn and Kelly Thorsden are on display, while Beatty anchors the film with class and the perfect amount of cockiness and uncertainty. And then there’s the ruthless finale, which feels both earned and inevitable, with the closing moments ranking as some of the iciest in cinema history. The Criterion Collection would be wise to put out a Pakula box set, as Klute, All the President’s Men, The Parallax View, and Sophie’s Choice are all worthy of that swanky stamp of approval, while it’s interesting to note that Pakula also crafted a bunch of dependable, thoughtful studio thrillers like Consenting Adults, Presumed Innocent, and The Devil’s Own; I need to finally catch up with Rollover, Comes A Horseman, and Starting Over. I’ll always be enamored with The Parallax View and with how Pakula and his team effortlessly pulled off all of the ingredients in this truly sketchy piece of work.

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