The Flim Bolg Top 100 Films of 2000-2009

082. Grizzly Man (Directed by Werner Herzog, 2005): Grizzly Man is a textbook example of how a viewing experience can taint one's opinion of a film. After months of reading reviews and hearing hype on the film, I found out that Discovery Channel would be airing it in its entirety. I watched it, thought it was all right, and forgot about it. I continued to read hype about it and was baffled about it. Finally, about one month ago, I picked up the DVD to watch it again and was blown away by how terrific it really is. And that reason is: commercials! The Discovery Channel, looking to make back some of the money they'd invested in the film, would run about 3-4 minutes of the film, then put it 3-4 minutes of commercials. The commercials break up the pace, making it a two hour, stilted slog, whereas it's actually a pretty brisk 103 minutes when viewed on its own. But, enough about my complaining about commercials, on to the film, itself.

Grizzly Man is Werner Herzog's documentary about the remarkable life and grisly death of bear-lover Timothy Treadwell. For 12 years, Treadwell would travel north and live amongst the grizzly bears of Alaska for the bulk of the summer and a portion of the fall. He filmed them, named them, and, in his own mind, crusaded against poachers and other hazards the grizzly bears faced. In his thirteenth summer, however, Treadwell and his girlfriend, up much later than usual in the Alaskan wilderness, were both mauled and killed by grizzly bears.

Herzog's documentary is composed of interviews with friends and associates of Treadwell, as well as amazing footage shot by Treadwell, himself, of his interactions with the bears in their natural habitat. Herzog talks to the pilot who flew Treadwell to his campsite and was the man to find Treadwell's remains, to Treadwell's ex-girlfriend who has, in her possession, an audio tape of Treadwell and his girlfriend being killed by the bears, as well as those who were critical of Treadwell's methods. One expert questions whether Treadwell did more harm than good, fighting an enemy (poachers) that weren't really a problem while making the bears used to human interactions, leading them into possibly fatal situations with human beings.

But, Herzog digs even deeper than these conflicts and, in Treadwell, finds a man who is on the outside of society. There are references to Treadwell's difficult relationships with friends and family, and Treadwell's love of the grizzlies borders on mania, such as when he touches bear feces because he's so amazed that they were just inside one of "his" bears, or when he launches into a lengthy, profanity-laced tirade against the Parks Department and other colleagues. Herzog suggests that modern life had passed Treadwell by, and he no longer felt comfortable in the human world.

Watching this with a friend, I came up with the idea that maybe Treadwell's own death was something he cooked up in his own head as a form of noble suicide. There are references made to him fighting with the airline that was intended to take him back down from Alaska and how he and his girlfriend return to the wilderness, much later than usual, with unfamiliar grizzlies. For Treadwell, who, right or wrong, loves the grizzlies so much, I could see this being his idea of a noble death, dying at the hands of a grizzly, his own body acting as nutrients for said grizzlies. It's a fascinating film

Film Review: The Wind Will Carry Us

The Wind Will Carry Us (Directed by Abbas Kiarostami, 1999): There’s not a lot that can be said about a film like The Wind Will Carry Us, really, because there’s not a lot to it, quite frankly. That’s not a criticism, the film has a real beauty and sense of visual poetry, it’s just that the talking points are limited.

There’s an engineer and his team, who drive to a remote rural village in Iran. They don’t say why they’re going, they tell a small child who will act like their guide, that they’re looking for treasure. The engineer inquires about a local woman who is sick, his team sleeps most of the day, then go eat strawberries in the afternoon. Periodically, the engineer gets a call on his cellphone, but the reception in the village is terrible, and he has to get in his car and drive to higher ground, in order to be able to communicate. And this scenario is repeated over and over for the first hour or so. He interacts with the other villagers, talking with the kid, talking to a man digging a ditch, trying to procure milk, these interactions are puncuated by more phone calls where we only hear his end of the conversation, and it becomes eventually apparent that the woman’s health is crucial to their plans, but in what way, we’re not sure until a conversation fairly far into the film reveals that they are, in fact, waiting for the woman to die so they can film the village’s death ceremony.

But, the woman doesn’t die. She starts to get better. The engineer is distraught, the woman’s refusal to die keeps him and his team waiting for weeks. But, you can see a mixed reaction on his face. On one hand, he’s upset that he has nothing to do, on the other, you can’t get angry at someone for living. He asks a villager who has learned of his purpose for visiting if the man thinks that the engineer is a bad man. We can see that it bothers him, which is an answer to his question, itself.

I mentioned the film’s sense of visual poetry. It has that in spades. Whether it’s a long-shot of the engineer driving his truck up to the top of the highest hill, the little boy walking across a fallen tree he uses for a bridge, the engineer hitching a ride on the back of a motorcyle between wind-swept fields, or even something as simple as the engineer shaving with the film’s camera standing in for a mirror, there’s a real beauty in every shot. The Wind Will Carry Us also has the benefits of the village, itself, a dizzying array of alleys and twists and turns. Witness where the scene where the engineer, on a phone call, says he must go to higher ground to able to hear the person on the other end, then proceeds down a set of stairs, because, in order to get to a higher level, he must go down first, then around a corner, then back up a set of stairs to get there.

It’s certainly not a film for everyone. The conversations are rather matter of fact, and there’s not a lot of dialogue to sink your teeth into, and there’s a genuine lack of concern for narrative clarity (I’ll admit, right here, that I actually picked up and read the back of the box, after about forty minutes, to try and figure out what was going on, if I’d missed something in the dialogue to explain what exactly they were supposed to be doing). It’s slow, which will throw some people off immediately. It’s the kind of film that I enjoyed, but if someone said to me “I hated it”, I couldn’t really blame them, because, like I said, it’s definitely not something that’s going to have a universal appeal. But, it’s so beautiful to look at, that I think everyone should at least see it before forming an opinion.

***

Film Reviews: A History of Violence & Dead Ringers

A History of Violence (Directed by David Cronenberg, 2005): I was rather non-plussed when I saw this for the first time, four years ago. Of course, it was an awkward visit to the theater, considering I saw it with my mother and father (Boy, those sex scenes made the trip extra-awkward), and some employee was vacuuming the back hallway behind the theater for the last half-hour, or so. But, upon rewatch, I’m still not a big fan. My biggest problem with it - and you can blame me for committing the unpardonable sin of the movie reviewer - is that it didn’t really go where I wanted it to go. I loved the story of the two hoods coming to this small town and a mild-mannered diner owner, Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen) who leaps into action when needed and kills the two hoods. I loved the idea of said diner owner getting hounded by a mysterious mobster (Ed Harris) who thinks Tom is someone else, a hood named Joey from Philadlephia. But, I am not really onboard with the whole

>>[SPOILER]Tom IS actually a who the mobster says he is, a hood from Philadelphia who buried his past and assumed a new identity[/END SPOILER].<<

Something about the last third just doesn’t strike me as believable. I’ve read reviews which detail how it plays around with the idea of self-identification and what makes us who we are, but I don’t think the film does a really good job of explaining or exploring this territory. If the film is about this idea of the self and what makes it, then it should get to this point much earlier in the story. By the time we get the big reveal about Tom, it’s two-thirds into the film and we’ve become invested, as an audience, in the story of Tom, that the second part of the plot never really takes hold.

Further,

>>SPOILER]Since all we really ever learn/know about Joey is that he was a nasty person and super-hood from Philadelphia, we never really feel any apprehension when he confronts his brother. I mean, if Tom Stall can battle mobsters with few problems, it stands to reason that Joey, who is Tom minus all sense of good and responsibility, would have even less problems with said mobsters. It removes all the tension from what should be a very tense situation.[/END SPOILER]<<

I also think a lot of the dialogue is really overwritten, particularly Tom’s son who never sounds like a high-school kid, rather a theater student in his mid-twenties. So, while I can admire the movie’s strongpoints: great performances by Mortensen, Harris, and Maria Bello; intense action sequences that show real results of violence without glorifying them (Though they are still kind of cool); and a weirdo, spirited casting choice of William Hurt as a mobster, that almost works, I can’t quite recommend it.

**1/2

Dead Ringers (Directed by David Cronenberg, 1988): Dead Ringers, on the other hand, does a much better job of exploring the realm of identity and the self. Jeremy Irons plays the role(s) of twin gynecologists, Beverly and Elliot Mantle. And what a performance it is! You actually find yourself watching it, and being able to tell who Beverly and Elliot are separately, because Irons does such an incredible job of playing each twin as a completely separate person: Bev, the introverted super-doctor who has a wonderful compassionate bedside manner but has difficulty communicating outside of his clinic, and Elliot, the smooth-talking brother with a knack for wooing the ladies, but can’t really communicate on any deeper level than seduction. After Elliot seduces an actress, Claire (Genevieve Bujold), he gets Beverly to take her out the second time, because he recognizes that Elliot will never meet women without his help. But, where Elliot finds Claire to be an interesting diversion, like all women he meets, Beverly makes a much deeper connection with her. He begins to have difficulty operating without her, and when she finds out the twins’ scheme, cuts off all contact with them. Beverly is devastated, and begins to take drugs to cope with her absence, and beings to spiral out of control. Her return doesn’t help, as she indulges his drug habit with her own, but the two manage to peacefully co-exist, though Elliot feels shunted aside. When she goes away on a shoot, and Bev suspects her fidelity, it’s more than he can take, and he begins to have difficulty operating not just in the outside world, but even in his sanctuary, the clinic. Elliot recognizes his brother’s suffering, and decides he must suffer with him, that it’s the only way he can pull him out of the nosedive.

It’s a fascinating film, contrasting the grotesque (Beverly’s nightmare, surgical scenes, and Beverly’s growing infatuation with “mutated women”, as well as a gory finale), with scenes of surprising beauty, like Elliot looking after his brother, or the opening sequence that’s a flashback to their childhood attempts at “seduction”.

But, this is Irons' picture as much as anyone. And Irons is phenomenal, playing both characters as completely different people, at times you forget it’s the same actor in both roles. As a Canadian, it’s quite refreshing to see that we got it right for a change, when Irons was chosen as Best Actor at the Genie Awards (Canada’s Oscars) while the Academy Awards failed to even nominate him.

****

Film Review: The Savages

The Savages (Directed by Tamara Jenkins, 2007): I did not expect to like The Savages because I had it pegged as something it’s not. A few years back, I was a finalist in a short fiction contest and was flabbergasted at the results. Not because I didn’t win, but because of what did win. It was a short story about a girl who worked in a retirement home, and used the elderly there as comic relief, an idea even more in bad taste than it sounds. And that is what I expected out of The Savages, the story of two middle-aged people (Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney) having to take care of their elderly father as he begins to suffer from dementia. The opening credits did nothing to dispel this fear either, with shots of old people dancing, tooling around in golf carts, arguing with the care-givers. But, the film’s not about that. The film is very direct and, even downright brutal, at times, about what happens in the last days of a person’s life.

Lenny (Philip Bosco) was not a good father, running out on his family, with some suggestions that before he left, he was abusive, as well. When Lenny’s girlfriend passes away, her children kick him out of the home they’d been paying for, leaving Jon (Hoffman) and Wendy (Linney) to have to fly out to Arizona, and figure out what to do with their father. The children’s lives are messes: Jon is struggling to complete a book on Bertolt Brecht while refusing to commit to his soon-to-have-her-visa-expire girlfriend, while Wendy is a wannabe playwright forced to work temp jobs to make ends meet while having an affair with a married man. They bring him back to Buffalo and put him in an assisted living facility, and Wendy moves in with Jon so that she can visit her father more regularly. The performance by Bosco is incredible, as a man trying to hold onto whatever scraps of dignity he has left by flying into fits of rage, while having to be subjected to humiliations like adult diapers, discussions of his post-mortem procedures, and his kids fighting about him, in front of him, without even asking his opinion.

But, I’m making this seem like an unnecessarily dire experience. It isn’t. There’s actually a lot of humor to be mined in the situation. The relationship between Jon and Wendy is spot-on, as they both compete to prove they’re not as maladjusted as the other sibling, while struggling with the feelings of being there for someone who was not there for them. There’s a movie night where Jon’s choice of an old film to boost his father’s spirits is not met with enthusiasm by the caregivers. And there’s a feisty cat who creates one of the most humanly enjoyable scenes in the film, where Wendy befriends one of the caregivers.

The Savages is really a wonderful film. It does not sugar-coat the facts about what happens as somebody’s life approaches its end, but it finds humor and humanity in the situation, without stripping the dignity away from the people who have lost so much of it already. I wish I could go back and show that woman who wrote the short story this film and say “There, that is how you do it.”

****

The Flim Bolg Top 100 Films of 2000-2009

083. City of God (Directed by Fernando Meirelles & Katia Lund, 2003): The title is evocative, because if there is a place that represents absolute godlessness, it’s the City of God, the title given to a section of slums in Rio de Janeiro. The film is told through the eyes of Rocket, a young man trying to make it in the slums, but it’s unfair to say he’s the main character in the film. In fact, he might not even be the main character in his own life. Lil’ Ze looms large over this film. Younger associate of a gang of smalltime hoods, Ze’s thirst for murder and mayhem makes him a bigger figure than they could ever be, eventually he becomes the kingpin of the entire City of God when, on a whim, he decides to murder the slum’s various leaders of the drug trade because that’s where the money lies. Benny, his longtime associate, is the brains of the outfit, the only one who can possibly quell Ze’s rage and direct it in the appropriate manner. When Ze becomes jealous of Benny’s ways with the ladies, he directs his fury towards a random guy walking home with his girlfriend and creates the legend of Knockout Ned, the only guy willing to stand up to Ze. Rocket, working for a newspaper, now, takes photos of the goings-on and soon becomes a photographer for the paper, as Ned and Ze head toward a climactic showdown.

City of God is a film of unbridled fury and kinetic energy. It’s the kind of film where the history of an apartment is detailed, spanning many years, yet is covered in just over two minutes of screentime. Or witness the opening scene where a scene where hoodlums chase down a runaway chicken, only to find themselves face-to-face with the police, and Rocket is in the middle as the camera rotates around him, showing that he’s trapped on all sides, with no visible way out.

The violence in City of God is often an issue that comes up as a talking point about the film, especially in light of the scene where one child is told to shoot another, but it’s never excessive. One never gets the sense that any of the violence in City of God is justifiable, or cool. And violence always comes with a price. Witness the ending where a new generation of gangster seems poised to take control. A new breed with no qualms about killing, and no qualms about killing for no real reason, rather than a rather abstract goal that they have no means to accomplish or knowledge of how to make happen. In City of God, violence begets violence, with no seeming end. It’s a wake-up call, and a fascinating film.

The Flim Bolg Top 100 Films of 2000-2009

Apparently I lied, I thought there was a comedy in this pack. Soon, honest...

085. Brokeback Mountain (Directed by Ang Lee, 2005): A heartbreaking film. Everyone lost their minds last summer about Heath Ledger's amazing Oscar-winning performance in The Dark Knight, overlooking the fact that he'd topped that performance four years earlier in Brokeback Mountain as Ennis Del Mar, a man so quiet and closed off, he'd seemingly just as soon bite his own tongue off as talk too much. He ends up camping on the titular mountain with fun-loving rodeo-rider Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal). By day, Twist is called upon to look after the sheep, riding back to camp in the evening where Ennis cooks dinner, before riding back out to camp out with the sheep. Considering they're basically hired to play house on the mountainside, is it any surprise when they develop affection for each other? Neither of them will own up to their feelings ("You know I ain't queer," Ennis tells Twist), and once their seasonal work is over, they part ways, ostensibly forever. Ennis marries his longtime sweetheart (Michelle Williams), while Twist falls for female rodeo rider Anne Hathaway. But, neither can forget the other, Twist even tries to get rehired the following year to work on Brokeback, but is turned away by the boss, who has stumbled upon their secret. Eventually they begin to meet for fishing trips, rendez vous, what have you. Because of their time and place, they can't reveal their love, their feelings for each other. In that sense, there love is more of a curse than a blessing. Their moments together are too short, the moments in between too long. Ennis' wife stumbles upon his forbidden love and leaves him, and he stumbles about day to day, with nothing really to do. One of the saddest films I've ever seen, with beautiful cinematography, superb acting, and a great score.

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084. Happy Times (Directed by Zhang Yimou, 2000): Fascinating human comedy that could only come from outside of the Western world, because, well, it's too darn weird. Zhao is a big dreamer, trying to woo a woman despite his lack of funds. He and a friend decide to rent out an abandoned schoolbus to young couples in need of privacy, and use the money to fund a a wedding well out of his price-range. His fiancee pawns off her step-daughter on him, thinking that since Zhao is presenting himself as a hotel owner, he can surely find a job for Wu as a masseuse. Wu is blind, so Zhao concocts a scheme where he places Wu in an abandoned building and sends his friends in as her clients. The massages are brusque and mechanical, never looking at all beneficial, sometimes even looking painful. They loop a cassette recording of downtown ambiance in the building so that she doesn't suspect the deception. Even though their relationship is based entirely around deception and trickery, Zhao begins to care for the poor unwanted girl, and she appreciates everything Zhao is doing for her, even as she begins to suspect it's not on the up and up. Roger Ebert expressed some grave misgivings about the plot, and the idea of a comedy based off of tricking a blind girl, but I think he's placing values on it that the film isn't interested in. There's nothing vaguely sexual or mean-spirited about what he's doing with Wu, it's just a guy without any means, trying to get along the best way he knows how. In the last stretch, the movie takes a shockingly serious turn, and it's really moving and sad.

The Flim Bolg Top 100 Films of 2000-2009

I didn't plan for this day to be so full of sad, sad films, it just turned out that way. I promise, there's still some levity coming up, hopefully tomorrow.

088. In America (Directed by Jim Sheridan, 2002): "Don't "little girl" me," the young girl says, staring into her father's eyes, "I've been carrying this family on my back for over a year." The father (the wonderful Paddy Considine) is shocked. He seems to think he and his wife have been coping well since the death of their son, never realizing the daughter has been taking the brunt of it, trying to maintain a happy face and take care of her younger sister while her parents trudge along, grief-stricken. "He was my brother too," she says. It's that kind of scene that separates In America from the rest of the pack, and elevates it above what could have simply been a tear-jerking nostalgia flick. That kind of emotional honesty is rare, and the performance by Sarah Bolger is sublime.

It's the story of an Irish family moving to New York City. They move into what is, ostensibly, a slum. But, they're happy, because it's New York City and it's so alive. The father struggles along, trying to make a go as an actor while taking odd jobs in the interim, the mother gets pregnant, the girls befriend an ailing artist who lives in the building, but the deceased brother is the elephant in the room. A game of hide-and-seek becomes a miserable experience when the father finds himself looking for his son. It's not an easy watch, it's extremely emotionally draining. But, ultimately, it's a rewarding one.

087. The Proposition (Directed by John Hillcoat, 2005): The idea of an Australian Western conjures the images of Crocodile Dundee riding on the back of a kangaroo, throwing boomerangs. In actuality, this is one of the bleakest, harshest films I've ever seen. Guy Pearce is Charlie Burns, middle brother of the notorious Burns Gang. He is caught at the hands of Captain Stanley (The remarkably under-appreciated Ray Winstone), who offers him the titular proposition. Either Charlie can rot in his prison, and watch his youngest brother Mikey be executed by the state, or he can be freed on the condition that he bring his older brother Arthur to justice. Justice, in the Australian outback, being a synonym for death. Ultimately, he goes for the second option, and proceeds, alone, to track down Arthur, memorably brought to life by Danny Huston. Mikey, simple by nature, is seen as the most innocent brother, Arthur, by contrast, is evil and unhinged. When he finally finds Arthur, at first we're charmed by him, his rag-tag family he's created for himself, his propensity for poetry, but, eventually, we're let in on the secret: Arthur is vicious, brutal, and completely without remorse. Meanwhile, Stanley is pressure from the locals to punish Mikey, and has to stand firm in the face of criticism, unable to let the townfolk, including his wife, in on his deal. If they'd known he'd let Charlie out, no matter the circumstances, they'd be calling for his own head.

As memorable as all the performances are, the real star of The Proposition is the locale. The Australian Outback, often celebrated and shown as a sort-of last bastion of unspoiled beauty, has never looked more unforgiving as it does here. Hot, desolate, weather-beaten, as vicious as the men who trample upon it.

I have yet to see Hillcoat's The Road, but I can't help he adapted the wrong Cormac McCarthy novel. If there's anyone who is born to adapt Blood Meridian, it's Hillcoat, as The Proposition evokes McCarthy's tale of murderous horsemen along the Mexican border, more than any cinematic Western before or since.

086. Million Dollar Baby (Directed by Clint Eastwood, 2004): In what was thought to be Clint Eastwood's swan song on a great acting career, Eastwood played the role of cranky boxing trainer Frankie Dunn who trains Maggie Fitzgerald (Hilary Swank). At first, he's reluctant to take her on: "I don't train girls", he snarls at her. But, after being abandoned by his protege, he finally begins to admire Maggie's courage and takes her on. Their relationship: two shattered souls leaning on each other for courage, hits all the right notes and never missteps. There's no awkward moments, or hints of romance, just a genuine kinship memorably evoked by two terrific performances.

What I find most fascinating in Million Dollar Baby, is what goes on in the background of the boxing gym. If you've ever watched Rocky and found yourself wondering what's the story of the individuals in the background, then this is the film for you. There's Danger Barch (Jay Baruchel), a scrawny talentless boxer who comes to the gym every day to train, never once setting foot in the ring, and threatening to challenge a long-since retired pro fighter. There's Shawrelle Berry, who never seems to much except taunt the various boxers around the gym, trying to coax Danger into a bout, and his friend who plays a low-rent Don King to Shawrelle's Mike Tyson. And, there's Eddie Dupris (Morgan Freeman), a former boxer who now cleans up after Frankie's various trainees and misfits, sleeping in the back room, never once lamenting his lot in life. They all have a role in the film, and at the climax, you can't help but stand up and cheer.

But, the film belongs to Eastwood and Swank. As Maggie becomes more and more dear to

Frank, a funny thing happened to me. For the last thirty, to forty minutes of the film, I developed an awful knot in my stomach, knowing something bad was going to happen, and something bad most certainly does, but I couldn't turn away. I'd never experienced that before, becoming so emotionally invested in a character, that it actually brought me physical pain. It's a testament to how fully-realized these characters are. Ultimately, in the end, as Eastwood's character is asked to do the impossible by Maggie, a decision that, no matter what he chooses, we, as the audience know it will emotionally destroy him, you can't turn away, because that's what life is: a few people we meet, know and love, and ultimately, in one way or another, have to say goodbye to