FilmQuest 2012 (12/30): 'Unforgiven'

A huge box office and Academy Awards success in 1992, Clint Eastwood's 'Unforgiven' proved to be one of many recent false dawns for the Western. Like the Coen Brothers 2010 'True Grit' and contemporary favourite 'Dances With Wolves', 'Unforgiven' not only managed to renew audience enthusiasm for tales of the Old West but also became an instant classic of the genre. Spectacular film though it is, this popularity was no doubt assisted by the presence of Eastwood, starring and directing, which gives the film extra weight and pop culture significance. It's, as things stand, the last Western from an actor more closely associated with the genre than any other (with the possible exception of John Wayne) and proves a fitting coda.

As cantankerous former gunslinger William Munny, Eastwood is effectively looking back on his own past as a screen icon with the same mixture of shame and pride as the anti-hero. Munny professes to have been cured of wickedness and sin by his late wife, yet you can immediately tell this is not so much a change of character as an act of repression. As he gets further and further into his last great adventure - tracking down two cowboys who deformed a prostitute, in the company of his best friend Ned Logan (Morgan Freeman) and near-sighted outlaw wannabe The Schofield Kid (Jaimz Woolvett) - his pretense at a moral crusade gives way to a lust for violence, especially when in the service of vengeance.



Like all the great modern Westerns, the decline of the Old West (and of the genre itself) is built into the narrative. But in this morally grey film the transition period from frontier barbarism to gentrified modernity is fraught with contradictions. Gene Hackman, who won as Oscar for his trouble, plays lawman Bill Daggett, who forbids weapons in his town in order to maintain the fragile peace. His real passion is for building a house in which he hopes to retire finally free from conflict (giving rise to that great line "I don't deserve to die like this... I was building a house"). It is his willingness to forgive the cowboys, rather than beating or hanging the men as demanded by the other prostitutes, that serves as the catalyst - whilst his zero tolerance policy for those who cause trouble is the act which finally unleashes the demons that lurk within Munny's soul.

There is no right or wrong or morality in 'Unforgiven' and the town of Big Whiskey. Not in Hackman's attempts to keep the peace or in Eastwood's attempts to avenge a wronged woman. There is only ever an ill-defined moral high-ground masquerading as the pretext for violent acts - with revenge the perfect cover for cruelty. Perhaps Freeman is the only honest and decent man in the picture (abandoning the outlaw party as soon as it comes to killing) - and he pays the price for it. So is it a nihilistic film, suggesting that forgiveness and freedom from our most violent impulses are impossible? Perhaps, though I'm not sure. I think Munny's final alcohol and rage fueled rampage is as much a comment on audience expectations as anything else - with the viewer complicit in Eastwood's decline from faux nobility as we will him to go badass on the sheriff and his posse. We all want to hear Eastwood tell the crowded bar "Any man who doesn't wanna get killed better clear on out the back".

It's a mechanism the director subverted to dazzling effect at the climax of the more recent 'Gran Torino', with both films being as much about star semiotics as anything else as Eastwood comes to terms with his own screen image.

Werner Herzog interview!

I had the great privilege of meeting one of my all-time heroes the other day when I interviewed German filmmaker Werner Herzog about his latest documentary 'Into the Abyss' for What Culture! I was pretty nervous but he was in a warm and jovial mood. In any case I still felt I made a fool of myself, getting a few of his film titles slightly wrong as I name dropped them, like the absent minded geriatric I am. "It's LITTLE Dieter NEEDS to Fly!" he corrected, after I asked him about the non-existent documentary Dieter Wants to Fly. Sheesh. It might not read like a big deal, but I was mortified.

Anyway, if you want to read anything of substance that came of that interview:

Read that HERE!

I've also posted a review of 'Tiny Furniture', which you can read HERE.

Both films are released today in the UK.

'We Bought A Zoo' review:

Only in the perpetually sunny, 70s "Album-Oriented Rock" infused world of Cameron Crowe - where momentary lapses in confidence are on par with cancer - does a man respond to unemployment and the loss of a loved one with the impulse purchase of a large zoo. Though Matt Damon stars as Benjamin Mee, the real-life figure upon whose memoir the film is apparently based, there can be little doubt that an audience is being invited into Crowe's world rather than the one we see out the window; A world as always built around grand gestures, cute motivational turns of phrase, and populated by uniformly winsome, oddball characters.

Earnestly sentimental and overflowing with whimsy, Crowe's films are easy to dismiss, though such an act can feel as mean spirited as heckling a eulogy, or writing graffiti on a Mr. Men book. His films are intended as celebrations of life and the innate goodness of the human spirit and, when they hit the spot, their sweet nature can overpower all but the most reactionary cynicism. For instance the deeply personal 'Almost Famous', another loose autobiography (this time of Crowe's youth as a music journalist), is one of the defining films of the last two decades. Yet when they fail, his films leave themselves so open to assault, with the writer/director's heart so plainly on his sleeve, that criticism feels like a form of bullying. As with the much-derided 'Elizabethtown'.

With its saccharine zoo-buying premise, it's no surprise that 'We Bought A Zoo' does not reach the dramatic heights of 'Almost Famous' or 'Jerry Maguire', the formal ambition of the badly received 'Vanilla Sky' remake, nor the zeitgeist appeal of 'Singles'. In tone and spirit it feels like the inbred cousin of 'Elizabethtown' and proof-positive that the filmmaker has leaped into self-parody, becoming sappier and more bombastic than ever. 'We Bought A Zoo' is far more damaging an anti-Crowe missile than any of his most ardent critics could ever have hoped to launch. It's a film in which an aggressively adorable girl complains that she can't sleep because next door's "happy is too loud".

It's a film in which Thomas Haden Church (ever an uncomfortable marriage between the body of Hercules and the demeanor of a terminally ill family pet) can throw his arms into the air and, apropos of nothing, say "joy" without it seemingly either ironic or incongruous. It's a film in which Damon's financial recklessness is enabled by his late wife's secret leaving of $84, 000 "circus money", in apparent anticipation that he would do something this grand and stupid (and who can't identify with that in a time of recession?). It's a film in which someone genuinely utters the line "I like the animals... but I love the people", and in which the musical choices are so painfully on the nose that a downpour is accompanied by Bob Dylan's "Buckets of Rain". Pathetic fallacy indeed.

In this world a teenage boys "dark" artwork (charcoal etchings of decapitated bodies and the like) is seen as evidence of a cry for help - a glimpse at how superficially gloomy you have to get before Crowe would sit you down for a pep talk, and preach about the life-changing impact of "twenty seconds of insane courage", like a man who is part director, part music critic and part walking self-help cack fountain. And if 'Elizabethtown' copied the plot of 'Jerry Maguire' almost wholesale (allowing for a shift from athlete management to high-end sports shoe design), 'We Bought A Zoo' effectively imports whole lines from that previous movie, with Scarlett Johansson breathlessly complaining about how her life as head zookeeper means she doesn't get to go out with her friends and meet guys. Likewise, Damon reenacts the scene in which a near-defeated Tom Cruise confronts and wins over his doubters.

I haven't even mentioned that Damon's character refers to his spur of the moment zoo acquisition as being part of a plan to give his children "an authentic American experience"... whatever that means (an image of George Washington running an owl sanctuary springs immediately to mind). Of course, this tendency towards emotional tourettes and romanticised public meltdowns hasn't been an automatic black mark against previous Cameron Crowe movies, and perhaps wouldn't be here if the film ever ventured beyond trite ideas of "letting go" and "moving on", as Damon attempts to reconcile the loss of his sadly departed wife. The tale of a middle-aged man struggling to relate to his eldest child in the wake of losing his partner, 'We Bought A Zoo' is basically what 'The Descendants' would have been if George Clooney, with smiling insanity, resolved his problems by relocating his family to a theme park.

'We Bought A Zoo' is out now in the UK, rated 'PG' by the BBFC.

'The Hunger Games' review:

The screams of young girls in the audience leave no doubt as to who the film's target audience is, yet 'The Hunger Games' - and its impossibly hunky onscreen love triangle - exist in a far more compelling world than that of the similarly pitched 'Twilight': trading in high school vampires for post-apocalyptic hardship and child-on-child warfare. Both films are based on pieces of teen fiction which mix action with angsty romance, yet this one's sulky heroine, Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence), at least has cause to be sulky.

As the story begins, Katniss is established as a capable and fiercely pragmatic young woman who provides for her poverty-stricken family, hunting game in the forbidden woods alongside her handsome chum Gale (Liam Hemsworth). With her father dead and mother drifting in and out of a manic depressive coma, Katniss is the only thing standing between her sweet young sister, Prim, and certain death by starvation. You see, the Everdeens live in District 12: the poorest of the outlying communities of Panem - a futuristic nation built on the ruins of North America - and they spend their days toiling thanklessly in service of the central ruling Capitol: a city of superficial, fashion-obsessed gluttons.

Shit really hits the fan when Prim is chosen at random to be her district's tribute in the year's annual Hunger Games, prompting Katniss to volunteer in her place. As fate would have it, the male tribute is Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson) - an equally dreamy and faultlessly good-natured baker's son who's harboured a life-long crush on Katniss and to whom, for a past kindness, Katniss owes her life. Thus complicating the titular game which only one of them can hope to survive. Happily the question of whether Katniss prefers drippy Peeta or outdoorsy Gale is not the film's main preoccupation, however much it might be the chief selling point for a large chunk of the audience.

With a set-up that's instantly familiar to those who've seen the hyper-violent Japanese thriller 'Battle Royale', the Hunger Games themselves see 24 children (a boy and a girl between the ages of 12 and 18 from each district) fighting to the death with the survivor crowned the winner - henceforth entitled to a life of luxury. The twist here is that the tournament takes the form of a gaudy reality TV show, complete with much pageantry and all the contrivances of that genre. Director Gary Ross' adaptation deviates slightly from the book by using the Truman Show-esque device of depicting those in control of the games, manipulating the arena to generate the most exciting spectacle for public consumption, which works well. But otherwise it's a highly faithful, if abridged, version of the tale - only really omitting the book's minor characters and interminable scenes of hunting, eating, and dress making.

As in the books, the games themselves fall short of the more fascinating build-up, a fact not helped by the UK 12A certificate version cutting some of the more violent footage. Making child v child death matches more palatable for increased consumption is morally questionable to say the least, though I understand that the film's box office hopes are pinned chiefly on the world's tweens. Even still, the film does seem overall more squeamish than the book, eschewing the frank nudity, Katniss' frequent (remorseless and detailed) animal slaying, and being coy with the arena violence. Katniss spends much of the book bruised and bloody, but not here where the entire games feels as though they take place over a couple of days.

Lawrence is a perfect choice as Katniss, convincing as strong, and being the embodiment of the character's winsome beautiful-whilst-non-girlish shtick - even if the film's version is rather more prone to bouts of weeping - though its doubtful whether the book's heroine, who so totally internalises every emotion that isn't contemptuous fury, would work on screen. I suppose, robbed of access to her thought process we need to see that she is upset, lest we think she is uncaring or wooden. Likewise, Hutcherson - who seemed so mopey as a sulky teen in 'The Kids Are All Right' - does live up to the book's vision of Peeta as vulnerable, noble, and charismatic.

In many respects this version improves upon the original. For instance, Suzanne Collins' books are so light on physical description of people and places that the look of the film feels like it's breathing life into her world rather than struggling to live up to the reader's imagination. Though the books don't specify the race of any of the characters, it's great so see some of the most crucial and beloved characters cast with black actors (chiefly Lenny Kravitz as Cinna and Amandla Stenberg as Rue), even if the lead parts have all been read as Caucasian.

It's also true that here the villainous kids are more problematic enemies than those of the book, with the ultimate baddie portrayed as far more human. They are still cast as bullying jocks for the most part, though in a way that reads as a Lord of the Flies style look at child behaviour (albeit a shallow one), rather than simply a way to render their deaths more palatable. The film also does well to weave in some of the second book's themes, of wider civil disobedience and the repercussions of Katniss' actions, showing the impact of the games on the people of Panem, giving events a sense of weight.

By breaking from the consistent first person narrative of the text it's also able to show us the games as televised. To this end, Toby Jones and the ever-watchable Stanley Tucci form an entertaining commentary team, who guide us through stranger elements of the world's lore and provide some neat (if gentle) satire of reality TV, reflecting back some of our culture's fondness for exploitative voyeurism and love of glossy, gossipy pap. In fact everything outside of the arena is handled better in the film than the book, with a note-perfect Woody Harrelson particularly funny as Katniss and Peeta's mentor Haymitch.

The teen girl mob, who during the show I attended literally screamed the house down whenever Gale or Peeta (or a cat or a child) appeared on screen, seem to have found a new set of idols and, with Lawrence's robust central showing, a feminine hero for the ages. Perhaps there's little surprise in their showing of affection for this material, in many ways so cynically tailored to meet their interests, but what's striking is that 'The Hunger Games' is actually to some extent worthy of their adulation.

'The Hunger Games' is released today in the UK, rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'21 Jump Street' review:

"We're reviving a cancelled undercover program from the 80's" says a police captain near the start of '21 Jump Street' - a self-aware comic re-imagining of the 1980s cop show that most famously launched Johnny Depp as a heartthrob. In this version it's left to a mismatched buddy pairing - of a sporty airhead (Channing Tatum) and a brainy dweeb (Jonah Hill) - to track down teenage drug dealers, as hapless rookie cops sent to infiltrate a high school posing as students. Yet they both have unfinished business left over from their own school days which ensures they are soon more focused on making a second go of high school life, with Hill unexpectedly befriending the cool set, whilst Tatum becomes the unlikely champion of the science nerds.

As former high school antagonists turned best friends it's inevitable when they begin to turn on each other during the second act, yet - in a refreshing twist on a tired formula - it's Hill who comes to marginalise the strapping jock, rather than simply seeing the two revert into their old roles. Sometimes the comedy leans too far towards knowingly shocking excess, whilst the plot and "bad-ass" aspirations of our heroes threaten to veer uncomfortably towards a right-wing fantasy, yet its heart seems to be in the right place thanks to the film's tendency to make everything as broad and lovably ridiculous as possible.

Hill and Tatum make for a funny and charismatic double-act, whilst the film's many in-jokes at the expense of formula cop series (like the original) and tropes of the high school comedy allow for a disarming bluntness about the stupidity of its own premise.There are perhaps too many action scenes, with car chases and gun battles now a staple of the Hollywood "dude comedy", and these do drag the film down for long spells. But when it's funny it's funny enough that you more or less forget all the bits you didn't like... and it's funny about 50% of the time.

Especially winning are the drug taking scenes, which seem fresh despite the fact drug trip humour has been done to death over the years: staged imaginatively and going to some fairly bizarre places. This married to the terrific interplay between the leads, deft physical comedy, and some unexpectedly great meta-humour, ensured I laughed long into the credits - possibly for the first time since the last film from directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller (2009's criminally overlooked Sony animation 'Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs'). There's also a very clever cameo that's almost of 'Zombieland' proportions - and which you certainly won't want spoiled.

'21 Jump Street' is out now in the UK, rated '15' by the BBFC.

'Michael' review:

Stark, austere and stripped of sentiment or the vaguest promise of redemption, Markus Schleinzer's directorial debut 'Michael' is a grim tale told (for the most part) from the perspective of Michael Fuith's titular pedophile: a middle-aged Austrian insurance salesman. Michael's otherwise banal existence is only of note because he has abducted a young boy, who he keeps in a specially designed room below his unremarkable suburban home.

It's a synopsis that's not only uncomfortably similar to several cases in recent Austrian history, but which also seems currently in vogue with European filmmakers - with the in some ways identical French film 'Coming Home' debuting at this year's Berlin Film Festival. Yet whereas that less compelling effort made a vain attempt to analyse both kidnapper and victim, 'Michael' focuses on the former and boldly presents this character in a way which is endlessly humane without compromising the horror of his distressing crimes.

Michael is a loner and, whilst nothing in Schleinzer's subtle film waves his backstory in your face, you can just about glimpse his unhappy childhood and unfulfilled adulthood among the details. He is antisocial, though a palpable self-hatred sees him repeatedly attempt to overcome inadequacy (going on a ski holiday with friends and throwing an office party). He seems unable to relate to adults and much more comfortable in the company of young boys - who I suppose represent the only subset of the population he feels able to hold any semblance of control over or has anything remotely in common with (with his fondness for Christmas and racing cars).

He is not a monster, yet nor is he a victim, with the film resisting any easy classification of his behaviour or character. It is testament to the great skill of Fruith's restrained performance (pathetic but tinged with just enough threat) that the film can remain so mannered and almost neutral even when it comes to depicting the protagonist's molestation of a child.

Though we're never explicitly shown any of the acts themselves, it is strongly implied that Michael is having sex with the 10 year-old Wolfgang (David Rauchenberger), the miserable and angry blonde-haired child imprisoned beneath his home. Whereas 'Coming Home' sought to make its kidnapper marginally less hateful by having him express a lack of sexual interest in his young prey - eventually forming a consensual sexual relationship with his victim (a teenage girl) - 'Michael' does not cop out so spectacularly.

If you're going to address the perverse and uncomfortable side of humanity, and suggest that this chaotic and debauched assault on social values can lurk just behind the curtain of any seemingly normal family home (as is the case), then in order to do that effectively you must be frank about what that sinister face of humanity looks like. It makes for mercilessly uncomfortable viewing, but 'Michael' is not trying to make its protagonist or his actions palatable, even as it avoids the classic knee-jerk response of the lynch mob.

'Michael' is out now in the UK, rated '18' by the BBFC.

Mass Effect 3 endings: Questions better than answers?

As I explained in my last post, I've not really done anything film related over the past week due to the release of Mass Effect 3 - a sci-fi video game which concludes an epic trilogy which started in 2007 and has taken me (something like) a combined 100+ hours to complete. I've finished it now and, in lieu of anything filmy to talk about, I thought I'd share some of my thoughts on it here. Well, not so much on the game itself: mostly I wanted to talk about the furore surrounding the game's controversial ending.

I won't explain in any depth why the ending(s) is so controversial. After all, two smart chaps at Game Front have already done that over two incredibly comprehensive pieces in the last few days (see HERE and HERE), and whilst I don't agree with all of their points, they certainly make a very good case for the idea that the story's climax is - at the very best - flawed. (Though, for what it's worth, I think they overstate the amount of genuine "choice" and "freedom" present over the rest of the trilogy, with player choices always simplistic, binary and of little meaningful consequence even before this supremely botched conclusion. For instance the decision of whether to sacrifice Kaiden or Ashley in the closing hours of the first game was completely superficial, seeing as how both characters go on to perform the exact same role, speak the same dialogue, and make the same decisions.)

Anyway, the reason I bring this up on my film blog is that their main gripe ties into something I've wondered about for a long time, concerning whether it is better for a narrative to conclude with questions or answers. Director Terry Gilliam's passionate avocation of the innate superiority of the former has long been an influence on me. Here he explains (correctly) why Spielberg is less good/interesting than Kubrick, but much more popular:



In what can only be perceived as a slap in the face of Gilliam, a complaint the writers of these Mass Effect articles make - and one which is echoed in the substantial comments threads below both pieces - is that the story needed a solid resolution. The ending, the logic runs, is too open to interpretation and raises more questions than answers and this is a very bad thing indeed. In fact it's worse than that: it's an insult to gamers (etc etc etc). One of the writers, Phil Hornshaw, has even responded to several passionate comments below his piece, in each case (tellingly) choosing to reiterate that the success of the ending as it stands is "contingent on BioWare providing more ending content through [downloadable content]". In other words: the unresolved ending is only worth a damn if we're eventually going to get answers, and soon dammit.

This feeling of indignation is so vehement that a fan-led campaign called Retake Mass Effect has quickly raised over $50,000 for charity as it attempts to coerce developers BioWare into releasing an alternate ending. Their stated aims, as listed on their site, are very telling (underlining my own):

We believe:
* That it is the right of the writers and developers of the Mass Effect series to end that series however they see fit
However, we also believe that the currently available endings to the series:
* Do not provide the wide range of possible outcomes that we have come to expect from a Mass Effect game
* Do not provide a sense of succeeding against impossible odds
* Do not provide a sense of closure with regard to the universe and characters we have become attached to
* Do not provide an explanation of events up to the ending which maintains consistency with the overall story
We therefore respectfully request additional endings be added to the game which provide:
* A more complete explanation of the story events
* An explaination of the outcome of the decisions made, especially with regard to the planets, races, and companions detailed throughout the series
* A heroic ending which provides a better sense of accomplishment

Perhaps never has there been greater proof of what Gilliam is saying in the sense of what is popular: people clearly desire answers and a feeling of "success". There have been a lot of fans scrambling to make sense of the ending and vent their frustration at what BioWare have done, but the only voices (I have encountered) who seem to be defending the openness Gilliam-style are the developers themselves, who have come out admitting that they removed explanation from the final scenes believing it made the ending weaker and less memorable. They have admitted knowingly devising a "polarising" end to their story so as to generate (as Gilliam so relishes) a dialogue.

"Are video games art?" is that nebulous, maddening discussion that won't ever die. I come down, roughly, on the side that they probably are - but even I admit that the debate surrounding this issue is profoundly pointless. However, if the game's audience can not appreciate what might be termed a "Kubrickian" ending, then what does that say about the way games are consumed as a medium? Perhaps nothing at all. After all, Mass Effect is a blockbuster and a similar response might have been expected had, say, 'Transformers 3' ended as obliquely.

In any case, I guess what I'm getting at is this: I too was underwhelmed by the game's ending. I can understand first hand the desire to have closure on the story and to know the subsequent fates of characters who had (in a sad and strange way familiar to all RPG gamers) become my friends. Yet this massive fan outcry in favour of "answers" misses the point. It isn't bad that Mass Effect ends on questions - I'm still with Gilliam on that score - rather, it's that the questions is raises ("is Shepard alive?", "did he defeat the Reapers?", "what did his crew do next?") are so uninteresting and narrowly focused.: too embedded in the game's internal mythology, rather than any grander existential concerns. '2001: A Space Odyssey' Mass Effect is not. But I'm inclined to say nice try for not taking the easiest path, so far at least.

It remains to be seen whether BioWare chicken out and give the people what they want, as Spielberg infamously did in his cinematic re-release of 'Close Encounters', which took viewers inside the otherwise mysterious alien spaceship. Money talks, so I have a hunch they will. And I'll probably buy it too. I don't know what to think.