Shari Rhodes was a casting director, acting coach, genuine cheerleader and good spirit.   Her credits include cating Jaws, Ragedy Man, and The Man in the Moon.  More importantly, her credits also include teaching and encouraging young actors of all kinds.  I cannot express how much Shari’s spirit, charm, and enthusiasm will be missed.

Thank you, Shari Rhodes, for the encouragement and friendship.  I will miss you.

The strength of Upis its ability to tell a story and examine the human condition despite using animated characters. Frederickson, brilliantly voiced by Ed Asner, struggles with growing old and losing his wife, a subject never explored, as far as I know, by the art of animation.  This makes the film unique, but it also gives it an extra challenge–using a medium normally reserved for “cute” to create both pathos and drama in a Chaplinesque flirtation with the tragicomic.  The result is a tight, well written, well edited film that appeals to both adults and children.  The journey, both physical and metaphorical, for Frederickson, results in his discovering himself again after losing the thing that kept him going for decades.  We cheer for Frederickson, not out of pity, but out of our own experience with what is uniquely human. 

The most interesting thing about this film for me was the occasional parallel to the Don Quixote story.  An old man (Frederickson/Don Quixote) sets out on a quest (for Frederickson, it’s to go to the place he and his wife always dreamed of going, thus fulfilling a promise; for Don Quixote, of course, it’s to battle evil in all forms) and is accompanied by a much shorter, less trim, alter-ego (Sancho Panza, who craves an island in the novel; Russell, the boyscout yearning for a Aiding Senior Citizens badge in the film).  Like Don  Quixote, Frederickson’s quest is full of misadventures (a house lifted into the air with balloons–something I believe Cervantes would’ve given for Don Quixote had such a concept been possible at the time–seems an awful lot like a dragon that turns into a windmill to me)  all in the name and spirit of a woman who cannot appreciate his work (for Don Quixote, Dulcinea El Toboso is simply unaware of his love and disinterested in his personage; for Frederickson, the maiden on the pedestal is dead).   The Don Quixote elements also include the marvelous soundtrack, an ethereal, dreamy sound, which reminds me greatly of Charlie Chaplin’s musical composition accompanying his classic film, City Lights. 

Although I greatly  enjoyed the film, I found the entire subplot with Christopher Plummer as Charles Muntz and his pack of wild dogs distracting.  Although Plummer’s character was essential to the story, the dogs did not work, providing Disneyesque “comic relief” (Alpah Dog speaks like a chipmunk when his translator shorts out; a dog who “turns good” sounds straight off a Looney  Tunes cartoon).  In short, I hated the dogs.  They were the throwback to the cutsie “kid’s” stuff the Disney company seems obsessed with having in every motion picture.  It’s distracting and took a way from an otherwise nearly perfect film.

The dogs, however, aren’ t enough to ruin Up.  It triumphs anyway, despite the dogs.  Up is touching, emotional, and beautiful.  As a film, it is an extraordinary achievement.

The professor grades the movie

Acting: Can you grade acting in an animated movie?  A
Directing: A
Script: A-
Special Effects: A+
Entertainment Value: A

Miscellaneous: A

Final Grade: A

S0 far on my blog I’ve mostly talked about films I like.  There is a reason for this–they were films for the awards season!  I must admit, this was one of the strongest years in recent memory, and I would have been happy seeing any one of the Big Five films win.  This is not usually the case; i.e., last year’s winner Snoopdog Millionaire–er, Slumdog Millionaire, was one of the biggest pieces of crap ever to be nominated for an Oscar.  I’m still recovering after sitting through that piece of drivel.  Oh, horrible, horrible, most horrible.

And it ain’t easy.

The adventure began with an Olympus pocket-camera to take snapshots. It had “image stabilization” capability, but one problem remained: you could only choose that capability alone. Any other special ability (night shooting, closeups, etc.) had to be disabled to get the stablization effect. While that may work for some people, for a Parkinson’s patient, the image stabilization must be on all the time.

What better way to start my official blog than to make predictions about the Oscar race?  It’s a highly unusual year, and there are five films worthy of Oscar contention, any one of which I would be satisfied to see win.  However, ten films are nominated, leaving the whole process a bit like a little league baseball awards festival–everybody who played gets a trophy.  Although I have no room to complain about such trophies—I received one for my horrible performance on a middle-school football team—the Oscars are not about “feel good” awards.  For that reason, I will comment on and review the five films which deserve Best Pictures nominations and ignore the other five.

Up in the Air is charming, funny, and tight.  It will win Best Adapted Screenplay, and in any other year might be a solid competitor for Best Picture.  Clooney is as good as he’s ever been, but the highlights of the film include the performances by the two leading ladies, especially the marvelous Anna Kendrick.  Despite the film’s excellent performances and screenplay, it doesn’t stick with you long and is bound to be forgotten in the mass of nominees. 

Precious is the most emotionally draining movie of the year, dominated by two powerhouse performances by Mo Nique  (who will win  Best Supporting Actress), and Gabourey Sidibe, who, if  there were any justice, would win Best Actress  over Sandra  Bullock.  Oh, if only Sandra Bullock and the deserving Meryl Streep would cancel each other out. . .

Speaking of Bullock, I refuse to talk about Fourth Down and Goal, or whatever the heck her Cliché, er, film, is called .

Precious is disturbing, challenging, and off-putting, but it’s also clunky and sometimes sloppy.  Nevertheless, the performances alone make it one of the year’s top five.

My personal favorite film (not for  Best Picture, but favorite overall) of the year is Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds.  Christoph Waltz should walk away with  Best Supporting Actor.  The film has lived in my mind months and months after I first saw it; though I was somewhat troubled by pace and editing at first viewing, I quickly changed my mind.  Who but Tarantino would manage to change World War II in such a bold and dynamic manner?  As Walt’s  character shouts, “Oh, that’s a Bingo!”

The Hurt Locker is my choice for Best Picture for numerous reasons.  The extraordinary sense of tension throughout the film makes it one of the most memorable and enduring war movies in years.  Director Kathryn Bigelow masterfully directs “battle” scenes, bomb diffusion incidents, and heated exchanges among the soldiers, creating both a realistic atmosphere as well as a tight story.  Bigelow’s strength as a director is her refusal to preach or give in to cliché.  Although we’re in the middle of great fear and emotion, the soldiers are never overtaken by sentimentality and the film emphasizes reality without melodrama.  All performances are outstanding, as recognized by a Best Actor nod for Jeremy Renner.  Supporting cast member Anthony Mackie was overlooked and deserves a nod as well.

The winner of the   2010 Oscar, however, will be Avatar.   Why?  Because it’s the Academy. . . During a desperate economic time when Hollywood has been accused of straying further and further from Joe Public, the Academy decided to expand the nominations list to ten so it could include popular films; past fan favorites left off the list (think The Dark Knight from last year) caused an Oscar controversy, so to bring back the audience they’ve expanded the nominees—and it naturally follows they’ll give the award to the blockbuster rather than the low budget film nobody saw.

That said, Avatar is deserving; though an inferior film to Hurt Locker ( acting performances are inconsistent; the Cliché Monster rears his ugly head enough to devour the middle of the film; the script could have been improved by hiring a third grader to ghostwrite. . . Mr. Cameron, please—you’re so good at everything else:  Let someone else write your dialogue!), Avatar is nevertheless groundbreaking  technically, visually spectacular, entertaining, memorable, and magical.  I truly felt after Avatar the same way I felt about the original Star Wars. . . telling a cinematic story will never be the same.

So my predication:  Ms. Bigelow will get a much-deserved Best Director, while Cameron takes home the Best Picture prize.

Copyright 2010, by David J. LeMaster

I was attracted to Funny Games because of the preview, an ingenious mix of graphic violence with Greig’s musical delight, “In the Hall of the Mountain King” from the Peer Gynt Suite.  If you don’t recognize the musical reference, you will as soon as you hear the music–it’s rhythmic, fast-moving, and comedic–leading you to believe the movie is going to be as well.  The preview is purposefully misleading.

Why did writer/director Michael Haneke make this film?   For most movies, this is an easy-to-answer question: the director had a statement to make about society, or he wanted to explore a psychological profile; he wanted to shed light on a problem, he wanted to reveal what happened to him in real life, or he wanted to expose a fault by holding a mirror to society.  The most common answer is the director just wanted to entertain his audience (or, in everyday English, he wanted to make money).  However, none of these answers apply to Haneke’s Funny Games.  The film satirizes upper class society to an extent, but that’s certainly not the focus.  Had Haneke desired to do so, he could have explored two fascinating criminal minds, but there is no effort whatsoever to delve into their inner thoughts or motivations.  He certainly satirizes the traditional family, seems to address class conflict, and attacks the relationship of the cultured, refined rich with the wanna-be’s.  But not one of these themes is fully explored.

Instead, Haneke plays a series of “funny games” on the audience, setting up great expectations and then paying them off with cruel jokes.  As a result, we the audience feel victimized, which appears to be Haneke’s intention.
 
Haneke’s opening sequence shows a family driving to its vacation home for the summer and playing the ultimate car game–guess the classical piece and composer.  If this game doesn’t appeal to the common man, neither should the family dynamic, as the young boy sits in the back seat, neither bored nor angry, as most young boys would be, but completely enraptured in the game.  We hear the exchange as we watch the car drive for an inordinate period of time, and without seeing the faces of the speakers.  This establishes a convention used throughout the film–with the exception of just one of the many acts, the violence occurs off-screen, including the first grisly murder, which happens as we watch one of two abductors raid a refrigerator and find our imaginations working overtime as we hear screams from the room next door.  The effect is chilling and disconcerting; it’s also alienating, as is the entire film.

The alienation is further created at the end of the opening sequence when, after the overly-long exchange, the camera settles into a shot of the family and the classical music is interrupted by the disturbing sounds of John Zorn and Naked City from the album, Grand Guignol.  The music provides a number of good jokes from the director to an unsuspecting audience; first, we are lulled into complacency only to be thrown into the violence of the song (and consequently the film); second, the jolt is awe-inspiring and daring and makes the audience admire Haneke’s ability to manipulate; and third, for those who know the album’s title, Grand Guignol, the tone for the rest of the film is set. 

In case you’re in the majority of the people who don’t know, the Grand Guignol is a style of French theater known for outrageous violence and cruelty.  The theatre included simulated acts of torture, murder, and execution, all of which are featured prominently in Funny Games.  In other words, the opening sequence is a musical scherzo, a joke, that sets the tone for the rest of the film.  It is also, quite likely, over most film-goers’ heads, thus becoming the director’s private joke.  And that, unfortunately, is the dominant feature of the entire film.  Funny Games is overly smart, overly cruel, and intentionally obscure, intentionally alienating the audience with a series of experimental tricks.  All Haneke’s choices are brilliantly done, especially the extraordinary Michael Pitt, the most haunting and creepy villain I’ve seen on screen in years.  What a shame Haneke didn’t give Pitt a true character; fleshing out the script and giving Pitt at least a semblance of background, motivation, and vulnerability would have saved this film.  Instead, Pitt is stuck with a one-dimensional cardboard character, and the young actor’s talent is wasted.

And again, I return to my original question:  why was this film mad?  The answer, it seems to me, is for the director’s own pleasure and entertainment, thus lowering this project with such great potential into an experimental mess–the director’s cinematic masturbation.

Copyright 2009 by David J. LeMaster

Stay tuned for The Lost Hamlet, a complete performance of my comic radio play, written with Derald Mabbitt, and published by Brooklyn Publishers.