November 23, 2009

Dear readers,

I’m watching “Arizona Dream” (for like, the tenth time) and I suddenly remembered sitting in the theater this summer, watching “Public Enemies”, and seeing a policewoman appear on screen and going, “Hey, that’s Lili Taylor!”

And having my mind explode.

I wanted to tell someone – anyone – but my friends were still trying to understand the plot that I had conveniently already familiarized myself with by reading the book.

Because lo and behold, here I am watching “Arizona Dream” and it’s Johnny Depp and Lili Taylor in one of my favorite movies and KABLAMM there they are in “Public Enemies”, Johnny Depp is the slkfjslkjw huge star of the movie and Lili Taylor’s in there too and it’s like an inside joke that nobody gets because “Arizona Dream” was deemed too weird to be released in the US.

Love,
Katherine

servizio di LUCA SVIZZERETTO

(tratto da Nuovo Oggi di mercoledì 4 novembre 2009) – Ha rivoluzionato il mondo dei serial tv creando «Miami Vice», ha firmato il primo film con Hannibal Lecter («Manhunter»), ha impresso al thriller e al noir nuove forme di stile ed energia: Michael Mann, il regista di film come «Insider» e «Collateral»  era ieri nella capitale per presentare il suo ultimo lavoro, con protagonista Johnny Depp: Nemico Pubblico. In serata poi ha anche incontrato il pubblico dopo la proiezione in anteprima della pellicola.
Il film racconta la storia del mitico fuorilegge dell’epoca della Grande Depressione Economica Americana, John Dillinger (Johnny Depp)—il carismatico rapinatore di banche reso dai suoi raid lampo l’obiettivo principale del migliore agente dell’FBI dei tempi di J. Edgar Hoover, Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale), e divenuto una sorta di eroe popolare agli occhi degli americani di quel periodo. Nessuno poteva fermare Dillinger e la sua banda. Non esisteva prigione dalla quale non riuscisse ad evadere. Il suo carisma e le rocambolesche fughe dalle prigioni lo rendevano interessante agli occhi di tutti — da quelli della sua fidanzata Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard) a quelli del pubblico Americano che non aveva simpatia per le banche responsabili di aver fatto precipitare il paese nella depressione. Ma mentre le avventure di Dillinger e della sua banda — che nell’ultimo periodo comprendeva anche due individui sociopatici dal nome Baby Face Nelson (Stephen Graham) e Alvin Karpis (Giovanni Ribisi) — intrigavano i più, Hoover (Billy Crudup) si riproponeva di utilizzare la pubblicità che la cattura del criminale avrebbe potuto generare in suo favore per trasformare il suo “Bureau of Investigation” nel dipartimento di polizia nazionale che è adesso l’FBI. Fece pertanto di Dillinger il primo Nemico Pubblico Numero Uno degli Stati Uniti d’America, mettendogli alle calcagna Purvis, l’affascinante “Clark Gable dell’Fbi’’.
Una pellicola di cui la critica ha tessuto le lodi in questi ultimi mesi e che promette di restare a lungo nella memoria del  pubblico che si recherà al cinema per vederlo. Per ambientazione ricorda quel capolavoro che fu ‘Gli Intoccabili’ ma  l’utilizzo della camera digitale ha permesso a Mann di dargli quel senso di reale che in un film di genere è assolutamente innovativo.

Il suo è un cinema della sfida, che ancora una volta ci propone un confronto tra due uomini che seguono ideali diversi. Come è riuscito nel 2009 a fare un fim classico e così sperimentale al contempo?
“Non so bene come questo film si inserisca nella mia filmografia. Io sono stato molto affascinato dal concetto di questa vita che ha brillato per un tempo brevissimo. Mi sono molto interessato all’idea di immaginarla e, se possibile, di immergere il pubblico all’interno dell’esperienza di un personaggio come Dillinger cercando di riportarlo in vita. Se il film funziona ci si trasferisce nella sua esperienza e questa è la magia del cinema, che ci consente di vedere le cose dall’interno. Io volevo vedere Johnny Depp in un ruolo simile, un ruolo che portasse in superficie le emozioni di Dillinger. E’ stata una sfida”.

Durante le riprese avete avuto in mano gli oggetti di Dillinger. Come è nato il film, vi siete ispirati a cose vere, per le leggende siete andati a scavare o vi siete solo attenuti al libro?
“Amo molto fare film d’epoca, e quando li giro mi chiedo come possiamo sentirci trasportati in quegli specifici momenti, giorni e anni. Per me l’imperativo era riuscire ad essere dettagliato per riportare tutti nel 1934, in quel momento a quella specifica ora, far sentire che quel personaggio era vivo…volevo riportare in vita il presente che è un passato ma con una simulazione molto forte, in modo che noi del pubblico potessimo viverla come una realtà.Come pensavano questi personaggi? Io ho cercato di capire la psicologia di quel periodo, come Billie potesse affidarsi alla fede; ho sempre amato gli anni ’30 e la fede era importante perchè questa gang affermava di agire sempre come se si trattasse di piccole operazioni militari, senza avere progetti per il futuro, per cui sapevano che alla fine il destino avrebbe fatto il suo corso. Non c’era nessun piano di fuga all’estero e questo mi ha affascinato, mi ha affascinato usare delle frasi che usavano loro, come: “bisogna fare ciò che si fa divertendosi”. Io sono cresciuto proprio nella zona dove c’era il Biograph, ho visto cosa veniva proiettato in quel cinema e la storia di Dillinger mi era molto familiare: quando passavamo lì davanti mio padre mi raccontava spesso la sua storia. Con lui non c’era una donna in rosso, ma con gonna e camicetta, quel dettaglio faceva parte della leggenda.Quando con Johny Depp siamo entrati al Little Bohemia Lodge nella stanza che lo aveva ospitato, ci siamo sentiti molto emozionati, perchè contribuiva all’immedesimazione. Stessa cosa vale per Bale, che era appostato tra gli stessi alberi in cui si era appostato il vero Purvis. Nella parte finale, all’uscita del cinema, morendo Johnny guarda gli stessi mattoni, lo stesso muro che Dillinger aveva visto negli ultimi istanti”.

Questo film ricorda molto alcuni western crepuscolari, come “Pat Garrett e Billy the kid”, nel suo ritrarre la fine di un mondo con il passaggio dai gangster  isolati, eroici, ai cartelli della mafia, allo strutturarsi dell’FBI. C’era l’intento di raccontare un epoca di passggio?
“I punti che ha sottolineato sono parte di una stessa immagine. Credo sia interessante il contesto della sua vita, con i grandi cambiamenti della società dell’epoca, questo mi ha interessato. La liquidità del crimine organizzato ne permise la transizione, la struttura della polizia si stava centralizzando in qualcosa di nuovo, quindi avevamo da un lato la polizia federale, dall’altro il crimine organizzato, entrambi contro Dillinger e parte di uno stesso contesto. Ma questa non è la storia che racconto, è solo parte del contesto del tempo. Quello che muoveva Dillinger, e che mi ha interessato, era la sua sete di vita: un uomo giovane, chiuso in prigione per 10 anni, che esce e vuole tutto subito e il fatto che tutto sia avvenuto in nove settimane, questo ha creato la sua leggenda”.

Una cosa interessante è come ha saputo portarci, grazie all’uso del digitale, all’interno di una guerra in cui sembra di essere in prima linea. Come ha lavorato, la incuriosisce anche il 3D?
“Mi piacerebbe avere il dialogo in 3D. Immergendo il pubblico in uno stato di guerra si ha coinvolgimento. Abbiamo scelto di usare il digitale una notte di pioggia a L.A.: avevamo una buick e delle comparse vestite con i costumi di scena, le abbiamo messe contro il muro ed effettuato una ripresa sia in digitale che in pellicola. Il primo restituiva appieno la realtà di quello che avveniva in quel momento, mentre la pellicola dava il sapore del tempo passato. Essenziale è stato anche far diventare protagoniste le armi: il museo di arte moderna ha queste mitragliatrici che sono effettivamente oggetti di grande arte. Quando le si usa se ne sente il rumore, la forza, si riesce a capire cosa si provava in quel momento. Ci siamo concentrati su suono, immagine, tutto quello che c’era in quella situazione. Si coinvolgono gli attori, ad esempio quando si guida un’auto del ‘30 la sensazione è diversa dal guidarne una moderna, e per un breve momento si ha la sensazione di stare lì: abbiamo cercato di far sì che tutto fosse reale”.

Si tratta di una storia già raccontata, ma le altre volte viene descritta come l’uscita dalla grande depressione. C’è in questo caso un legame con la realtà odierna?
“Si tratta in realtà di una coincidenza sfortunata, non è stata la crisi economica globale il motivo che mi ha spinto a girarla. Spesso ci si riferisce ad una storia in particolare perchè c’è un aggancio con la realtà, io sono interessato agli anni ‘30 da molto tempo, ho anche progetti che riguardano Parigi e la Spagna in quegli anni, i miei genitori li hanno vissuti e mi hanno raccontato come fosse viverci, lo stessi XXI secolo è nato dalla depressione che ha generato le forze che ci hanno mandato avanti”.

Elemento ricorrente nella sua filmografia è il protagonista che prende tempo per la riflessione. Qui questo momento emotivamente catartico sembra venire negato, è come se il protagonista fosse svuotato dall’elemento emotivo.
“Per me era importante quello che era nella sua mente: mi immagino seduto al suo posto nel Biograph, lo guardo mentre guarda il grande schermo, lui era l’eroe negativo del tempo, sempre sui giornali e si rivede nei panni di Gable che era in effetti modellato su di lui. Cosa penserò in quel momento, quali saranno le mie emozioni? E’ questo il punto focale della scena e la chiusura del film: sarebbe stato riduttivo aggiungere un dialogo, o un voice over che ne esplicitasse i pensieri. Volevo che il pubblico immaginasse ciò che Dillinger provava e vedeva”.

Ai tempi di “Collateral” ha dichiarato che era molto faticoso girare con attrezzature così ingombranti. Oggi è diverso, è per questo che usa il digitale? O solo per restituire quel senso di immediatezza, come ci ha detto?
“In effetti è diventato più semplice, ma per me il vantaggio principale  è ciò che il digitale mi consente di fare, 8-9 volte di più che con la pellicola. Lì bisogna sottostare alla chimica, qui ho più capacità di intervento, una qualità che punta al dettaglio, ma il digitale è utilizzabile anche in modo che non si veda la differenza con l’analogico. Il che, però, non significa che non tornerò alla pellicola, che mi piace molto”.

Vorrei tornare alla domanda precedente per rispondere al meglio: quando Dillinger siede nel cinema, sente che il suo tempo è giunto altermine? Se sì, come reagisce?
“Quando cammina fuori dal Biograph, è una liberazione, perchè sa che il suo percorso si è concluso: questo volevamo esprimere io e Johnny”.

Questo film è libero dal peso psicologico del cinema passato: è un approccio interessante perchè il protagonista non viene eroicizzato attraverso il racconto dei suoi problemi. E’ una nuova chiave per raccontare un personaggio negativo?
“Io volevo immergermi nella vita di Dillinger con le sue contraddizioni, non raccontarne l’infanzia e il passato come in una biografia. Non si sa niente del suo passato, ma i dettagli ci fanno entrare nel personaggio: all’inizio c’è l’abbandono del suo mentore, e si percepisce l’intensità del collegamento con quell’uomo. Anche quando fa evadere i suoi amici, comprendiamo il suo mondo emotivo, si apprende qualcosa di lui, anche se il pubblico non se ne rende conto. Questa è stata la sfida intriore che mi ha motivato”.

Quanto ha pesato la manipolazione dell’opinione pubblica nel trattamento del soggetto?
“E’ così che inizia storicamente. La manipolazione dei media inizia con una grande propaganda in maniera del tutto innovativa: nel ’29 a collegare l’America è la Radio, mentre nel ’33 tutti andavano al cinema. Avviene qualcosa nei cinema di tutto il paese, e Hoover lo usa: invece di usare i media, manda tramite il grande schermo un’informazione in tutto il paese. Nessuno lo aveva mai fatto prima. E’ un personaggio estremamente innovativo, mentre Dillinger sta diventando obsoleto, perchè il mondo va avanti. Lui è il meglio del suo genere, ma è solo. Non si tratta di un tema nuovo, lo troviamo già ne ‘Il mucchio selvaggio’”.

Cosa ha chiesto a Depp e Bale per il faccia a faccia? E in generale, come lavora con gli attori?
“Lavoro in maniera tradizionale, faccio sì che si immergano nel personaggio, che ci siano esperienze che li trasportano in quel momento e li facciano pensare come loro. E loro sono straordinari e immediati. Noi abbiamo cercato di apprendere il più possibile da quello che avevamo: con Johnny siamo andati a Crown Point mentre con Bale, abbiamo cercato di trasformarlo realmente in un aristocratico del Sud degli anni ’30 come era Purvis”.

Titolo originale: Public Enemies

Regia: Michael Mann

Cast: Johnny Depp, Christian Bale,  Marion Cotillard, Billy Crudup, Stephen Dorff, Stephen Lang, Channing Tatum, Leelee Sobieski, Emilie de Ravin, Giovanni Ribisi, David Wenham, Rory Cochrane, Lili Taylor, Carey Mulligan, John Ortiz, James Russo, Christian Stolte, Jason Clarke, John Judd, Michael Vieau, Wesley Walker, Branka Katic, Stephen Graham.

Distribuzione: Universal Pictures, USA, 2009

Guarda il trailer

John Dillinger (Johnny Depp) è il nemico pubblico n.1 negli Stati Uniti della Grande Depressione. Egli è a capo di una banda specializzata nelle rapine in banca. Spietato ma galante, amante delle macchine, del baseball, dei bei vestiti e del cinema, riesce ben presto ad attirarsi i favori dell’opinione pubblica. Le sue fughe rocambolesche dai penitenziari più sicuri lo  rendono di fatto un eroe. Sulle sue tracce, deciso a tutto pur di assicurarlo alla giustizia, si mette l’agente Melvin Purvis ( Christian Bale) che scatenerà una caccia all’uomo senza precendenti, decimando la sua gang e facendogli terra bruciata intorno.  

Veder recitare Johnny Depp è sempre stupendo e vederlo recitare in un bel film come questo, firmato da Michael Mann, è ancora più piacevole. Tratta dal saggio  Public Enemies di Bryan Burrough, la pellicola racconta la vita breve ed intensa di John Dillinger, gangster entrato nella storia americana.  Rapinatore gentiluomo, artista della fuga, egli era stato in grado di creare assieme a Baby Face Nelson (Stephen Graham) e Pretty Boy Floyd (Channing Tatum) una gang senza eguali, in grado di rapinare qualsiasi banca. Il suo unico punto debole è rappresentato da Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard), suo grande amore, per la quale metterà a rischio la sua stessa vita.

Cos’altro dire di questa pellicola?  Il cast stellare è già di per sè una garanzia, a partire dal talentuoso, camaleontico e sempre all’altezza Depp, proseguendo con il glaciale mastino Christian Bale e non dimenticando affatto Marion Cotillard, bravissima attrice, premio Oscar per La vie en rose. Se a questo si aggiunge l’ottima regia di Mann, fatta di primi piani intensi, di profonda analisi introspettiva dei personaggi,  e di parallelismo tra la vita del gangster e il cinema da lui tanto amato, (bellissima la scena metacinematografica in cui Dillinger/Depp si reca al cinema a vedere Manhattan Melodrama con Clark Gable e si identifica col protagonista, con il quale condividerà la stessa triste sorte). 

In definitiva una pellicola molto interessante, avvincente, nella quale convivono azione, inseguimenti e sentimento.

Conclusione: Imperdibile.

Voto: 9

Si la expresión “escritor de culto” es aplicable a alguien es sin duda a Charles Bukowski, paradigma del llamado “realismo sucio” de la literatura norteamericana contemporánea. Autor de decenas de novelas (La máquina de follar, Factótum o Pulp, por citar tres), multitud de relatos cortos e incontables poemas, era cuestión de tiempo que sus libros o la atmósfera que retrata en los mismos fueran llevados al cine, directamente o por imitación. El no menos de culto cineasta francés nacido en Teherán Barbet Schroeder (convertido en cineasta en plena nouvelle vague junto a Jean-Luc Godard y Jacques Rivette, y autor de películas tan variopintas, tanto en Hollywood como fuera de él, como More, La Vallé, Mujer blanca soltera busca, El misterio Von Bülow, La virgen de los sicarios o la impresionante dupla de documentales General Idi Amin Dada, sobre el dictador ugandés, y El abogado del terror, sobre el abogado Jacques Verges) llevó a la pantalla El borracho (Barfly, 1987), con guión del propio Bukowski inspirado en su propia biografía.

Su trasunto, Henry Chinaski (interpretado por Mickey Rourke en lo que bien podría haber sido el mejor papel de toda su carrera hasta su reciente y magistral caracterización de la derrota en El luchador), es un joven escritor, genial y lúcido, cuyas virtudes son favorecidas por el ingente consumo de alcohol y la vida nocturna a borbotones. Su local favorito es El cuerno de oro, lugar frecuentado por un conjunto de múltiples territorios humanos de la noche de lo más exótico: vagabundos, putas, tipos solitarios, desechos sociales y demás individuos marginales (incluido el propio Bukowski sentado en un taburete ante la barra). El aliciente de la noche suelen protagonizarlo Henry y Eddie, el barman del turno de noche, cuyas peleas son objeto de apuesta por el resto de los clientes. Si Henry gana, se gasta los pavos ganados en copas o putas. Si pierde, Jim, el barman del turno de día, le cura las heridas y le da alguna que otra copa gratis. Y así es la vida de Henry hasta que una noche conoce a Wanda (Faye Dunaway), una mujer de de belleza residual que tiene tanta afición a la soledad y al alcohol como él mismo.

La película es un catálogo de excesos interpretativos y narrativos, aunque para apreciarlos en lo que valen y no llevarse la impresión de que asistimos a una pantomima artificiosa, a un desbocado tributo a una vida al límite de alcohol, drogas y agresividad social, es imprescindible verla en versión original (la diferencia es tal, que la gran interpretación de Rourke se convierte en una nulidad en la versión doblada). Por lo demás, la película es más bien un producto para lectores fieles de Bukowski (o de la música: la banda sonora contiene piezas de Mahler, Beethoven, Mozart o Händel, entre otros), acostumbrados a esos personajes derrotados, a la figura del perdedor en escenarios de tugurios nocturnos, moteles, habitaciones cochambrosas, cucarachas, suciedad y barrios marginales de naves vacías, bares poco frecuentados y calles semidesiertas, retratado como un hombre desaliñado, sin afeitar, de ropa arrugada y llena de lamparones, de talento e inteligencia innegables pero de vida anárquica, sostenida por el alcohol, una vida en la que la comida pinta poco y el agua todavía menos, ni para beber ni por higiene. Y desde esa perspectiva, pequeñas dosis de lucidez en forma de reflexiones interesantes, de píldoras de sabiduría concentrada en lo que es un análisis demoledor de la sociedad actual, críticas devastadoras a una hipocresía instalada como valor fundamental y único de un desierto intelectual en el que los individuos ya no saben vivir como tales, sino produciendo por objetivos, vitales o económicos, utilizando para ello ese ser acabado como metáfora del alma del hombre contemporáneo, consumido por enormes debilidades sin que lo sepa o bien acomodándose a ello, resignándose, entregándose, revolcándose en ellas, asumiendo el final pero disfrutando de todo lo que le dan hasta que ese inevitable momento llegue. Un personaje, un esperpento deliberado cuyo rechazo por parte de la “gente bien” es una inteligente forma de retratar el inconsciente autorrechazo por sí mismos.

Dieciocho años más tarde, el noruego Bent Hamer recupera a Chinaski (interpretado esta vez de manera excelente por Matt Dillon, sin las excentricidades y muecas de Rourke y sin la lela pasividad gestual de Ben Gazzara) en la coproducción noruego-norteamericana Factótum (2005), la cual vuelve a bucear en los textos más sórdidos de Bukowski para componer una nueva historia biográfica sobre el personaje. En esta ocasión lo literario tiene más peso, y lo que en el film de Schroeder es meramente tangencial (Rourke retratado escribiendo en papeles sucios, a veces diminutos, en breves tomas o como voz en off que relata sus propios escritos), aquí es protagonista. Chinaski escribe y envía relatos a las revistas y editoriales. Sus trabajos siempre son rechazados, y tiene que aceptar empleos esporádicos que siempre abandona a los pocos días (incluso horas) para pagar su adicción al alcohol. Renunciando a una vida convencional en aras de la autenticidad, esto es, vivir al límite como única forma de vivir, Hank Chinaski se convierte en observador de una realidad que desgrana en sus escritos, al tiempo que los únicos incentivos diarios son el alcohol, las apuestas en las carreras de caballos y sus dos “amores”, Jan y Laura (Marisa Tomei y Lily Taylor). Paradójicamente, estas dos vidas alternativas que plantea Chinaski, la auténtica del observador que exprime el tuétano de la vida y la falseada del hombre acomodado que se miente a sí mismo, que vive una vida de comodidades materiales pero de vaciedad y convencionalidad anímica, sentimental e intelectual, son imcompatibles: sólo obtiene el éxito literario cuando se amolda a la vida común y corriente y pierde a Jan, el vehículo de sus excesos, de manera que una cosa lleva a la otra, o viceversa.

La película de Hamer apuesta por la sobriedad estética para contar su historia de excesos, a diferencia de Schroeder, que visualmente se nutre igualmente de ellos. Con más humor, y más cercana, paradójicamente, al contarnos la historia desde un punto de vista más distante pero con una perspectiva más clara, más global (interna y externa) de la figura del perdedor, resulta más visionable, más honesta y directa, evitando la sordidez innecesaria y haciendo mayor hincapié en el aprovechamiento, por parte del personaje, de sus propias cualidades, su dominio del alcohol y su carácter derrotado pero orgulloso, perdido pero agudo, con los pies en la tierra que quiere tenerlos pero sin desconocer la tierra que de vez en cuando hay que pisar para sobrevivir.

En suma, una excelente dupla de filmes, ninguno de ellos excesivamente largo (apenas superan los noventa minutos), para que los fans de Bukowski disfruten de su particular mundo trasladado a la pantalla grande con gran solvencia y exactitud, para que quienes desconozcan su literatura puedan apreciar los temas y atmósferas que la impregnan, y para que se abstengan los espectadores o lectores que gusten de las historias convencionales y planas que los mantienen a salvo de hacerse preguntas o incluso de la capacidad de respondérselas.

Hoy voy a dar el inicio formal a una sección que rondaba mi atolondrada cabeza, y que no acababa de dar forma y lo he encontrado, se llamará “LUGARES DE CINE”, algunos pensaréis, vaya se ha matado, pues sí, es el más evidente, pero no se me ocurría otro mejor. Con esta parte del Videodromo quiero resaltar, lugares que vaya visitando a lo largo de mis viajes por el mundo y que tengan una cierta repercusión cinematográfica. Hoy iniciamos la sección que con un lugar muy culinario…

Dando vueltas por el estado de Connecticut, uno puede encontrar un pequeño pueblecito costero llamado Mystic.

Allí en 1993, la familia Zelepos abren un local llamado “MYSTIC PIZZA”. El trabajo duro, el esfuerzo familiar, y la “receta secreta” fueron los principales ingredientes que labraron su éxito local. Hasta que en 1997 un día, los chicos de Hollywood repararon en este curioso lugar.

La guionista Amy Holden Jones quedó prendada de este lugar de comidas, y lo convirtió en el núcleo de la acción de una película que llevaría el nombre del negocio familiar y que cuenta la vida de tres camareras. Para Daisy Araujo, su sensible hermana Kat y su amiga Jojo el último verano después del instituto será un verano que nunca olvidarán. Las tres amigas trabajan en la pizzería y allí compartirán sus deseos, sus sueños y sus planes para escapar de la pequeña ciudad. Cuando Daisy se enamora de un joven llamado Charles, todos piensan que ha encontrado la manera de dejar la ciudad. Pero cuando las chicas descubren que Charles no es el hombre que aparenta ser, se dan cuenta de que con la amistad y el respeto se encontrarán a sí mismas y una manera de salir de Mystic.

Así Donald Petrie, director de esta película tendría todos los ingredientes, el folliage del otoño de Connecticut, un guión resultón, un buen restaurante, pero le faltaba uno, la protagonista. Le faltaba encontrar un reparto que funcionara y para ello buscó y encontró a unas desconocidas, por aquel entonces, Julia Roberts, Annabeth Gish y Lili Taylor. La película se estrenó en 1988. Fue todo un éxito que vino a reforzar el del citado restaurante.

Así todos querían ir a probar ese trozo de cielo al que hacía referencia la camiseta que llevaba la protagonista del film. Y para que lo voy a negar, yo también quería probarlo, y me gustó os lo prometo. El local ha sufrido algunas mejoras, obviamente, y dista de la imagen del largometraje. Ahora e sun púlpito consagrado a la imagen de Julia Roberts y a la película en sí. Sus paredes están decoradas con imágenes del rodaje y con cartelería del film.

Al fondo de la foto podéis apreciar una pantalla de televisión, es más, hay otra en una posición simétrica en el comedor, donde puedes ver ininterrumpidamente la pelicula mientras te comes tu pedazo de cielo. Hay que reconocer que la especialidad de la casa estaba riquísima y no era tan cara. Como cabría pensar a priori.

No me extraña que todos quisieran un recuerdo, todo el mundo se llavaba el menú como objeto de recuerdo, y esto llevó a la familia Zelepos a dar a cada cliente el suyo, así que no pude evitar llevarme el mío de recuerdo. Y de paso como no tenía corta pizzas me hice con el mío, qué mejor recuerdo de un lugar de cine.

Así que si podéis o tenéis la curiosidad de visitarlo, no dejéis de hacerlo, está en el incomparable marco del típico pueblo costero, y desde luego nada mejor que el otoño para visitar Mystic.

Rob Gordon attempts the Great Reorganization in "High Fidelity".

(Stephen Frears, 2000)

August 28, 2009

by Joel Crary

I wanted to work in a record store for years. I suppose my desire has diminished lately thanks to both my withering interest in records and the realization I came to a couple of years ago that one man’s dream job is another man’s own personal hell. Rob Gordon may be able to put his music knowledge to great and enviable use at Championship Vinyl, but he has to deal with waiting on people with bad taste, punks who stuff records into their shirts and his two-man staff of social misfits who would hang out at the store as much as they do even if they weren’t getting paid.

My attraction to “High Fidelity” dates back as far as 1995, when I started listening to Catherine Wheel. The band thanked author Nick Hornby in the liner notes for their 1997 album “Adam and Eve”, which began and ended with lead vocalist Rob Dickinson singing lines of text from the novel over guitar melodies. I didn’t connect the lyrics with the book until I read it in college, and I remember the moment very precisely, sitting on a Greyhound bus on my way to Peterborough, thinking that the words were familiar at first and then knowing exactly where I’d heard them. Lyrics taken from a book about music. I experienced the crossover of two separate art forms for the first time.

If “Say Anything” made John Cusack the 80’s teenager every guy could relate to and his character in “Grosse Pointe Blank” made suffering psychoses in the 90’s hip, his portrayal of Rob cemented the actor as Gen X’s new millennium male touchstone. Rob Gordon says what men think. More often than not, he says it with a calculating intelligence reserved especially for giving order to the things in his life that mean the most to him. When he gives his top five favourite side ones, track ones, he lists them like they’re the examination answers of a child schooled by pop culture.

Rob is savvy about his relationships, yet in spite of the clever observations he delivers through the broken fourth wall, it is clear that he doesn’t understand women. His girlfriend Laura (Iben Hjejle) has just moved out after a few years of living together. Rob concludes that there has to be something wrong with him, so he revisits his most painful breakups to gain insight from the women he dated. These women are played by Lili Taylor, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Joelle Carter. On the level of the superficial, Rob certainly hasn’t done that badly. Nonetheless, there are things in his past that prevent him from moving forward and committing. A sultry songstress named Marie De Salle (Lisa Bonet) grabs his attention, even when the pain of losing Laura has him teary-eyed on the sofa in his office. There are funny moments when Rob’s mind jumps tracks mid-scene as his priorities turn from love to sex and back again.

This is a film of philosophies and honest expression. We get to know about Rob’s insecurities. He forces himself to be open and communicative regardless of his frustration and pigheadedness. He describes moments of regret and seasons them with recollections of songs that come out of a mood or emotional situation. He details how he acts with women with unapologetic self-awareness. He judges others while serving as his own harshest critic. The adapted screenplay, written by Cusack along with D.V. DeVincentis, Steve Pink and Scott Rosenberg, rings with the efforts of those involved to bring out the novel’s greatest revelations of the male mind. I recall reading Hornby’s book at 19 or 20 and feeling as though a writer had successfully captured my emotional thought process exactly, and these men translate it well to film.

It’s hard to imagine anyone but Cusack playing Rob. He’s just vulnerable enough, exhibiting a pretentious worldview punctured only by the right woman. Laura hurts his pride in order to help him make the changes he needs to make. Rob refuses to grow up and extracts validation from the simplicity of the vinyl aficionado’s mindset, music geeks whose primary concerns are duplicating the feeling they had the first time they heard an Elton John song or found an overlooked out-of-print Smiths single. Music is easy to commit to. People are harder.

I haven’t yet mentioned the performances of Jack Black as Barry and Todd Louiso as Dick, who take on a straight man/funny man dynamic as Rob’s employees. Since “High Fidelity”, Black has made a career of crazy performances that make use of his skill as a physical comedian. This remains one of his funniest roles, especially given the payoff of his surprising debut as a lead vocalist at the end of the film. Louiso is barely audible as the introverted Dick. One treat of a segment allows him the chance to go off in a fantasy scenario with great violence.

“High Fidelity” is a movie I watch when I feel as though I’ve lost my understanding of women, not because Rob has a great handle on things, but because he doesn’t. I take comfort in his failures. Like a great song filled with words of heartbreak, misery and loss, the perfectly phrased pain of a guy who’s lost his way can be a balm for heartache. Music, film and books communicate ideas and feelings with greater clarity than we can hope to achieve at moments when we say or do the wrong thing. A lot of songs and stories are written out of those moments. “High Fidelity” is about coming to terms with our mistakes and moving on down the road.

by Andrew Bowcock

Yes, this is a vampire film…but before your mind trails to Dracula, pale teenagers, or blue-tinted mansions, understand my full meaning when I say this is unlike any other vampire film you’ve seen.  Despite recent “revelations” of the genre (for good or ill) by cultural phenomena like Twilight or offbeat narratives from overseas such as Let the Right One In or Thirst, Abel Ferrera’s hard-to-find piece of work from 1995 presents familiar ideas in a newer and much more unique context than most anyone is probably used to.

Anybody who has read Bram Stoker’s Dracula realizes from the get-go that the religious backdrop is much more present than most people would recognize from seeing any of the film adaptations.  The idea of needing a savior from the ever-present evil encompassed in an undead character is hardly a new one, but nevertheless one that hasn’t been cinematically explored too far beyond the depths of a cowboys vs. indians mentality until the past couple of decades.  The Addiction takes the classic ideas of vampiric evil and modernizes them, then advances the conversation a few steps further.  How might this be done?

The opening frames give us a slide show of the aftermath of the infamous My Lai massacre in Vietnam.  On top of this we hear a professor lecturing about Americans responsible for these war crimes that were prosecuted for their devious acts, but following this we immediately cut to the conversation of two students who were part of this class (and soon find out are also working on their dissertations).  We hear one of the students (Kathy, played by Lili Taylor) remark about how it’s unfair that just these few men were held responsible when the entire country should have been held accountable for letting them be there in the first place.  Essentially, Kathy’s point is that we’re all to blame for the evil that happens in the world.  We are all sinners.

Kathy is walking home from class one night when she is shoved into a dark alleyway by a woman dressed in dark attire with a creepy smug.  Instead of what you might expect in the average vampire tale (maybe the woman will knock her down, hold her head back and plunge her teeth into her neck in an intense close-up) we get something a little bit different.  This morosely-clad female figure, with meshes of shadow meticulously covering only certain areas of her face pushes Kathy against the wall and backs up, saying, “Look at me and tell me to go away.  Don’t ask – tell me.”  Kathy is too much in shock to do anything of note, so this street-side vampire then plunges her teeth in in lieu of her victim’s catatonia.

Following her attack, Kathy does what any sane person would do and goes to the hospital, who have no reason not to treat her wound like any other street attack, remarking, “you’re lucky she didn’t cut your throat.”  From then on, we see the slow disintegration of the old Kathy and the rise of the new one.  She is sick…she’s been infected with a disease that essentially just descends her to the level of a drug addict (philosophically speaking).  She needs blood to stay alive, but getting her fix actually doesn’t turn out as difficult as she originally thought.

Not only did Kathy’s attack change her DNA, it also quickly altered her perspective on the human race, realizing that her addiction is almost no different than anybody else’s – people leech off each other to survive, are dependent on food and water for sustenance and go on living their lives doing wrong to one another without realizing how pathetically vain they are living.

We soon get glimpses of Kathy sitting (with strongly tinted sunglasses) in a theology course where the professor is talking about the nature of sin and suffering, and how suffering to the believer in God is a positive thing, for it builds up endurance and fortitude, thus strengthening one’s faith.  There are many more allusions to such theological ideas throughout the rest of the film, only reinforcing the idea that vampirism in this case is simply a code for the sinful nature of mankind; some argue that it’s simply symbolic of drug addiction, but I personally find it to draw a broader stroke than just that.  There is even one instance when Kathy encounters one of her victims and says to “look sin in the face and tell it to go.”

Just like I mentioned in my review for Thirst, this film is much more about conversation than it is about narrative.  It’s dealing with the Christian idea of original sin head-on, telling a story while having a conversation drive it for a good 60-70% of the time.  Stylistically it’s hard to compare this film, but I would say it probably closest resembles Waking Life (directed by Richard Linklater, possibly the master of conversational cinema).  It’s very heavy on rhetoric, and although there is a good deal of symbolism that isn’t verbally referenced, it strikes a decent balance for the message it’s trying to weave into the story (or possibly the story it weaves into the message, depending on how you look at it).

All in all it’s not to be easily assumed that this vampire film (normally a genre that seeps blood) is one that is graphically tame, but it is actually a fair thing to say, save for a couple of scenes (although nothing the vampire aficionado will find shocking in the least).  Even more surprising is that it’s directed by Abel Ferrara, who is notorious for his not shying away whatsoever from explicit material, especially considering how the bulk of his films are either NC-17 or are threatened with such a rating (Bad Lieutenant, King of New York, Dangerous Game).

One of the most interesting things about Abel Ferrara and his writing partner Nicholas St. John (who has written the bulk of his films) is that despite the often explicit content in their films, they will often have a very profound religious backdrop.  This is especially the case in this film and Bad Lieutenant (though St. John didn’t write that one), which I still argue has one of the most profound religious messages of any film to come out in the past 20 years.

The biggest issue viewers might have with The Addiction is how heavy it is on conversation, given that a great deal of the conversation is between highly-intelligent philosophy and anthropology students, and is paced at a rather quick speed – something that might not make it as enjoyable for the layman.  Admittedly when the conversation gets to a higher intensity it almost feels like the film is getting a little ahead of itself, but again the narrative isn’t the focus, so the viewer must keep that in mind.  Also, there is some debate on whether or not the performance by Lili Taylor is too overbearing, but any reservations about her can be excused by the immensely entertaining cameo by Christopher Walken, where he manages to jam-pack his less-than-10-minute role with an act that is a Walken-impersonator’s dream.

Judging on this context and noting that this film might have a rather narrow audience when it comes to the general public, it’s fairly understandable that it hasn’t achieved a great deal of popularity, but I still think there is a decently strong fan base of philosophers and theologians that consider themselves vampire fans who would find this film at the very least intriguing in concept.  This movie is on a list that I have of films that haven’t been released on Region 1 DVD that really need to be (the easiest way to find it might be to either look for the VHS or find a torrent).  Criterion Collection, please take note…this is definitely worth picking up.

The Addiction is rated Not Rated by the MPAA, but contains some language, drug use, some disturbing images and violence akin to an R or hard PG-13 rating.

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Related Reviews:

Thirst
The Virgin Spring (Forgotten Film Review #1)

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photo sources:

http://mek1980.files.wordpress.com

http://blogs.walkerart.org/

http://blogs.citypages.com/amadzine

other resources:

http://www.imdb.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/

Esse é daqueles filmes que fazem um paralelo especial com coisas que vi e vivi, no caso o filme foi lançado no mesmo ano do casamento de minha irmã, com quem eu tinha uma ligação de profundidade absoluta. Foi o ano da escolha de Hughes para entrar na vida adulta, assim como o foi de minha irmã. Provavelmente o filme mais autobiográfico do senhor Hughes, muito se acusa deste ser um trabalho misógino, mas este é um filme em que se foi adotado a perspectiva do homem e toda obra que se propõe a isso tende a ser vista como machista ou algo que o valha, mas isso não tem necessariamente de ser associado a algo ruim, afinal, John Hughes não é Michael Bay e ele transforma essa suposta misoginia em um aspecto importantíssimo no amadurecimento do seu protagonista.

Promise not to get mad? I stopped taking the pill over two months ago.

He’s plenty old and people don’t mature anymore. They stay jackasses all their lives.

College is like high school with ashtrays.

How do you feel about slave wages?

Wood’s expensive. Words are cheap.

And in the end, I realized that I took more than I gave, I was trusted more than I trusted, and I was loved more than I loved. And what I was looking for was not to be found but to be made.

E foi também John Hughes que me ensinou a esperar até os créditos finais acabarem por completo.

Soundtrack

*Da série: Este post foi programado, eu não estou aqui!

Chronicling the screen career of the ever-versatile John C. Reilly.

For most people, John C. Reilly broke through as Reed Rothchild, the dim, affable sidekick to Mark Wahlberg’s Dirk Diggler in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights. Yet the versatile character actor, with his bartender’s face and imposing but not especially frightening physique, had by that point been working in mainstream and independent film for close to a decade. Working steadily, at that, flying below the radar in films with flashier performances by Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, Sean Penn, and many others.

Revisiting those early films today - including State of Grace (1990), Hoffa (1992), and Georgia (1995) – it’s hard to miss Reilly honing his screen presence while going through the motions of playing the second or third supporting role. He was typically the sad sack friend or dim loser in those early films, but managed to give his parts unexpected depth, fleshing them out as distinct personalities that buzzed in the viewer’s mind even as the camera focused on the films’ glamorous stars.

The seven films below don’t make a comprehensive list, but they show some main points on his career timeline. Each is available on DVD.

Casualties of War (1989): America was already at its tipping point with Vietnam remembrance and director Brian DePalma alike when this overcooked wartime rape/murder story hit theatres, obscuring Reilly’s big-screen debut. Penn leads a group of U.S. soldiers, including a lankier Reilly than usual, that kidnap a Vietnamese girl above the objections of their squadmate (Michael J. Fox). Reilly is essentially a speaking extra for much of the film, somewhat lost behind Penn’s hamming and Fox’s earnest attempts to keep up. He’d go unnoticed, a character actor in a character role, largely because the film met with thunderous indifference from audiences.

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape (1993): A film that couldn’t be farther from Casualties of War if it tried, Lasse Halstrom’s (The Cider House Rules) light melodrama cast Reilly as Tucker Van Dyke, the blue-collar buddy to titular suffering soul Grape (Depp). Reilly’s charm starts to bubble up through the stock role about halfway through the plot, when Van Dyke’s enthusiasm for the milkshake of a new-in-town fast food franchise – “That’s real milk!” – fills him with giddy hope for the future. A cult favorite, it’s a sweet movie full of well-pitched performances and slice-of-life grace, thanks to a supporting cast that also includes Mary Steenburgen and Crispin Glover.

Sydney/Hard Eight (1996): Reilly’s three films with Anderson began with the writer-director’s Sundance-fueled debut, a grim neo-noir about losers circling one another between drinking and gambling in Las Vegas and Reno. The film turns on Reilly’s performance as a sweet-natured journeyman gambler caught between loyalty to his mentor (Philip Baker Hall) and his love for a tinsel-like cocktail waitress (Gwyneth Paltrow) who’s not quite sure what to make of his sincerity or how to exploit it. All three stars are excellent, as is Samuel L. Jackson as a thug who sees opportunity in the safe haven the trio create for themselves. The ending is a rare Hollywood example of a finale that makes sense. Anderson would get better – and worse – as a director, but his debut let Reilly and the undervalued Hall do some of their finest work. 

Magnolia (1999) Depending on who you ask, Anderson’s third film was either a work of genius by a brilliant talent or the first warning flare that the young auteur doesn’t know his limitations. We say it’s kind of both, but amid a broad collection of career-best performances (including Tom Cruise and William H. Macy) Reilly stands out as a lovesick, lovestruck LAPD patrol officer not quite callous enough for his job. An early collection of moments showing Reilly’s Officer Jim Kurring greeting the day alone (his wife has left him, taking their child) are propelled by tiny gestures that speak volumes, as is a later scene in which he approaches the drug addict that might present a chance at happiness (Melora Walters).

The Perfect Storm (2000): Besides the ambitious Anderson films and a part in Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line, Reilly also spent the late 90s cashing in on his growing star power, appearing in high-profile but disposable studio fluff like Never Been Kissed and For Love of the Game (both 1999). The two extremes came together, in a sense, with Wolfgang Petersen’s The Perfect Storm, based on the true story of a fishing boat caught in the worst oceanic storm of the 20th Century. Reilly sinks into the role of fisherman Dale Murphy like putting on an old flannel shirt, all windblown squint and cheap cigar ameliorated only by love for his young son. A rivalry subplot with a crewmate (William Fichtner) becomes as interesting as the here-comes-the-storm main plotline (Reilly and Fichtner had recently completed The Settlement, a micro-budget indie about life insurance con men.) until it’s resolved with a too-familiar twist. Still, the film is entertaining while remaining just smart enough to avoid making mature audiences feel like they’re slumming.

Chicago (2002): Rob Marshall’s adaptation of the caustic Bob Fosse Broadway musical has its flaws, oft-debated and often valid as they are: it didn’t deserve the Best Picture Oscar, Richard Gere has a tin ear, Rene Zellweger was miscast, and so on. Yet, despite, and nevertheless, Reilly’s song and dance as Roxie Hart’s (Zellweger) cuckolded, cluess husband Amos showed his formidable music hall chops. The film had the same heart of chrome as the musical, but Reilly’s number is all emotion. That same year he appeared as another scorned spouse, this time opposite Jennifer Aniston, in the pseudo-indie The Good Girl. 

The Promotion (2008): After years spent as a foil to Will Ferrell and starring in Judd Apatow’s unfairly ignored Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story (2007), Reilly returned to familiar ground with writer director Steve Conrad’s (The Weather Man) indie dramedy about two assistant grocery store managers vying for the promotion that could bring either of them financial security. Reilly plays Richard Wehlner, a recovering drug addict and family man still rattled enough by a misspent youth to rely on cheap motivational tapes and the occasional joint to get himself through the work day. The script is derivative of any number of earlier films, including Tin Men (1987), Changing Lanes (2002) and Office Space (1999) but gets carried along by Reilly, Lili Taylor as his wife and an unusually strong performance by Seann William Scott as his rival.

- Michael Kabel

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Hace solo algunas semanas anunciamos que la cadena AMC había ordenado la producción de Rubicon, una nueva serie dramático, y hoy ya podemos presentar el primer adelanto de lo que seguramente será una serie muy interesante.

De la misma cadena que presenta Mad Men y Breaking Bad, llega Rubicon, un thriller político que presenta a James Badge Dale, también conocido como Chase en la tercera temporada de 24, como un analista que descubre que sus empleadores son parte de una conspiración global.

También presentando a Lili Taylor (Six Feet Under) y Miranda Richardson (The Crying Game), la serie se enfoca en Will, un talentoso pero cerrado analista que descubre algunos secretos de sus empleados amenazando su vida y la de cualquier persona cercana.

Una serie de eventos sospechosos llevan a Will a creer que una organización invisible con una agenda desconocida ha estado manejando la compañía y posiblemente el destino del mundo. Nosotros tenemos doce episodios para descubrir la realidad.

La primera temporada de Rubicon todavía no tiene una fecha de estreno.

I didn’t know what I was going to get from this one but I must say my expectations were not really high, but up there in the something gangsta-thrilling category.  It didn’t live up to that.

The movie is too long.  I know that *too long* seems to be a constant complain around here but like with other *too long* movies, it lacks what makes a long movie worthy of its running time: a tighter story and something else; something that I keep trying to figure out as I watched but couldn’t quite put my fingers on it until the last 20 minutes: the movie lacks tension.  This type of movie is supposed to be built around the tension between the criminal, its motives, and the fed after him but there’s just….nothing.  There’s heavies all around but even when they are together in the same scene the air doesn’t feel heavy, and that’s the main problem with Public Enemies.

It doesn’t takes enough time to set up who’s who, which is another flaw, especially since the movie isn’t all about Johnny Dillinger and Melvin Purvis but also about Baby Face Nelson, the birth of the FBI, and supposedly Pretty Boy Floyd who is only in the movie for about 2 minutes.  It pretends to be about all these people, then it concentrates on Dillinger, then it pulls back and brings another set of characters then pulls Dilinger back up front and so forth.  It even sets events that are never follow up on or are later on when you’ve forgotten about them, only to dismiss them again.  Dillinger is thought to be a folk hero and this is mentioned a few times, yet you never see why this is so, he never does anything pointing to that in the movie, and by the absence of shots seen in the trailer or a different take of these shots, the blame can be put on both script and editing.

As an action flick, this movies is all guns blazing, and the way the action is film (in high def) puts you right there with the bullets and there’s alot of shooting here to please any trigger happy person but it doesn’t save the movie from its flaws.  The set pieces are also too lavish for a movie that’s supposed to be taking part during the depression era.  Where’s the dirt?  Where’s the poor?

Johnny Depp is as always good and capable, and he makes Dillinger a very alluring temptation and a man that knew he could do shit and get away with it because he was smart enough to plan things out, but Christian Bale on the other hand just doesn’t projects Purvis in a way that let us see what drives him, what eats at him; he comes off as a robot.  At this point all the characters he plays are starting to blend into the same person, there’s no separation from movie to movie.  He needs to stop being an Ice Queen and thaw those emotions a.s.a.p.

Another huge mistake that was made was having Dillinger walk right into, not only the police station but the department in charge of bringing him down without anyone, no one! recognizing him, he even talks to some detectives and his picture is plastered all over every wall and nobody recognizes him.  Huge mistake. It takes you completely out of the movie and you can take it seriously thereafter.

On a side note: watch out for the very last minutes as one detective in close up, lights up a cigarette from the wrong end.  Hilarious!  Grade C

Public Enemies gallops along at a lightning-quick pace, full of action, tension, and beautiful cinematography. The key mistake I made before watching this newest film by Michael Mann was watching Heat, another Mann film, the night before. The parallels are obvious—a smart, foolproof robber has just found love and is looking to make a couple of final scores with his crew before getting out of the business. The problems with Public Enemies in comparison are equally obvious—inferior character development, inferior love story, and an inferior foe for our anti-hero burglar. That’s the main issue with this film… it has all of the elements and knows what it can be with its A-list movie stars, timely subject matter, and flawless period reproduction. It just never manages to take that step past good into great.

The film covers famous bank robber John Dillinger’s life towards the end of his reign as Public Enemy #1. J. Edgar Hoover, his task force leader Melvin Purvis, and a whole bureau of G-Men have made their personal mission to arrest or kill John Dillinger, while the public views him as an underground hero—he only steals from the rich banks, not the people themselves. “Why do you care what the public thinks of you?” one cohort asks Dillinger early in the film, to which he replies, “I care because I hide among them.” Indeed, he lives a very public life, going out to dinners, movies, dances, and even at one point walking right into a police station in plain sight.

The film is as good as it is largely because of Johnny Depp as John Dillinger. Dillinger would have been a very easy character to overplay—he could have emphasized the Robin Hood aspects, the romantic side, or the carpe diem attitude with enough fervor that he could have hammed his way into an Oscar nomination in a different type of film. Here, with Michael Mann’s smooth, almost documentary-esque visual style, Depp instead gives an understated charismatic performance—the type given by Movie Stars, and the type usually not rewarded by the Academy. Watch the scene where he attends the final movie he’ll ever see, as he understands how his own life mirrors the life of the gangster in the film. It’s subtle but powerful work.

Christian Bale, on the other hand, does not have the same sort of natural attractive charisma as an actor. His power is in his intensity and his steely glare, not in his ability to win over an audience. Because of the complete lack of character development for Melvin Purvis, Bale is mostly a void on the screen, and we rarely feel he is truly a match for Dillinger and his gang. Bale’s attempts are visible—he’s trying to find the fear and insecurities buried deep within Purvis, and he gives us small glimpses, but it’s never enough. He can’t match up with Depp, or even some of his other more charismatic G-Men. One G-Man called Fatboy exudes a deep menace that comes from a deep set fear of Dillinger, and another older special agent towards the end creates an impact from the second he steps onto the screen—it’s a shame Bale doesn’t have that effect.

Indeed, most of the actors in this film (and you’ll recognize several of them in smaller roles) are left to their own resources, since Mann seems more concerned with the period details and keeping the action chugging along. You won’t be sorry that he does, since the gunfights are really spectacular. There’s a shootout at a lodge in the woods where the sound effects are so piercing and vivid that I wouldn’t be surprised to find this film remembered come Oscar season in the sound categories. Also, the digital camerawork helps place you right into the fights, since it feels like a documentary crew is running between the bullets, capturing perfect footage as they run. Yet again, these fights pale in comparison to Heat, a film in which the audience cares about the characters involved in the fights. Just because we see that Johnny Depp cares about the actor who was killed doesn’t necessarily mean that it tugs our heartstrings equally. It’s award-worthy filmmaking and design work with a high-caliber cast, but it falls just short of its full potential, leaving us well satisfied but slightly… robbed.

From left; John Cusack as Rob and Iben Hjejle as Laura

I kinda got wound down with some respiratory thing late Saturday night (after an awesome GRCA showcase, during a friend’s at-home screening of  another John Cusack movie, The Thin Red Line). I slept a bit yesterday, but still felt wobbly. So I figured what better day than today to trundle out Stephen Frears’s 2000 movie High Fidelity, one of my favorites. And forgive me, but I haven’t had time to revisit Nick Horby’s book yet, so my recollections of the book are a bit foggy.

Back in college when I was developing friend groups in accordance with my feminist beliefs, I would make a mental note of what dudes thought about the end of the movie High Fidelity. If they thought Rob’s girlfriend Laura was a bitch and were sad that they got back together at the story’s end, then I knew we could never really be cool. We could maybe have casual conversation at parties, but that would be the extent of our familiarity. To me, not getting Laura meant that they didn’t understand the purpose of the story (man-child learns how to be good enough for his girlfriend) and didn’t get me. They’d also probably be the kind of dudes who’d get sidelined by women like Laura in ten years time.

That is to say, then, that I don’t think of High Fidelity as a guy’s movie. For one, I don’t really believe in gendering any kind of cultural text, genre, or mode in such broad terms — seems as sure a way to uphold gender binaries and essentialized notions of masculinity and femininity as ever. For another, while I know that it is a movie about guys — music nerds and their fetishes, phobias, class anxieties, sexual insecurities, and the lives they try to live both within and outside these markers — I’ve always related to Rob and his fellow shop-keeps Dick and Barry (played expertly by Todd Louiso and Jack Black, in his break-out role). As Rob says about his customers, I’d feel bad about the male characters in the movie if I wasn’t, you know, kind of one of them.

I’m definitely one of them, and my ability to relate to Rob has only strengthened as I’ve gotten older. I’m definitely neurotic and worried about the future (sometimes to the point of paralysis, though I think much more temporarily than Rob). I compare myself to others. I have big class anxieties that seem to deepen as I age, the more aware I become of some of my peers’ classed origins, and the more I worry about my financial modesty in comparison to some of my friends with “careers” (or at least nicer jobs that afford them time and resources for creative projects). I also think about and discuss records. A lot. Sometimes turning them in to labor-intensive mix CDs or compartmentalizing my thoughts in list form, as this blog evinces.

Rob does have a one-up on me. He owns a record store, something he often takes for granted (even forgetting to include it in a list of dream jobs that Laura is quick to amend). I could totally live in Championship Vinyl. I’d totally have a record store if I had the scratch (if in Chicago, so much the better). My go-to name is “Discourses” and I’d imagine also having a small bookstore, self-defense workshop classes, local benefit showcases, and after-hours, female-only “drop the needle” sessions where ladies could listen to Can’s Tago Mago without having some dude drone on to them about why it’s important and how they couldn’t believe they haven’t heard the album before.

And yet. There are of course limits to my empathy for Rob and Co. For one, in an attempt at closure from his break-up with Laura, Rob decides to catch up with the women in his top-five break-up list, in effect reducing women to items on a chart (a pop chart, if we throw in the Boss as his inspiration).

Also, while I’ve always felt most comfortable gabbing about records, and a lot of times that means gabbing about records with guys, I’ve long been aware of how the conversations can point at the limitations of male-female interactions. I’m a feminist first, so whatever I may know about music will always be filtered through that lens. That can make me a buzzkill to some and a bore to others. Also, I’ve noticed that sometimes guys fear offending me, and sometimes seem to censor their opinions. And sometimes, guys just seem to talk more openly without a woman present. Lots of times, despite my shared interests and peered level of fluency, I’ve been ignored or cut out of conversations for some unknown reason, but I can’t help but wonder if being female is part of it, despite intention. This isn’t a common occurence, but it does happen and I’m sure you know how it makes me feel. I’m sure you know how it’s shaped my politics.

Also, I think Rob cannot buy the rare singles collection off the bitter, wronged divorcée of a record collector (played by Beverly D’Angelo) for gendered reasons. I totally could. I wish this scene had stayed in the movie. It’s one of my favorite parts of the book.

And sometimes, I just reach an impasse. What’s the fucking point about talking about records for hours? Where does it get us? How does it evolve us? Where do we move from it? Do we create? Do we open up another six-pack? What are we doing?

And that’s why I think I love Laura the most. Not necessarily because of who I am, but of who I’d like to be.

Laura, to be blunt, has her shit together. She’s a lawyer, so she’s established her career. I hope to do this one day as an academic. She’s also comfortable with who she is. As Rob himself notes, it’s in “how she walks around — it’s like, she doesn’t care how she looks or what she projects and it’s not that she doesn’t care it’s that she’s not affected, I guess. And that gives her grace.” She also has little interest in upholding traditional norms. While she’s not opposed to being a mother, she doesn’t have any interest in marriage. This provides me with comfort. And while she wants Rob to challenge himself (she pushes him into organizing a CD release party at the end of the story), she won’t wait forever for him to grow up.

Laura’s ultra-supportive friend Liz, played by the inimitable Joan Cusack, also provides me comfort. Liz lets Rob have it when she finds out that Rob cheated on Laura, his infidelity contributed to Laura terminating their unborn child, owes her money, and admits to Laura that he was ready to move on from her. While Rob has his side, I like that Liz doesn’t abide by his immaturity and lets him have it. My dear friend Jamie is cut from similar cloth. This also provides me comfort.

Importantly, as both characterization and the main drive of the narrative, while she has her shit together, she’s not particularly interested in waiting on someone who doesn’t. And I think this professional drive and lack of sentimentality is why some people (including an ex-boyfriend) have cast Laura as a bitch. I, of course, think that this speaks to the potential threat that a smart, capable, ambitious woman may have over some men, particularly men who know (perhaps however much they may deny) that they don’t deserve women like Laura. I think the smart men are the men who get why Rob can’t shake Laura and have to figure out a way to let her in (or accept her back into their lives, as Laura asks Rob to get back together with her).

Curiously, many of the dudes I’ve known who don’t like Laura love themselves some Caroline, the cute, bubbly rock journalist who loves Stereolab and stokes Rob’s ego with an interview for her newspaper column, prompting him to make another mix tape before wondering when he’s going to stop moving on from woman to woman, tape to tape, and commit to the person he really loves.

Now, it’s really easy to pit them against one another, if you’re so inclined to put women in competition (which, ugh, please stop). I, for one, harbor no ill will toward Caroline. I kinda feel like Caroline is on the same track as Laura (professional, if funky, adult lady who’s finding her own place in the world). I even think the movie is making this argument when they are placed in the same shot during the final scene, with Caroline in front of Laura, and Laura in front of Rob. It may be easy to read the composition as evidence that Laura “won,” but I’m more inclined to think of the two women as peers, in continuum with one another. I don’t seem to recall them talking to one another in the book, but I always hope that they got a chance to meet and talk with each other.

Caroline Fortis, played by Natasha Gregson Wagner

There are other women in Rob’s life. There’s Marie de Salle (played by Lisa Bonet), the elusive singer-songwriter with whom Rob has a one-night stand and who totally has his number (she also apparently has a song called “Eartha Kitt x 2″ about her and her ex dividing up her record collection that I wish were real). There’s Penny Hardwick (played by Joelle Carter), the movie critic Rob dated in high school who reveals some upsetting information when reminding him about who rejected who. There are also less nuanced ex-girlfriend characters — the cruel Charlie Nichols (played by Catherine Zeta Jones) and the needy Sarah Kendrew (played by Lili Taylor). And there are frequenters of the record store that I wish we knew better — like Sara Gilbert’s Annaugh Moss or the Asian American woman who asks Rob where the “Soul” section is in the store. And of course there’s Liz, Laura’s best friend, who’s willing to tell off Rob on her lunch break before striding back to the office.

But most importantly, there’s always Laura.

This is definatly one of those movies that you feel like you know before you have even seen it. I felt that way about this movie, with the whole “In Your Eyes” stereo holding scene. That is a very lovely moment in this movie, but there is a lot more too it than that scene. It is about growing up, falling in love for the first time, making decisions and finding out people (or the world) is not exactly what you thought they were or is.

I think I found the best part of this movie being the love story between Lloyd and Diane, it was first love and between two people from totally different backgrounds and ideas on how there lives were going to go. Diane was the brain box and going onto do great things, she was going to study in England. While Lloyd had no idea what he was going to do with his life. He was just going to take things as they came.

When they began dating, he knew that it was just until she went to England. But I think it was pretty obvious that it was a bit more than that. Especially after they had sex for the first time with each other, I have to admit I was cringing so much when she actually told her father the truth. That is totally not something I would have liked to do at all, the way she told him. I was watching thinking, no please dont tell him, lie to him, dont tell him the truth, are you crazy !!! But it did make me laugh as well, as I cannot think of anyone who would have sat and done it like that.

John Cusack is just great in this movie, the way he just seems that he cannot stop talking and fills in the silence is just so cute. I also loved how Joan was his sister in the movie too, I thought that was a really nice touch to it all with them really being brother and sister. I felt so sorry for him when none of his family were at his High School graduation, even though he said he was not bothered that must have been sad for him. He was a very popular guy and just seemed to be loved by everyone. No-one gave him any hope when he was trying to get a date with Diane. But she was like everyone else and pretty much just fell for Lloyd.

Another story on going was the relationship between Diane and her father. He was extremly overprotective of her and he had her future mapped out for her. She never really had much of a life at school and did not really no anyone else from her class. When it came out that her father was being investigated for fraud. He had been stealing money from the old people who died in his carehome. Diane at first did not believe this, but eventually she realised that it was indeed true and could not believe this. She decided to go to England, and almost left without saying goodbye.

I really liked the ending, that they were going to try it out together in England. It leaves it open so you can decide what happened to them and their relationship.

Ida B ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
and her plans to maximize fun, avoid disaster,
and (possibly) save the world
Read by Lili Taylor

In Wisconsin, fourth-grader Ida B spends happy hours being home-schooled and playing in her family’s apple orchard, until her mother begins treatment for breast cancer and her parents must sell part of the orchard and send her to public school.