Taxi to the Dark Side

This Oscar-winning documentary is even more devastating than No End in Sight or Bush’s War, because it does not just make the all-too-familiar case for the knee-jerk arrogance and aggressive, willful ignorance of the Bush Administration, but quietly ponders the question, “Are we evil?” It’s a film of great passion but never raises its voice, just makes the case with great lucidity. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to reveal what the final credit roll does, explaining the film as a memorial to director Alex Gibney’s father, a longtime FBI interrogator who was outraged by the idea of sanctioned torture. It documents that the abuses of Abu Ghraib et al. were a matter of policy in the so-called, self-justified “War on Terror,” and not the actions of a “few bad apples.” Or rather, that the few bad apples that turned the whole barrel rotten were Cheney, Rumsfeld, and that bunch. What America needs now is not just change, but exorcism -- we need to drive out the devils, not just those guys, but the demons within that allowed us to ratify the usurpers in 2004, even after they had revealed who they were and what they were doing in our name. Our nation needs contrition and penitence, and re-conversion to our original ideals. America has to come home, though it will be a long way back. The film elicits these thoughts, but does not hammer them home, meditating on the meaning and outcomes of torture. A “Taxi to the Dark Side” is certainly what our country has taken, but Gibney grounds his title in specifics, a young Afghan taxi driver who was rounded up in a sweep and murdered in U.S. custody four days later. The film revolves around remarkable interviews with the principals in the subsequent trials, but spirals outward and upward into the whole edifice of legal evasion and perversion embodied in Gitmo. Gibney eschews the flash that marked his excellent previous effort, Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, but is all the more riveting in his intensity of intent. This is must-see witness that is punishing to watch. (2008, Images, n.) *8+* (MC-82.)

Atonement

An honorable illustration of an excellent novel, Joe Wright’s adaptation of Ian McEwan (by way of Christopher Hampton) never takes off as a film of its own. Despite showy direction and insistent sound design, it lacks some fundamental engagement. The actors are generally good, but the characters are put through their paces without essential connectedness. So the film is pleasant to look at, with many dovetailing parts, but the feelings are muted, if not embalmed. Pretty and clever, but not moving -- as the book most definitely is. So if you know the novel, the film is a bit of a comedown, and if you don’t then the story will ring hollow. James McAvoy definitely has appeal, but I find blade-thin Keira Knightley a little scary. All three actresses who play the third side of the triangle, the writer-sister Briony, effectively portray a continuity of character: Saoirse Ronan, Romola Garai, and Vanessa Redgrave. But again the emotions are pumped up rather than flowing naturally from screen to viewer. You are swept away in the flood or you are left a bit high and dry. (2007, dvd, n.) *6+* (MC-85.)

I enjoyed watching The Searchers (1956), to wrap up my latest film series at the Clark, “A Wild and Savage Land: John Ford Looks at the American West” -- but I don’t think it would crack my Top 25 of All Time. The imagery is spectacular in every sense, and John Wayne is excellent, but it’s not quite as intense as I remembered, the story arc broken by bits of Fordian business like the brawl at the wedding. So it strikes me as an excellent but not a transcendant Western.

Goya's Ghosts

Let’s be honest here, Natalie Portman is a lovely and intelligent young woman, but she is not much of an actress. In Milos Forman’s film she is asked to hold a ramshackle story together with a three-part role, and sadly fails. A classic case of less than the sum of its parts, this film offers some sense of period and practice, but none of character or significance. It would love to be another Amadeus but does not come close. Stellan Skarsgard seems an odd choice for Goya, but maybe there’s a physical similarity, and his role is confined to observing anyway, as he watches the melodrama unfold but does not participate much. The central character is Javier Bardem as Inquisitor turned Napoleonic proconsul, who is fun to watch if not so much to think about. Poor Natalie is the woman he ruins, and the courtesan daughter that results. But the film does put a lot of Goya’s work on display, and paints a picture of the time and place from which it emerged, with a strained effort to draw contemporary parallels. A visual feast, if an emotive famine. (2007, dvd, n.) *5+* (MC-52.)

Out of the vein of recent disappointing re-viewings spurts The Grifters (1990), which may appeal to those who felt No Country for Old Men was the best picture of 2007, but leaves me rather cold, despite engaging performances from Anjelica Huston, John Cusack, and Annette Bening. Stephen Frears’ first American film is a stylish noir revival of Jim Thompson’s hardboiled “Sophoclean” worldview, in an incestuous triangle of con artists who dance and mate and kill like scorpions in a bottle. It’s funny and clever, but only to set up grisly scenes of horror, both physical and psychological. If that’s your idea of entertainment, then don’t let my lack of enthusiasm steer you away from a film that many rave about.

Enchanted

This Disney self-parody is enchanting, and I was enchanted particularly by Amy Adams, as the cartoon princess who gets catapulted into the center of a too-real Times Square by evil queen Susan Sarandon, but loses none of her sunny pluck, summoning rats, pigeons, and cockroaches with her “Happy Working Song.” Kevin Lima’s direction is notable for another well-done production number set in Central Park. I was glad that a song from Once beat out three from this film for the Oscar, but they are definitely not too cloying. Mike Leigh regular Timothy Spall, in an unlikely role, really does embody the evil queen’s toady, but the lawyer prince and the cartoon prince did not particularly register on me, hunks of the month though they may be. There is also an Abigail Breslin wannabe who is refreshingly uncute. (Names withheld to be nice.) It was amusing to see Disney goofing on its whole Princess marketing strategy, and Amy Adams is definitely a Princess to root for, so the appeal of this film extends way beyond tween girls. (2007, dvd, n.) *7* (MC-75.)

Logging & blogging

My new year’s resolution for 2000 was to start a filmlog, just to keep track of all the films I was watching, so they wouldn’t all blur together in memory, and to rate my reaction on a scale of *10*. Having gotten in that routine, my new year’s resolution for 2005 was to start a film blog, where I could share my observations and evaluations about movies and have them at ready reference -- thus you have this, which I have come to view as a public service, for however miniscule a public.

So the last few films I’ve watched fell somewhere in between those purposes. It would be no service to call your attention to them, yet to keep up with my record of viewing or re-viewing I should note them in passing. Trying to fathom the Clintons in this primary season, I re-watched Primary Colors (1998), figuring that Emma Thompson would put the most sympathetic gloss possible on Hilary and her motivations. And what did I see but a monster of political calculation? So maybe it isn’t Bill and the consultants, but the true Hillary emerging in this campaign. For the rest, Mike Nichols’ direction and John Travolta’s impersonation of Bill wear thin after a while, and the story thinner. It’s worth seeing, but not worth re-seeing.

David Mamet’s directorial debut, House of Games (1987), had stuck in my mind as an outstanding demonstration of the art of the short con and the long con, so I thought to show it to my daughter, a psychology grad. But the games have lost some of their lustre -- Mamet has gone on to do better, Joe Mantegna is no longer such a surprise, and Lindsay Crouse (Mrs. Mamet at the time) is now for me indelibly the evil government scientist in the fourth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In this film, she is startlingly young and butch, capturing a moment of “shoulder-pad feminism” as a bestselling psychologist drawn to the tells, reveals, and misdirections of the con game. Her performance is somewhat robotic, but that is in keeping with her characterization and with the Mametian dialogue. Mantegna memorably combines the suave and the seedy, with a familiar array of shape-shifting characters around him. It’s still a smart thriller for its time, but no enduring classic.

For a Clark After Dark with the theme of The Roaring 20s, I was asked to show The Cotton Club (1984) and I was content to be paid to watch it, but I can’t recommend that you spend your time on it. A notorious fiasco from Francis Ford Coppola, it doesn’t know whether to be The Godfather or a rollicking Harlem musical, with one impulse getting in the way of the other and tripping up the footwork. Lots of familiar faces mill around, but some, like Diane Lane, are virtually unrecognizable. Richard Gere is recognizable but nothing more. Their romance throws off zero sparks. Gregory Hines hoofs okay, and even more could be made of the song and dance variety show from the likes of Duke Ellington and Cab Calloway, while Charlie Chaplin and Gloria Swanson watch from stage-side tables. But meanwhile Dutch Schultz is winning and losing gang wars. It’s all too much and too little. I was just as happy to punch my timeclock and leave the club.

On the other hand, you wouldn’t have had to pay me to re-watch She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949), in glorious color on the big screen, most effective in its appropriation of the subjects, hues, and style of Frederic Remington. The film is one iconic shot after the other, but still retains some plausibility within the context of its worldview. The reverence for military ritual may be a little thick, and the obligatory bits of Fordian business, like the slapstick saloon brawl, may wear thin, but visually this is masterful and the sentiments are truer than usual. John Wayne is really very good as the retiring captain of the cavalry, while Ben Johnson and Victor McLaglen lend excellent support, and Joanne Dru and Mildred Natwick come across better than the typical Ford woman. If you’re in the mood for a classic cavalry western, this is the one.

One other thing I’ve been watching is the four-hour PBS Frontline special on “Bush’s War.” It’s not quite as focused as No End in Sight, which covers much of the same ground, but makes for a useful summation of the indictment against the criminal war “monkees” that got us into this mess -- “Daydream Believers” indeed! The clock is ticking on Bush’s term, but the deleterious effects of his administration will haunt this country for decades. And it’s just too tragic to think of what we’ve lost as a nation since the Florida coup of 2000.

Great World of Sound

This Sundance favorite is Salesman meets American Idol, with a flavoring of Glengarry Glen Ross for good measure. Two fellows are recruited as A&R men for the fly-by-night music producing company of the title, which is obviously a scam but which the men buy into with forlorn hope, traveling to cities like Biloxi and Birmingham to audition musicians, who come to their motel room in response to ads in the local paper. Then the musicians are asked to demonstrate their commitment by putting up in advance 30% of the cost of producing a record. Writer-director Craig Zobel does a lot with a little, and the cheesiness of the sets and flatness of the lighting are perfectly appropriate to the story. The performers really were answering ads in the paper and were filmed with hidden cameras, and used with their consent after the fact. Pat Healy is the nerdy white partner and Kene Holliday is the buoyant black partner, and they bond nicely on the road, until the house of cards starts to fall apart. Deadpan humor melds with sorrowful authenticity in this very promising debut. (2007, dvd, n.) *7-* (MC-72.)

Bedlam

Val Lewton completes his remarkable run of low-budget, genre-transcending near-masterpieces at RKO by writing this script based on Hogarth’s Rake’s Progress. Amazingly ambitious, it examines not just the notorious asylum in 18th century London but the concept of madness in the Age of Reason, and presents the Quaker case for reform in a more intelligent manner than I’ve ever seen in a film. Anna Lee is up to the task of playing the saucy actress pet of a lord, who has her conscience awakened by a Quaker stonemason, and winds up thrown in the madhouse herself. And Boris Karloff is just right as the asylum warden. Mark Robson may be the least adept of Lewton’s directors at suggesting horror without showing it, but still manages to do a lot with a little. The ambition exceeds the budget at times, but the intention remains honorable. (1945, dvd, n.) *7-*