Film: Rosemary's Baby

Director: Roman Polanski
Genre: Horror
Source: USA (1968)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Streaming
Grade: A-

As an adult I've come to a late enjoyment of horror films. Not the gore-fests popular among the kid's today (man, I sound old)--I have little interest in seeing Hostel or any of the countless Texas Chainsaw Massacre remakes that seem to come out year after year--but I have come to appreciate the suspense, the dark, the exploration of what evil is and how we react to it. In this regard, Rosemary's Baby may be one of the best horror films I've seen in a long time. Side note: I love coming to these older gems a little later and finding a film that really stands up well even 45 years later. 

It's the slow burn of the film, and the blurred lines between reality and fantasy, waking and dream, sanity and insanity, that makes the film work. Mia Farrow is fragile and sympathetic as Rosemary, the wife of a struggling actor named Guy and the new occupant of a building with a history of murder and mayhem. Rosemary has semi-dreams, semi-memories of strange happenings going on around her, and as the film progresses, she struggles to figure out whether she is simply delusional--perhaps dealing with some sort of pre-partum paranoia--or whether she is caught in something much larger than she understands. Polanski creates these dream sequences with a masterful touch, as settings, characters, and Rosemary's mindset all seem to bend and twist in ways recognizable from our own dreams. They are haunting and effective, and they set a tone that carries through the rest of the film. The movie is not "scary" in the sense used today, where blood runs down walls and killers jump out of darkened doorways, but it creates a psychological atmosphere that becomes increasingly disturbing as it goes on. And if the final scene is a little bit comical (perhaps it's supposed to be) the final shots still managed to be effectively demented. It left me smiling, not struggling to sleep, but it still raised some interesting questions about trust, greed, and agency in an individual's life.

Looking at the film today, I can't help but wonder about the sexual politics of the era that may be part of the film's social commentary. Most chillingly, of course, is Guy's casual assertion that when Rosemary passed out he went ahead and slept with her anyway because he didn't want to miss the chance to conceive. Whether or not Guy is lying is a question from early on, but the casualness with which he suggests his actions (something that today would be termed as rape) were acceptable--and the depressingly meek protest Rosemary mounts in return--invite us to question the ways women are seen, used, and see themselves as objects in a world that seems to have little use for their own desires and feelings. Rosemary's increasing need to be heard takes up much of the film, and Polanski seems to suggest that ultimately no one is interested in listening. That assertion is just as frightening as anything else in the film, particularly at an era when women's rights were just beginning to be a political issue. I can even see examining this film in the context of the abortion debate, since Rosemary's control of her own body seems to be at the heart of the story. (Interestingly, Mia Farrow was served divorce papers during this film from her then-husband Frank Sinatra, who didn't want her to work anymore once they got married. Again, that question of female ownership of her own life raises its head.) If the film were remade today, I wonder how such issues would be reshaped and revised to fit modern sensibilities. Ostensibly we live in a more equal society, and yet the idea of women as objects of pleasure for others can still be found everywhere, from television to the internet and beyond. I think there could be some really interesting ways to make Rosemary just as relevant today, even if her reaction to her predicament would (one hopes) have to change. 

Is the movie dated? Sure. But I found myself not really caring. I was drawn in to the story, and the desperation that Farrow manages to exude so well, that a few hokey moments or silly twists really didn't care. I think it's a movie that stands up.

Alternate Film Title: "The Original 'Creepy Apartment Complex' Story Is Still One of the Best" 

Film: The Inbetweeners

Director: Ben Palmer
Genre: Comedy 
Source: UK (2011)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Streaming
Grade: C-

I have a soft spot for the British sit-com The Inbetweeners. My friend Dylan and I found it on tv one day and watched a few episodes. It's childish, crude, offensive, misogynistic, and often very very funny. I ended up watching the whole series at the gym, and I gained an affection for all four of the characters, even though I couldn't off the top of my head tell you any of their names.

Like many of my favorite recent comedy tv shows (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Workaholics), the show works because 90% of the time the lead characters are the objects of ridicule. They are idiots, they are clearly out-of-touch, and yet they are so confident and brazen about the whole thing that you can't help but like them. The misogyny, for example, is used to mock the misogyny of adolescent boys: obsession with women as objects prevents them from ever gaining relationships with any real women. Their childish obsession with female body parts is exactly what prevents them from getting closer to female body parts; they see women as a goal, rather than as people. Their idiocy is meant to be recognized, but it's also meant to be laughed at, with the hope that the audience recognizes that women are more than the sum of a few parts.

Perhaps that's giving the show too much credit, though. In this film, while the four boys are on vacation, they are repeatedly cruel, rude, and piggish to a set of four women they befriend, and yet somehow the women keep coming back for more--well before the boys have learned any sort of lesson. The fact that all four of the girls seem to give all four of the boys chance after chance undercuts any real social commentary and basically affirms a message that women are just waiting to throw themselves at boys, no matter how they really treat them. 

These competing messages just end up leaving the film as a British version of a teen sex comedy like American Pie--all surface, no substance, and tons of penis jokes.

Don't get me wrong. A few of the jokes made me laugh. But ultimately this was pretty forgettable. 

Neil. Neil is the tall goofy one. There, I knew I could do it.

Alternate Movie Title: "And You Thought the TV Show Was Dirty . . ."

Film: Scream 4

Director: Wes Craven
Genre: Horror/ Comedy 
Source: USA (2011)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Streaming
Grade: D+

It's amazing what 15 years can do. I really enjoyed the first Scream movie, which came out when I was in high school. Even though I wasn't a big horror movie fan, it captured something about movie fandom that worked for me--in addition to being clever and surprisingly creepy. Since then, each successive sequel has had diminishing returns, including this one, which tries to capture the magic of the original ("New Decade, New Faces, New Rules" is the tagline) and instead ends up just feeling like a retread. In a world where horror comedy has been done better (a clip from Shaun of the Dead is actually shown in the film), where the genre has been picked apart more adroitly (Cabin in the Woods, thank you), and where slasher movies have kind of gone out of style, this movie feels like an empty retread with very little left to say. It tries to be self-referential and clever, but it comes across as if it doesn't realize how out-of-date it is. It's trying so hard to be fresh that it can't hide how stale it really is. It thinks we somehow still care about these characters. 

We don't.

That said, there is one moment that I really enjoyed where the killer is revealed and goes about trying to mangle him/herself to look like one of the victim. Surprisingly brutal, oddly comedic, and desperately pathetic--it's the tone the whole movie was going for, but never actually got. But for those three minutes it worked really well.

Let's just hope they let the original die a peaceful death now, rather than trying to resurrect it for the millionth time. Then again, maybe there's something meta about that? I don't even have the energy to care anymore.

Alternate Film Title: "Hayden Panettiere Is Actually Kind of Good In This. Who Knew?"

Film: Iron Man 3

Director: Shane Black
Genre: Action/ Comic Book
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: PG-13
Location/Format: Glynn Place Stadium Cinema
Grade: B

I feel like I give a lot of B's to movies, but Iron Man 3 is the kind of enjoyable ultimately empty fluff that does the job but won't be remembered ten minutes after leaving the theater. It's fun, and it has a few interesting ideas, but it also doesn't break much new ground or seem interested in telling a story with long-term consequences. Still, it's a big step up from Iron Man 2, so I'll take it, and I'd see another Shane Black Iron Man film with no concerns.

As always, the best part of Iron Man is Robert Downey Jr. I'm not sure superhero casting has ever been so spot-on, as his brashness, his ego, and his sense of humor are all what make this character come alive. If he ever stops wanting to do Iron Man movies, I think the suits over at Disney are going to have to give the franchise a break for a while, because I can't imagine any other actor inhabiting the role the way he does. He is Tony Stark, and Tony Stark is Iron Man.

That question of identity and how well can you know yourself when faced with bigger questions and life-changing experiences is at the heart of Iron Man 3, which takes place not long after the events of The Avengers. Tony finds himself haunted by his experiences at the end of that film, unable to sleep and constantly tinkering and building. He finds himself unclear on where the suit ends and he begins, and Black solves this conundrum by basically taking him out of the suit for the majority of the film. He ends up in Tennessee, befriended by a little boy (ten years old? eight?) who both pushes him and questions him, and though it sounds really trite it all works pretty well. Downey Jr has good chemistry with the little boy, played by Ty Simpkins, and what could have gone the road of family-feel-good fodder actually stays true to the character and his crisis. Tony has to rely on himself--not the suit--in some of these scenes, and I can see the depth Black is going for. The question of identity and masks and what happens when those lines are blurred does provide some good moments.

Which brings me to Ben Kingsley, the highlight of the film for me, in a role that is both terrible and blindsiding all at once. Kingsley is clearly having fun here, and his second act conversation with Stark is one of my favorite superhero moments in a long time.

Which is why the fact that the film ultimately rings a little hollow is such a disappointment. Black doesn't go far enough with those questions of identity, or how much we rely on technology, or corporate/political machinations, or any of those questions he raises at the beginning. We end instead with a literally hollow battle, as Tony Stark and James Rhodes are joined by like 50 empty self-directed iron suits in trying to take down the bad guy. The scene takes the magic out of the fight for me, as you have to question why Tony goes into battle at all, when he can apparently program his suits to act fully independently. Even this could raise interesting questions about US drone strikes, but instead it is just about "Hey cool look at all the flying robots!" In addition, Tony makes a gesture at the end of the film that ultimately is going to be very hollow and pointless, and it makes me wonder why he bothered at all.

Don't get me wrong, Iron Man 3 is a good time at the movies. It just ended up having no real impact.

Alternate Film Title: "Glad to See the Guy From Rubicon Getting Some Work"

Film: The Great Gatsby

Director: Baz Luhrmann
Genre: Drama
Source: USA (2013)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Glynn Place Stadium Cinema
Grade: C+

If the words "Baz Luhrmann is directing The Great Gatsby) conjure up anything in your mind, you probably know exactly what to expect with this film. Visually enticing, often frenetic (at times pointlessly so), merrily melodramatic, and with a touch of true pathos, Luhrmann's Gatsby may be my favorite of the three adaptations of Fitzgerald's classic work that I've seen, but I don't think it captures the spare beauty and devastating prose of the novel, even when Luhrmann is literally putting Fitzgerald's words on the screen. Fitzgerald gets the over-the-top style of Jay Gatsby's parties, but he can't quite capture the sentimental core underneath.

Not that he and his actors don't try valiantly. DiCaprio is a fantastic Gatsby, and Carey Mulligan is an inspired choice as Daisy, both of them finding more depth and honesty in the characters than did Robert Redford and Mia Farrow, the Gatsby and Daisy of the 70s version. It is a testament to the actors that the scene in which Gatsby throws his shirts into the air for Daisy, prompting her to break down sobbing at the "beautiful shirts," actually works here, a feat I was sure could not really be pulled off (I mean, it's such a silly scene). DiCaprio's Gatsby gets a little darker (or is it dumber?) than I envisioned the character as he tends tirelessly to his dream of what his life should be, but for the most part I found him endearing and entrancing. Mulligan, as always, is both beautiful and fragile, a woman of the world on the outside and a lost little girl inside. It's a role she has played repeatedly--from An Education to Shame--but it's a role she plays well.

But two things get in the way of this movie for me: one of them is named Luhrmann, and the other is named Maguire. 

Luhrmann, in the first place, never knows when enough is enough. It's not enough to have the absurdity of the party, we have to have the absurdity plus whip cuts and slow motion tracking shots and Jay-Z in the background and confetti--literally confetti--EVERYWHERE. His valley of ashes is literally a valley of ashes. It's in no way subtle, and it becomes just too much; after a while that much glitter and speed gets boring. He loses track of the story in favor of 3-D and overly emotional staging, and by the time Myrtle is literally sailing over the car in her ballet of death, it gets to be all just tiring.

But Luhrmann knows how to attract young viewers, and if the reaction among my students is any indication, he has succeeded in bringing the story to life for many teenage film-goers. It is lush, and if you haven't already seen all these tricks in Moulin Rouge and Romeo + Juliet, it can be exhilarating. 

Unfortunately, whatever he accomplishes to bring life to the film is consistently sucked out by Tobey Maguire.

I don't know what it is about Maguire that rubs me the wrong way. I loved him in Cider House Rules, I liked him in the Spider-Man franchise, and I've seen him in any number of roles where he works just fine. Unfortunately, he never seems to find a handle on Nick Carraway, and I think Nick is essential to the story as both observer, judge, and participant in the insanity of the novel. Maguire plays him as mostly dull, yet somehow tortured enough by the whole thing that apparently he becomes a mad alcoholic writer; Luhrmann and his screenwriters have overlaid a little bit of Fitzgerald's own demons onto Nick, giving him a side story wherein he works out his demons by writing the Gatsby story while in a sanitarium battling his alcoholism. His therapist there is a non-entity, apparently only existing to bring him tea and fresh paper, and the whole thing is both unnecessary and pretty opposed to my reading of Nick as both a sinner and a survivor of the world of the Buchanans and the Gatsbys, those careless people who smash things up.

And maybe that's ultimately my problem with the film: I just love the book too much. I was stuck constantly judging what was left out (No Nick/Jordan romance? No Klipspringer phone call to the funeral?) and what was changed to fit Luhrmann's vision, particularly when it contrasted with my own. I appreciate the film for what it is, but I'm not particularly interested in seeing it again, whereas the novel draws me back to it year after year. I guess it's just hard to be non-judgmental about something you love so much. Gatsby knows what I'm talking about.

By all means the movie is worth seeing--especially if you haven't read the book since high school, or if you just really love visual spectacle. But if you want the real emotional heart and prose that paints itself across your mind more dramatically than all the slow-motion tracking shots in the world, then skip the movie and pick up the book. It's worth the time

Alternate Film Title: "20s Fashion Never Looked So Good"

Film: Manhattan

Director: Woody Allen
Genre: Comedy 
Source: USA (1979)
Rating: R
Location/Format: Netflix Streaming
Grade: B+

"I finally had an orgasm, and my doctor said it was the wrong kind."

"You had the wrong kind? I've never had the wrong kind. Ever. My worst one was right on the money."

It's easy to see now why my first tastes of Woody Allen left me flat, and why now I find myself in the middle of a growing appreciation of his subtlety, his lack of subtlety, and the ways he has changed and grown over the years as a filmmaker. I loved Midnight in Paris and really liked Match Point, Scoop, and Vicky Christina Barcelona, all of which have found him getting outside of himself a little bit more (though maybe not Midnight in Paris) and exploring some different character types. But those characters are all still mixed up in their own sexual dysfunction, egomania, and intelligence to varying degrees--in other words, those same concepts that Allen has been exploring since the beginning.

Older Allen films have all that plus a heavy dose of self-loathing and neuroticism, but they also have an honesty to them that is both sweet and sad. Isaac, Woody Allen's character in Manhattan, for example, is searching for love, torn between the seventeen-year-old (yikes) actress/schoolgirl

he's been having an affair with and a desire for something more real. Isaac is an aspiring writer, and the film opens with his rewrites of the opening lines of his novel, trying to explain a love/hate relationship with the titular city that in some ways reflects the divide he feels within as well. Isaac wants a relationship, but he blames the failures of his past on others, and seems glib and unconcerned about the ramifications of dating a woman/girl 25 years younger than himself of falling for his best friend's mistress. He leaves the girl to develop a relationship with the mistress, and when she goes back to his friend, he returns to the teenager, begging her not to go on a study trip to London he had previously encouraged her to enjoy. That desperate and somewhat pathetic selfishness is both sad and comedic, as Isaac (we hope) is given an opportunity to grow up a little. Of course the film ends before that growth is achieved, a kind of in media res ending that I found myself really pleased with.

All this drama (and often unexpectedly clever dialogue, as seen above) is played out in beautiful black and white as Allen seems to be channeling the Manhattan of the films he fell in love with. He's playing with film tropes of the 40s--the classical soundtrack, even "silent" gags and montages as he takes his son out for an afternoon with shots that seem to evoke Chaplain or Keaton--even while he's showing us light and shadow in wholly new ways as well. A trip to the planetarium, for example, features back-lit and silhouetted figures against a field of stars, a thin strip of light illuminating their profiles, from Allen's trademark glasses to strands of Diane Keaton's hair. The wonderful experimental and assured and homaged feel of it all somehow fits together, and the film becomes a slice of life that is familiar and recognizable even while being nothing like my day-to-day life. The whole thing works, even when I feel like it shouldn't. Like the quote at the top of the entry, I get the feeling Allen is just happy to be playing with film, and even when he gets things wrong, he doesn't care because he's having such a fine time it somehow turns out right.

I get that Woody Allen movies aren't for everyone, and not all Woody Allen movies are for me. But I'm enjoying my forays into his filmography, and this one was a really satisfying cinematic experience.

Alternate Film Title: "Wherein Apparently Everyone Is Cool with Dating a Seventeen-Year-Old"

Book: The Illusion of Separateness

I wish I had found the time to write this review much earlier, because much of the novel has slipped out of my mind at this point. Van Booy's intentions and central theme is stated clearly in the novel's title, a variation of the semi-famous Thich Nhat Hanh quote "We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness." Van Booy creates story after story, each the piece of the life of a character, each story woven together by coincidence, by choice, by fate/God, for better or for worse. Thing of the film Crash, but with more sensitivity and gentleness (and perhaps less ego).

Van Booy's characters are gentle souls who touch each other's lives in sometimes inconsequential and sometimes shocking ways, and by the time the story comes back full circle at the end of the novel, it is both expected and satisfying. The spirit of the novel is so sweet (despite some of the occasionally appalling acts described) that I can see the novel becoming a favorite of book clubs in the coming year, and I don't think that's a bad thing at all. I expected to be turned off by it, but instead I found myself moved and recommending it to friends. The lack of long-term impact of the novel impedes my whole-hearted recommendation, but it's still a very fast and very enjoyable read.

I should also point out that I received an advanced copy of this novel due to Powell's Indiespensible Book Club, and free reader's edition of novels is just one of many possible perks that club offers in addition to autographed and custom-slipcased novels. It's $40 every six weeks or so, but the enjoyment of getting a surprise box every so often is worth it. I highly recommend it.

Grade for Indiespensible Book Club: A
Grade for the Book: B+