Drive

Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn
Starring Ryan Gosling, Carey Mulligan, Bryan Cranston

It is difficult to describe what it feels like to see Drive.  Billed pretty much as an action movie, it’s jarring how dreamily it’s paced, yet once you’ve settled into the grove set by the music and long, slow scenes, the movie blows your head off.  But it’s pace still doesn’t pick up, the film just becomes brutally violent.  It’s emotionally engaging, but also distant, breathtaking but horrifying.   And you love it.  So, whatever word describes that.

Ryan Gosling once again proves that he’s one of the best actors working today with a performance the like of which is rarely seen.  Barely speaking or changing his facial expression, he gives an understated, subtle and unbelievably controlled performance as the Driver.  Most of the time, Gosling has an almost naive serenity in his face, with an underlying tension that unsettles, yet still with disarming charm that causes women to suddenly be aware of their wedding rings and causes men to speculate aloud that Gosling would probably “be pretty chill to hang out with.”  He handles well the romantic and dreamy first third, which is essentially the slow development of a lovely romance, until Carey Mulligan receives word that her husband will be released from prison in a week.  In the final two-thirds of the film, he serves as the Gibraltar-like center to the escalating violence and body count.  Without Gosling, the deliberate pace would have lacked the bottled-lightning energy that makes the film edge-of-your-seat suspenseful instead of clumsily brooding.

Though the plot is straight-forward, there’s a lurking malevolence that keeps us from ever getting comfortable.  When Gosling’s character, who is pretty amicable and gentle for the most part, suddenly and quietly tells someone in a diner, “How ’bout this – shut your mouth or I’m going to kick your teeth down your throat and I’ll shut it for you,” it’s a shocking shift we somehow knew was coming.  Director Refn is as concerned with mood and tone as he is with plot and character development.  To a viewer expecting The Fast and the Furious, such attention to mood slows the pace, but for those willing to go on the ride Refn designed, it creates a slowly burning tension that makes every word and action significant and makes the movie sizzle.

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Directed by J. J. Abrams

Starring Joel Courtney, Elle Fanning, Kyle Chandler

Rated PG-13 for intense sequences of sci-fi action and violence and some drug use

Super 8 is a movie bathed in nostalgia.  J. J. Abrams has created a veritable pastiche of early Steven Spielberg films, from the obvious tropes – a group of plucky preteens form a tight bond while dealing with supernatural dangers lurking beneath the surface of middle-American suburbia  – to the less obvious, such as the beleaguered small-town law enforcement official in over his head, straight out of Jaws.  Luckily, Spielberg is signed on as a producer, so Abrams is safe from any risk of a copyright infringement suit.  Abrams, for his part, has lent his personal touches as well, namely the film’s mysterious publicity campaign (Lost, Cloverfield) as well as a heavy helping of lens flairs (Star Trek).  What’s somehow been left out, though, is any sense of spontaneity, wonder or originality.

Newcomer Joel Courtney stars as Joe, a quiet and sensitive fourteen year old boy whose father, Sheriff’s Deputy Jackson Lamb (Friday Night Lights‘ Kyle Chandler), has become even more withdrawn after the recent death of Joe’s mother.  Joe has been spending his free time working with a group of friends in making a zombie movie, and complications arise when a new member, Alice (Elle Fanning) joins the cast.  On their first night filming scenes with her after hours at a nearby train station, they witness a colossal train accident, setting into motion many creepy doings in their small town, none of which I will spoil for you here, lest I incur the wrath of the keeping-plots-secret-loving Abrams’ legal team.

The performances, especially those of the three leads, are easily the best aspect of the film, lending layers and complexities to characters that the script sells short.  Abrams is a capable craftsman, and from a technical aspect, the movie is well put together, with an impressive look (though enough with the damn lens flairs!) that’s evocative of the movies he’s riffing on, but not beholden to them.  One of the movie’s biggest flaws, though, is the let down after the long-held secret of the mysterious happenings are revealed, ending up being a cold rehash of several sci-fi and horror movie formulas.  It’s a huge disappointment after both the hype of the marketing and the evocation of Spielberg’s previous films, some of the most memorable, original and heartfelt depictions of the supernatural intruding on suburban existence ever committed to celluloid, which Super 8 can’t help but pail in comparison to.  Abrams’ love of those pictures, and of the process of film making itself, is still palpable; the scenes of the gang of misfits working on their movie are easily the film’s most effective.  But when shit stops being polite and starts getting real, the movie loses most of its personality, and while its clear that all the ingredients of Spielberg’s past successes have been assembled, the craftwork is clumsy, and the aura of magic is noticeably absent.

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Directed by Terrence Malick

Starring Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Jessica Chastain.

Rated PG-13 for some thematic material.

Though The Tree of Life is only his fifth work in nearly forty years, no one can accuse Terrence Malick (Days of Heaven, The Thin Red Line) of being a lazy filmmaker, as he persistently rejects shortcuts both for himself and his audience.  His latest film, in fact, feels like the culmination of everything he’s been working towards for his entire career, and could easily be dubbed his magnum opus.  It ruminates on his favorite themes, primarily humanity’s relationship with nature.  Instead of exploring them within the context of historical events, as he has before, he wrestles with them in an autobiographical framework, using his own childhood and experiences to directly confront issues he’s previously addressed only obliquely.

The Tree of Life is a film of dualities; it is both intensely intimate and endlessly ambitious, both grandiose and startlingly specific in its scope, and both universal and personal in its subject matter.  The film opens with a portrait of a family struggling with tragedy, moving on to a distant anniversary of the event, with Malick stand-in Jack (Penn) still reeling with grief. He asks the question that one always asks at the loss of a loved one: “Why did this have to happen?”  That the film opens with a quote from the book of Job (“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?”) is telling, as Creation (with a big “C”) is exactly where Malick begins his search for answers.

What follows is easily the most talked about portion of the film, and justifiably so.  From his rendering of the Big Bang to a vision of the birth of life within the primordial ooze (and, yes, there are dinosaurs), it is a singular and moving piece of film-making.   From there, grandiosity gives way to a more nuanced tone, depicting small moments and gestures.  Downsizing to a smaller creation (with a little “c”), we see a young Jack’s (hilariously-named newcomer Hunter McCracken) birth to a firm and authoritative father (Pitt) and a gentle and affectionate mother (Chastain) and follow the growth of this family through a collection of gorgeous vignettes.  The influence of the parents on Jack and his two brothers is the focus of the rest of the film, adding another duality, with each embodying a different aspect of the universe (or God, or what have you): the father as unyielding Nature, the mother serene Grace.  (Anyone with any familiarity with Malick knows on which side he comes down.)

Malick’s inimitable style is ever-present: dialogue is kept to a minimum, exchanged for philosophical and poetic narration by every major character.  A dancing, attentive camera, facilitated by Director of Photography Emmanuel Lubezki (Children of Men, at the height of his craft), with the scenes scored to a haunting pieces of classical music.  The film, especially in its central interlude, lacks a clear cohesive story, and those coming in expecting a conventional narrative will leave disappointed.  Anyone willing to meet with Malick on his own terms, though, and confront these questions as nakedly as he does, is in for a singular experience.  Though not a flawless film, with a back third that tends to meander and lose focus, Malick has created a cinematic version of pointillism: numerous nuanced and beautifully rendered individual moments which, though no clear lines are provided, come together to create a complete and stunning portrait of a life, a family, and Creations of every kind.  (In the end, you realize that they’re all miraculous enough do deserve capitalization.)  It’s a momentous undertaking, but by keeping itself firmly rooted on Earth, The Tree of Life manages to graze the cosmos.

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Hanna

Directed by Joe Wright

Starring Saoirse Ronan, Cate Blanchett, Eric Bana

Rated PG-13 for intense sequences of violence and action, some sexual material and language

At first glance, Hanna is one long chase scene, in the vein of the Bourne series or any of the currently popular, vaguely sci-fi action movies with pseudo-superhero, government-agency-coveted bare-handed human death machine protagonists (look for that to be one of Netflix’s overly specific genres).  However, with director Joe Wright making the heretofore unimaginable leap from the high-minded period drama of Pride and Prejudice and Atonement, this genuinely exciting action film gets a surprisingly welcome shot of elegance and depth that elevates it to a much higher level than I expected.

For most of the film, we don’t know much about Hanna, except that she’s been raised in a very cold wilderness by her father.  He educates her by reading to her from an encyclopedia every night, testing her knowledge of several languages and sneak-attacking her while she hunts for their food.  He’s raised her to be a formidable fighter and instilled instincts to be ready to attack, even while sleeping.  When gov’t agents track them down, she is taken to a secret facility in Morocco to be questioned and then killed, but after killing a fair number of soldiers, she escapes to meet her father in Germany, who is killing his way through his own chase scenes.

It’s a wonder to me that this movie didn’t feel uneven (though I can see how a more unforgiving viewer could think that).  The film shifts fluidly from the early scenes of Arctic Circle solitude to a music-videoesque, stylized first chase sequence to teen coming-of-age movie (more on that later) to sci-fi thriller (all of which also serve as variations on a chase scene, even the teen coming-of-age bits).  In all of this shifting, Wright smartly avoids making the whole movie grittily realistic.  While the constantly shaky camera works for Paul Greengrass in the Bourne movies, it’s nice to see Wright sticking to his sensibilities, but still progressing his style.  The score by The Chemical Brothers just as lithely changes tone with the film.  The quieter moments in the film are supported by the score so that they don’t drag, but rather seem to be coiling up to explode when, inevitably, someone undesirable catches up with Hanna.

Up to now, this has been a pretty glowing review.  That’s not to say I’m not glowing about it, but I’m also fully aware of the film’s faults.  However, I think that the film is aware of them too, and I daresay that certain “faults” are there intentionally.  Early in the film, I thought characters were drawn way too broadly; I wouldn’t have been surprised to see the Evil people wearing sandwich boards declaring their love of puppy strangling.  I also thought that Hanna’s shock at the civilized world was too exaggerated.

However, as the film progressed, it became clear that this wasn’t just a chase-filled action movie, and shouldn’t be exclusively read as such.  At its core, Hanna is much more a depiction of adolescence.  It is a coming-of-age story that highlights the shock of the transition from childhood safety to adolescent and adult independence.   Since it is told from that adolescent’s point of view, the facts are skewed.  The scenes where the lights and sounds of colorful Morocco overwhelm Hanna are much more plausible, as are the distinct black-and-white depictions of good and evil.  As the film progresses, those two extremes begin to move toward a more muddled center, just as all those things we Knew with all certainty as children turn out to really just be questions that we’ll almost never certainly answer.  The violence in the film takes on a new poignancy, so that each time Hanna kills, she’s either killing off pieces of her childhood, or killing to desperately hold off the inexorable march of adulthood.  Key scenes take place in playgrounds or amusement parks.  Cate Blanchett’s (whose performance is chilling) specter of adulthood, in her uncomfortable shoes and business attire stalks her with shifting personalities and the cool, creepy detachment of a Bond villain. She constantly bears down on her, driving her further from her father.  Her initials, MW could easily be filled in with Manhood and Womanhood, though maybe that’s just me.  Again, a less forgiving viewer may groan at the idea of allegory, but when it’s not all delineated in one paragraph, it is a lot subtler than I’m making it out to be and, for my money, enhances the viewing experience by adding a layer of “there’s more to this than just some badass fight scenes.”

Such a reading (again, for me, at least) also adds weight to the performances, especially Saoirse Ronan’s (which, thanks to her appearance on Ellen during spring break, I now know is pronounced “Ser-shah”), and uncovers depth in the characterization beyond the sort of unsettling current appeal of seeing a young woman commit acts of violence.

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Thanks to my wife for bringing these to my attention.

Follow the link: http://www.movieweb.com/news/two-black-swan-featurettes

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Alas, many would enter, but few would leave, and after some lengthy and spirited discussion, along with a talent and swimsuit portion of the competition (you should see Inception juggle!), we finalized our definitive list.  Sadly, some movies, while championed by one or two contributors, failed to make the cut.   From the historical drama The King’s Speech to James Franco’s stellar turn in 127 Hours, from the Korean oedipal mystery Mother to the Italian romance I Am Love, from the autopsy of a failing marriage in Blue Valentine to the Australian crime flick Animal Kingdom, these movies ran the gamut of genre and public recognition, but all helped define 2010 as a singular year for original cinema.

So enjoy the list, and join us as the fiery debate continues to rage in the comments section over such important issues as whether Due Date had superior mise-en-scene than Despicable Me, or whether Michael Bay’s Black Swan would have been exponentially deeper.  And creepier.

(Note:  Because we’re so helpful, we are linking to those movies currently available on Netflix via instant streaming, even though Netflix doesn’t give us any money. Now that you mention it, they probably should at this point.  Also, click on the * after a film’s title to link to the original GRTM review.)

10. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World *

In many ways, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World had the deck stacked against it from the start. It was all too easy to file away as yet another ineffectual-geek action comedy, putting it in the same category as Kick-Ass and a score of other Michael Cera movies that seem to be facing diminishing returns. However, this was not the case. Adapting Scott Pilgrim from the graphic novel was the brain child of Edgar Wright (of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz) and no one else could have handled it the way he did. As with Wright’s other work, Scott Pilgrim doesn’t try to break genre stereotypes by mere self-referential irony, but instead treats geek culture with loving parody, and does so with a purpose that drives the storytelling.  The central romance between Scott and Ramona moves the plot along, but is purposely emotionally stunted by Scott’s excessive idealization of her; she does not really have the opportunity to become a real person until everything is ended and Scott has reconciled himself to her past.  Wright’s incredible comic timing and creative use of the film medium perfectly translates the graphic novel’s visualization of Scott’s juvenile perception and reinforce the distorted reality he lives in.   Aside from being visually stunning, the movie features a rocking soundtrack by Beck and Nigel Godrich, and employs a talented ensemble, including a scene-stealing performance from Kieran Culkin. It is a niche comedy that will not (and should not be expected to) be  suited to every one’s taste, yet what Scott Pilgrim does, it does extremely well, ending up as one of the best comedies of the year.

9. Un Prophete

Combining the journalistic eye of The Wire with the epic scope and pacing of The Godfather, Un Prophete is a fascinating story of an illiterate 19-year-old Arab thug who uses his 6-year prison term to rise through the criminal ranks of the Corsican mafia to establish his own crime kingdom by the time of his release.  The politics of criminal and prison life are explored as thoroughly as the cultural and racial issues are.  Muslims, Egyptians and Corsicans are all battling it out for their piece of the crumb, to paraphrase Rhymefest.  French actor Niels Arestrup is spectacular as the aging Corsican crime lord César, turning in one of the best supporting performances of the year.

8. Shutter Island

If you only saw the trailer to Shutter Island, you might have thought it was going to be Scorsese’s attempt at a horror film. The trailer is full of creepy faces, lights unexpectedly failing, and “jumpy” suspense. Those going to the theater expecting to be scared were destined to be disappointed. Blame this disappointment on the marketing, not the movie. The movie is much more Psycho than Saw, a Psychological Thriller with an added emphasis on the Psychology. Leonardo DiCaprio gives one of his best performances as Edward “Teddy” Daniels, a U.S. Marshal sent to investigate the disappearance of a patient on Shutter Island, a prison island for the criminally  insane. Throughout the investigation, Daniels is forced to simultaneously process his own haunted past – a past that includes the liberation of Dachau and the death of his wife (played exceptionally well by Michelle Williams). The twists and turns in the plot may or may not surprise you, but by the end of the film, this doesn’t really matter. The deeper questions the film raises about humanity, guilt, and reality will be the real twists that reward, even after multiple viewings.

7. Winter’s Bone *

The opening panoramas of Winter’s Bone immediately establish the eerie, suspenseful tone to this film about cultural mores and the steely kinship circles that keep a young girl and her family bound by them.  The depressed landscape and its taciturn residents are immediately recognizable to anyone who’s been to the Missouri Ozarks. The film is anchored by seventeen year old Ree Dolly, whose search for her meth-cooking father is launched after she learns he’s posted the family home as his bail bond. Desperate to hold on to the family’s singular asset, Ree searches out clues to her father’s whereabouts, and in doing so, begins to push the limits of her community’s patience with her errant steps outside the hard boundaries of the standing social order. It’s hard to decide whether to root for Ree or shake the stubborn out of her, but you can only watch helplessly as her defiance earns swift punishment meted with equal force by family and foe, its quick deliverance a perverse incentive to move forward with the search. There was something admirable and compelling about Ree’s resolve, but you find yourself almost wanting her to give up, as it becomes clear that the loss of the family home, and even the disintegration of her family, might be the least of the imaginable evils that could befall her. And yet you can’t help but feel proud of Ree as she presses on, undeterred by watchful eye of cagey neighbors and the clear threats to her own safety. Ree Dolly wins your heart along with the respect of the kin that set out to undo her. Director Debra Granik doesn’t do her the disservice of making Ree’s character flat and flawless, but allows all of her characters depth and imperfection. She won’t allow the viewer to categorize Ree, her terrifying uncle Teardrop, or the clan elders into dichotomous camps of good and bad. Each of the main characters is surprising, and the depth of the writing, the unflinching cinematography, and the commanding performances by Jennifer Lawrence, John Hawkes, and Dale Dickey make this epic drama of justice and family ties a must see.

6. Exit Through the Gift Shop *

What is art? And who decides? These aren’t the sorts of questions that usually make for a fascinating feature film, which is what makes Exit Through the Gift Shop such an unlikely success. We live in an age of answers, so it’s all the more astounding when we run up against something to which there is no answer.  Is Exit documentary, mockumentary or something in-between? Is the surprisingly heartwarming Thierry (our main character) really a wannabe filmmaker who finds himself transformed into an overnight art world success known as Mr. Brainwash? Or is he an actor, plain and simple? Did infamous graffiti artist Banksy simply create a movie, or did he also create Mr. Brainwash — or maybe Banksy is Mr. Brainwash, with the affable Thierry just a ruse? There’s art here, to be sure, and looming ethical questions about property rights, celebrity, excess and more. But what could have been a colossal bore turns out to be the most interesting nonfiction film since Roger & Me — and this one’s a lot more fun to watch at a party.  Never mind if you’ve never heard of Banksy, because Exit is best viewed through an ignorant lens: Go in without expectations, and find yourself drawn into a touching, entertaining and thought-provoking story told from a few different angles. You’ll be left with questions — about the commercialization of art, and about the fine line between truth and fiction. Just don’t expect any easy answers.  To this day, no one has gotten Banksy to fess up — and in our present age, that’s a feat worth putting on film.

(Note: Aside from streaming via Netflix, Exit is also available to watch for free via Hulu for a limited time – until Feb. 4th to be exact – so catch it while you can.)

5. Toy Story 3 *

Toy Story 3 is the main event for which its predecessors were delightful prequels. Rarely does the closer of a trilogy tie things together so successfully. This is a visually stunning film about belonging, loyalty, friendship, abandonment, fear, tyranny, freedom, love, sacrifice and moving on. It seems like too much to take on in one film, let alone one geared toward kids, but it never seems strained. In his solo directorial debut, Lee Unkrich doesn’t fall into the trap of overly relying on the first two films. Rather, he masterfully (re)introduces the back story in the opening minutes and proceeds to take us on a brand new journey with these familiar and engaging characters. It is a testimony to its universal themes and great storytelling that regardless of your age or how many times you’ve seen Toy Story and Toy Story 2, you will have tears welling up in your eyes as Andy drives away. It is sad, but it couldn’t be any more perfect.

4. True Grit

The Coen Brothers are such accomplished filmmakers that, though they’d never dabbled in the genre before, they could hit a western off a horse’s ass from 50 yards, and with True Grit, they did just that.  It is, at its most basic level, a story of revenge, as teenage girl Mattie Ross (incredible newcomer Hailee Steinfeld) seeks the help of U.S. Marshal “Rooster” Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) and an awkwardly comedic showboating Texas Ranger known only as LaBoeuf (Matt Damon) to catch the petty criminal (Josh Brolin) who murdered her father. What follows is a coon hunt of epic proportions, as the three scour through a beautifully captured landscape, strikingly filmed by go-to Coens cinematographer Roger Deakins, and bathed in the timeless sounds of composer Carter Burwell.  With the memorable characters, the unique ear for language, and a tone that shifts from comic to brutal in a heartbeat, we’re left with an unmistakable Coen Brothers film in the form of a big, brooding western, crusty with True Grit.

3. The Social Network *

Though based upon recent events, The Social Network has a timeless feel to it.  At its core, it’s a story about how ambition and greed can simultaneously push people to great successes and personal failures.  The film was shaped by an ensemble that meshed together perfectly, smoothing over each others’ rough edges.  Director David Fincher is as proficient a director as they come, but his vision of innovation amidst dark and drunken dorm rooms could have felt too heartless or humorless without Aaron Sorkin’s buoyant script.  Conversely, while Sorkin’s script directly and engagingly imparts the nuts and bolts behind Facebook’s founding, it is Fincher’s eye that lends the cinematography and performances the dark stain of human weakness that imbues the film with its weighty themes.  Anchoring the ensemble are brilliant turns by Jesse Eisenberg and Andrew Garfield, with an especially impressive dual-role from Armie Hammer.  Icing the already dense cinematic cake is Trent Reznor’s haunting ambient score, hovering over the proceedings like stale cigarette smoke lingering in an empty room.  The decision to have him score the film was definitely more than a stylistic choice, given that he’s revolutionized the way that music is produced and consumed as much as Zuckerberg has changed how we interact in this digital age.  With its eternal themes and impeccable craftsmanship, The Social Network will resonate for generations to come, even when the technology at its center has long become obsolete.

2. Black Swan *

For being based on one of the most famous ballets of all time, and treading the well-worn territory of what-is-real/what-is-fantasy/descent-into-madness, Black Swan is a wholly original and one-of-a-kind film.  Director Daren Aronofsky maintains a kinetic tension with claustrophobic sets and hand-held camera that explodes into all-out horror when the freaky shit that had previously occupied the dark corners of the frame is allowed to come front and center into the light.  Even with the startling imagery and Portman’s powerful performance, Black Swan remains restrained where it needs to be.  Its subtle use of limited perspective and jumps in continuity keep us far enough away from it that we can see and be horrified by Portman’s descent, yet be just off-balance enough that we too feel the force of her nightmare.

1. Inception *

One major point about this film that got resounding agreement among the contributors was that it reminded us of the multitude of reasons we go to the movies. It had thrilling spectacle, but the thrill was more than that–Inception pushed the limits of what an audience could accept as plausible or reasonable. It was transporting in the truest sense. Plenty of films have taken place in or dealt with dreams, but this was more of a synthesis of dreaming and reason. Christopher Nolan made us believe that this is what would–must–happen if we could interact with our dreams so readily. It’s a rare film that can combine an elaborate fantasy universe, visceral and exciting action, and a serious and powerful story about regret and loss, wrapped up in a dreadful and rumbling score that is itself part of the overall plot and structure. If nothing else, Nolan should get credit for demonstrating such a complex set of rules with such breathless excitement. This movie clocks in at just under two and a half hours, but it’s hard not to want to watch the entire thing all over again. Nolan again demonstrated that he is a master craftsman, and combined with the seething, dangerous, laser-focus performance that Leonardo DiCaprio always brings to his roles, it’s hard to imagine a future for film that doesn’t bear Inception’s fingerprints.

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Source: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mrbabyman/if-best-picture-movie-posters-told-the-truth-b7t

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Having kids impacts how I experience the world.  Irrational fears invade my consciousness.  My long-held suspicion that I’m always being watching is confirmed when my son mimics my grotesque outdoor spitting habit.  I am exposed to toxic infant fecal matter, a glut of Happy Meal toys, and Dora the Explorer.  My perspective on the act of creation is forever altered when I see the spitting image of myself or my wife in my child’s eyes. 

For our purposes, I’d like to focus on how being a father has altered my film viewing and music listening habits. 

Theater exile

A few months ago, my wife and I got a sitter so we could see Inception in the theater, but aside from that, the theater has become for me a place of kid-friendly fare only.  WALL-E, The Princess and the Frog, Ponyo, and Where the Wild Things Are were the only films I’d seen in the theater during a particular stretch.  But allow me to let you in on a secret: all those movies are really good.  Some of them are amazing.  My kids love them.  I love them.  Win-win. 

Studio loyalty

My kids have informed my media choices, and because of this, I have discovered this profound truth: films from Pixar and Studio Ghibli are some of the best made today.  Hiyao Miyazaki is one of my all-time favorite directors.  Toy Story 3 makes me cry every time.  One doesn’t have to have children to experience these things, but I did.

Melodies and hooks

I love discovering new music.  As I accumulate more music, and as it becomes cheaper and easier to access (I’m looking at you, Amazon mp3), I’ve discovered that there are more directions than ever I could go with my music choices.  I’m a fan of artists described as punk, post-punk, alt, alt-country, rock, post-rock, Americana, folk, neo-folk, metal, blues, soul, pop, jazz, indie, post-indie, etc.  Much of my music listening happens in the car, and much of my car time includes the kids.  Two trends I’ve noticed as a result: a stronger emphasis on melodies, and way more repeat listens. 

I love being able to share the music I love with my kids, and I know that the kids are most likely to latch onto songs with great melodies and catchy hooks.  So over the past few years we’ve fallen in love with She & Him, Fleet Foxes, The Avett Brothers and The Welcome Wagon, while I’ve fallen deeper in love with old favorites like Sufjan Stevens, Wilco and The Decemberists.  While I still love to listen to the more abrasive sounds of mewithoutYou, The Mars Volta or new discovery Buke and Gass, I find myself favoring the music the whole family loves. 

“Again?”

The other trend I’ve noticed is repeat listens to songs.  I’m an album guy at heart.  I love listening to songs in the context of their albums, and will very rarely listen to a song more than once consecutively.  However, my children love to listen to songs over and over.  They love establishing familiarity, memorizing the lyrics, etc.  So my playcounts for songs like She & Him’s “I Was Made for You,” and The Avett Brothers’ “Kick Drum Heart” are astronomical.  From the backseat, they clamor, “Again?  Again?” 

What I’m getting at is that my media community has shifted.  Once, I watched movies and listened to music primarily with my “bros,” who I impressed with my encyclopedic music knowledge, and stretched with the newest, edgiest jams I could discover.  In fatherhood, I’ve discovered the futility of the vicious cycle of the cool pursuit, and learned to simply enjoy what is good.  I continue to stretch myself and be stretched by the great artists out there, but I’m far less concerned with impressing people by being the first responder.  Besides, my kids are already impressed that I can floss my teeth, drive a car, and burp on command. 

And let’s play that song again.  If it’s truly good, it’ll only get better.

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Black Swan

Directed by Darren Aronofsky

Starring Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis, Vincent Cassell

Rated R for strong sexual content, disturbing violent images, language and some drug use

There has never been a predictable Darren Aronofsky film.  Who would have guessed that the director of 1998’s tiny, cheap math thriller Pi would follow with a devastating portrait of addiction in 2000’s Requiem for a Dream, follow that with 2006’s The Fountain, a beautiful, time-traveling sci-fi film about love, follow that with The Wrestler a small and gritty film about a washed-up professional wrestler, only to follow with this year’s Black Swan, a tense and terrifying film about ballet?  The absolute control he has, no matter the genre or subject matter, should surprise no one at this point.

Natalie Portman is astonishing as Nina, a young dancer in a New York City ballet company vying for the lead in Swan Lake.  Her life is consumed by dance, and little of what she does is in her control.  Her mother’s (Barbara Hershey) smothering and manipulation are as blatantly abusive and painful to watch as any physical abuse could be.  Once she gets the role, Nina becomes obsessed with the role, leading to paranoia and delusion fueled in large part by the arrival of a new, flashier dancer, Lily (Mila Kunis).  Their rivalry becomes a strange friendship and pushes Nina to abandon her girlish innocence and naivety and to release a much darker side of herself.

Opening with a striking and haunting prologue that seems both a non sequitur and portentous, Aronofsky immediately prepares us to be unprepared.  Not much is usual in Black Swan.  Many of the shots (as filmed by long-time Aronofsky cinematographer, the brilliant Matthew Libatique) are reflections or use reflections to the point that it is often difficult to surmise whether the shot is the actual action or a reflection or both.  Early on, it becomes clear that the film isn’t concerned with the obvious questions we all were asking, as far as what’s real, what’s delusion, who’s real, etc. and is much more focused on why a person would go to a place so dark that reality is skewed.  Even there, it doesn’t give any easy answers.

It would have been perfectly understandable to try to elicit pity for Portman’s battered Nina, but as she is subjected to condescension and demeaning, she demonstrates some pluck that is self-preserving at first and self-centered and destructive nearer to the end.  Nina’s slow burn to the dark side is magnified by the film’s own growth from backstage drama to full-on psychological horror film.  When Nina’s paranoia runs wild, the film becomes twisted and terrifying, to great effect.  Under Portman’s powerful command, the final act, especially the dizzying dance sequences, takes on a visceral power that is shocking and tense.  So tense, in fact, that when the final credits rolled, I felt physically tired. I realized that for the last 20 minutes I had been pushing against the floor, pressing into the seat back, thrilled and in awe of what I had just witnessed.

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It’s that time of year: the chilling wind, the harvest moons, the crunch of leaves and the faint scent of death in the air.  Halloween is just around the corner, which means it’s time to take off the masks we normally wear and put on ones slightly less grotesque, and its definitely time to watch movies that frighten us.  Then we can attribute our unease and sense of impending doom to that stupid slasher flick we just watched, and not to the fact that our lives are crumbling around us and people are committing atrocities right next door.  Here’s a personal list of films that have crept under my skin and kept me awake at night.  (Note: these films aren’t in alphabetical order, or even chronological, but High Fidelity style, they are in autobiographical order, beginning with the movie I saw, and was forever scarred by, first.

Dumbo (1941)

I was a pretty sensitive kid.  Many things made me cry, either from fright or sadness.  Most I can look back at and chalk it up to my sensitive demeanor at the time, but Dumbo is one that I still find unsettling.  When people think of frightening images from this film, they immediately focus on the Dance of the Pink Elephants scene, where Dumbo and his mouse friend get drunk and hallucinate a bevy of pink elephants.  (Yeah, and this movie was for kids.)  Being an immediate introduction not only to intoxicants but also any sort of surrealism, it is undeniably upsetting for any child.  There are two scenes that always got to me more, though.  First was the scene of Dumbo’s mother being whipped and chained up after protecting her child from taunting circus-goers.  The implied violence, all left off screen, has still left emotional scars.  The second scene is when Dumbo is turned into a clown and forced to perform in their circus show.  Like the pink elephants, it was incredibly unreal and disconcerting, but without the excuse of it all being a dream.  And more personally, it felt to me like sweet, innocent Dumbo had been kidnapped and turned to the dark side.  (I’ve always had an issue with clowns – more on that later.)



The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Wicked witch?  Scary.  Giant, disembodied floating head?  Terrifying.  Flying blue monkeys?  Gyah!  But all of these are easily dismissed as fantastical elements of fiction – they may frighten me at the time, but I know I will never encounter a green-skinned mistress of satan or airborne primates in my daily life.  But the trees that belligerently yell and throw apples at you?  There are trees right out side!  I see them every day!  No one seems to remember that scene later on, but it’s the one that eventually drove me to be the anti-environmental, tree hating son of a bitch I am today.

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971)

Everybody knows the scene, but no matter how many times I see the movie and know that it’s coming, this scene never fails to set me on edge.  Gene Wilder, at his most menacing, recites a sinister rhyme (in sing-song, which is way worse than simply speaking it) as the passengers of his boat are taken through a tunnel filled with disturbing images projected on the walls.   It’s as if someone hid Un Chien Andalou in the midst of a magical, candy filled wonderland.

Misery (1990)

By the end of the opening credits of Misery, the main character, an author, has been in a horrific car accident on a secluded, snow-filled Colorado road.  His struggle for survival would be enough to fill a movie, but he is soon rescued by Annie (in an Oscar-winning, star-making performance by Kathy Bates), who, after nursing him back to health, turns out to be a former nurse, as well as his “number one fan.”  Things take a turn for the worse, though, when he realizes that she could more accurately be described as his “bug-fuck psycho number one fan,” being so controlling as to keep him hostage until he changes the end of his latest novel, which she, to say the least, dislikes.  The most shocking scene is when, as a punishment, she hobbles him, using simply a block of wood and a sledge hammer.  It was at this moment that I, at the tender age of five or six (why the hell did my parents let me watch this movie?) realized that the greatest monsters are always a person who has lost their humanity.

Stephen King’s It (1990)

Watching this movie now, I’m amazed at how tame and cheap it seems, being a made-for-TV miniseries filled with TV stars of the 70s and 80s – Harry Anderson, John Ritter, Tim Reid, the dude that played John Boy on The Waltons (also, as young children, future 90s TV stars Seth Green and Jonathan Brandis – can you hear my wife swoon?).  But beyond the poor production and cheesy effects, what continues to frighten me is the performance of Tim Curry as Pennywise, the Dancing Clown.  Like I said earlier, I have a slight problem with clowns (most notably, a crippling fear).  They’re vaguely human, but a bit off and slightly alien, with their painted faces and fake smiles.  That joy and goofiness always hides a darkness underneath, whether it’s ennui or malaise, as in the “sad clown” cliche, or a simple insatiable appetite for the flesh of little children.

Silence of the Lambs (1991)

Misery taught me that the greatest monsters were humans, but Silence of the Lambs taught me that even more frightening were humans that were incredibly smart, charming and wanted to eat you.

The Shining (1980)

Alien seemed to solve the logical problems with haunted house movies (namely, “Get the fuck out of the house, idiots!”), but one year later, The Shining did a pretty good job solving that problem without resorting to a sci-fi, futuristic gimmick.  The Overlook Hotel revealed its sinister past gradually, and only to a disturbed, telepathic boy, who wasn’t prone to share his visions with his parents, who were caretakers of the hotel during the off season.  When shit did start hitting the fan, it was during a violent snow storm trapping everyone into the Colorado mountain resort, making it impossible to leave.  Like the characters in the house, the frights in this movie creep up on you, like sitting in a pot of water that’s slowly being boiled.  You don’t quite realize how frightened you are until you’re balls deep in the chaos, with crazy axe-wielding fathers chasing their children (Side note: why haven’t more films exploited the fear that young children have of their fathers?) and ghosts having crazy jazz-era soirees  and furry-fetish hook ups down the hall.

On a personal note, I first saw this film at a friends house on Halloween evening when I was 13.  His parents made us turn away during the nudity scene, which is not sexy at all.  Well, maybe a little, but then it pulls the rug completely out from under you.  Apparently, our pre-teen selves would be permanently scarred by a naked lady, but scenes of hacked-up little girls and murderous fathers were perfectly fine.

The Exorcist (1973)

I’m not a very religious man, and when I am, my religion of choice doesn’t hold much to that demon and witchcraft tomfoolery.  But even I was completely shocked when the simple domestic bliss of a mother and daughter is torn apart by an evil demon possessing the young girl, forcing her to say and do awful, shocking things.  Even I, with my jaded, cynical disposition, was fairly offended at her use of a religious artifact as a sex toy.

The Descent (2005)

You know what else is very scary?  The dark.  The only place I’ve ever encountered pure dark was underground.  As a young man I ventured into a sewer as a dare, and later, as a slightly older young man, my family took a vacation to Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, where the tour guides walked away with all of our lanterns.  You literally could not see your hand right in front of your face.  This movie exploits that fear perfectly, with the story of four adventuring women who decide to go spelunking in an unexplored cave and are trapped by a cave-in.  In their search for a way out, they come across some crazy man-bat mutants who want to eat them.  (Apparently, I’m very afraid of being eaten.  Maybe I was a bunny in a past life.  Or a cookie.)  In violation of one of the greatest horror movie cliches, the pretty ladies don’t simply scream and run away, but fight back, and with a vengeance.  It’s definitely one of the best horror movies of the past decade.

The Thing (1982)

John Carpenter’s sci-fi horror masterpiece takes the snowy isolation of The Shining and the grotesque, alien creature horror of Alien and ratchets them all up to 11.  The story of several men at a research outpost in Antarctica who are infiltrated by a shape-shifting creature is a perfect example of build-and-release tension.  It exploits our senses of paranoia, since the alien can look like anybody, as well as our fear of isolation, as there is literally nowhere to go but inside the base.  Like The Shining, every frame of this film is soaked in a sense of unease, but things start going to hell much sooner in this film, and just keep getting worse.  Not to mention the disgusting creature effects, which still manage to look realistic and frightening almost 30 years later.

Zodiac (2007)

This film isn’t really a horror movie, but there are moments that scare me now more than any I can think of, so much that, upon third and fourth viewings, I still have a hard time watching them.  The film ends up being a psychological character study wrapped in a police procedural, but the first hour, where the Zodiac killer is active and making his name known, is incredibly unnerving.  I’ve spoken of the haunting opening scene set to Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man” before, but there is a later one that stick with me even more, namely the Zodiac’s second attack, this time of a couple picnicking by a lake.  The scene happens in pure daylight, and though it is very violent, contains little to no blood or gore, but the all-too-real screams of anguish are enough to do me in.  It’s the simple matter-of-factness about the event, the way that it is staged, lit, and acted as realistically as if it were a conversation at a coffee shop, that completely freaks me out.

Well, there you have it: all the movies that ever really scared me, and some that still do.  What are some of your favorites that I should add to my “watch-on-Halloween” list?

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