HopkinsCinemAddicts

Ten Under 15

    I have a bit of a thing for people's top ten lists.  Favorite films (though I rarely read all the way through lists that include Avatar, The Boondock Saints, The Departed and other "meh" movies posing as triumphs), favorite travel destinations, sushi rolls, lipsticks--anything, really.  There's something appealing about the brevity and finality of such a limited list when "favorite" status is at stake.  But unlike most list-makers, I will endeavor to defend my top three choices, and perhaps the explanation will give a sense of how I chose the group and why each of these kids deserves multiple viewings.  So here is my ten-best list of children's performances in film (the eponymous Ethan of "Laughing Baby Ethan" was excluded solely because that's more of a documentary short):

I.  Quvenzhané Wallis – Hushpuppy, Beasts of the Southern Wild - age 6, first role

II.  Tatum O’Neal – Addie Loggins, Paper Moon – age 9, first role

III.  Jean-Pierre Léaud – Antoine Doinel, The 400 Blows (Les 400 coups) – age 14, first role

IV.  Henry Thomas – Elliott, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial – age 10, third role

V.  Drew Barrymore – Gertie, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial – age 6, fourth role

VI.  Mary Badham – Scout, To Kill a Mockingbird – age 9, first role

VII.  Natalie Portman – Marty, Beautiful Girls – age 14, fourth role

VIII.  Shirley Temple – Marthy Jane, Little Miss Marker – age 4, twenty-fourth role

IX.  Hugh O’Conor – young Christy Brown, My Left Foot – age 14, fifth role

X.  Elle Fanning – Ruth Cole, The Door in the Floor – age 4, sixth role

I.   In this astounding film—the first for “Venzhané,” Dwight Henry (as her father Wink) and director Benh Zeitlin—the powerhouse performance by the absurdly cute Louisiana Kindergartener is a revelation.  While New Orleans pastry chef Dwight Henry’s debut performance is beautiful and heartrending, this is Hushpuppy’s tale and the preternaturally talented Quvenzhané never misses an opportunity to carry the film.  Hushpuppy is tough, but her lineless face is the hardened front that hides a child's curiosity, an artistic spirit and a fascination with animals.  Yet Hushpuppy rises to the tasks of bolstering her father’s declining health, weathering a devastating hurricane and flood, escaping the mandatory evacuation rescue center, staring down mythic beasts, sharing a hard-won, nostalgic last meal with her father and becoming an orphan in only a few days.  All the while, Quvenzhané rises to the even greater task of realizing Hushpuppy, the heroine of the decade.  (Extra points to her for how many times she’s had to spell her name for interviewers since the film’s release.)

II.   If Hushpuppy is tough, Addie Loggins is pure steel, ranking Tatum O’Neal a very close second to Quvenzhané.  Tatum’s groundbreaking Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress is one of the most deserved Oscars ever awarded (not that that’s saying much--and she definitely should have been considered lead actress), for in her first role ever she stars across from her real-life atrocious father Ryan O’Neal, playing somewhat atrocious father figure “Moses Pray” to her powerhouse orphaned heroine.  Her disapproving frown is so penetrating it makes you want to hide under a rock til the end of time, yet her constant squint makes it seem like she’s always on the verge of smiling, softening her flinty affect just a bit.  Though she learns the literal tricks of the trade from lost-boy conman Moses, Addie soon comes to beat him at his own game; her conning acumen and inexorable resolve to collect debts distinguish her as the savviest, least childlike kid in cinema.  She is an absolute wonder.  Too bad her parents didn’t appreciate her.

III.   I had a hard time ranking Jean-Pierre third here, because his first role is one of the most harrowing in all cinema and his face of abandonment is enough to break your heart, but perhaps the 14-year-old wouldn't mind taking bronze after a couple of elementary school girls (I think J-P would be un gentilhomme about it).  A misguided, mistreated boy with only one friend in all of Paris--René (played by the incredible one-film wonder Patrick Auffay, who should probably be on this list), Antoine's well-dressed, businesslike partner in cutting their punitive school and going to the movies.  Since Antoine Doinel is a vaguely autobiographical character for director/film devotee François Truffaut, the shot of the two boys gazing in wonder at the cinémathèque screen speaks volumes about Truffaut's childhood relationship with movie houses; but the image also reveals what a talent Jean-Pierre really is.  The utter fascination on his face, his obvious enthrallment with the film prove what a joy it is for Antoine to escape his own disheartening life for a few hours.  Berated on all sides, he has no respite from psychological torture, abusive hands or shrieked insults--all the world seems to raise one voice to tell him he's a failure.  So in the tragic, jarring final scene, when he runs away from his destructive "correctional" boarding school and makes it to the shore, in that last zoom towards his face as he recognizes that nothing has changed, that he still has absolutely nowhere to go, we see both Antoine's hopeless desperation and Jean-Pierre's outrageous thespian skill.  No wonder they put that shot on the poster.

Points from a Screening

    John Huston's 1948 epic of avarice Treasure of the Sierra Madre felt like the fastest 2 hours and 6 minutes I've spent before a screen.  The film blew by in a sandstorm from one hopeless desert vista to the next, leaving me with only cursory first impressions and a total sense of wonder.  The film may have inspired too much awe for me to comprehend it after only one viewing, so for now here's what remained when the sand settled:

I.    Humphrey Bogart's Fred C. Dobbs follows a sordid trajectory unlike that of most morally compromised Bogart characters.  Dobbs is so far from heroic he barely passes for antihero before the gold quest, and once he starts mining he begins to tread a villainous path hitherto unknown to Bogey:  He goes insane and suffers an unavenged murder alone in the desert.  It is thrilling to see what Humphrey can do when he swaps his tux for filthy rags.  This is Bogart at his cruelest and most evil, his wildest and most deranged, and it is outstanding.  When he finally reveals his most hidden talent, that maniacal chuckle, it's hard to understand why this man was not simply typecast as a crazed villain--his mad cackle is the absolute archetype of evil laughs.

II.    The endlessly wise, affable Howard, played by the director's father Walter Huston, is a hugely successful instance of cinematic nepotism.  Whether the flashes of paternal nature in the old prospector stem from his thespian talents or the director's own experience, Howard emerges as the only truly grounded figure in the film, surviving the unfortunate Dobbs through vast knowledge of the terrain and man's psyche and a rare capacity for altruism.

III.    The shootout between the Americans on the train and the bandits by the tracks immediately recalls a similar general arrangement in Alfred Hitchcock's The Lady Vanishes, released ten years earlier.  Though here the heroic marksman wears a sharp necktie instead of a soiled neckerchief, Michael Redgrave's Gilbert bears a striking resemblance to Dobbs in the wild-eyed delight he takes in picking off his enemies.  The train is no stranger to cinema, but here the traincar plays the unusual role of battlefield trench in both films, separating besieged passengers from very hostile environments while still immobilizing them on the tracks in an exceedingly easy target.

 IV.    Another influential desert saga, Mel Brooks's Blazing Saddles from 1974 pays homage to Treasure during the recruitment of Mexican bandits for the enemy's forces.  "Badges?  We don't need no stinking badges!" the first bandit exclaims as Hedley Lamarr (Harvey Korman) offers him an initiation pin, similar to El Jefe's (Manuel Donde) angry retort to Dobbs before their magnificent mountainside shootout. The villains in this desert are scarcely more comical than those galloping over the Sierra Madre, whose grotesque cartoonish faces grow even more perverse in sweaty, toothy low-angle close-ups; but the senseless acts of the cackling desert assassins who lay Dobbs and his treasure to waste elicit a different kind of laughter, less riotous guffaw than defeated, baffled chuckle.

    What a film!

American Gangster and the Tragic Antihero

    2007 was a great year--a mere two months after we adopted Roy, our handsome French Bulldog, American Gangster was released.  My favorite among Ridley Scott's directorial triumphs, beating out Alien, Blade Runner and Gladiator for the title, this film is an absolute masterpiece.  As you may have surmised from my post on Luther last fall, I have a raging crush on Idris Elba.  You may then wonder how I could be so enamored of a movie in which his character is unceremoniously shot in the head and left splayed out and bleeding on a Harlem sidewalk.  The answer is that it's all right, because Denzel Washington is the shooter.  Oh, Denzel.  

    Denzel’s Frank Lucas is a king in a court of thieves, a businessman dependent on junkies, gangsters and peacocks.  An innovative drug dealer, Frank trumps his competitors with “a product that’s better than the competition at a price that’s lower than the competition.”  He manages such a feat through familial connection—his cousin in the Army—that allows him to traffic heroin from an eerie Vietnamese plantation reminiscent of Colonel Kurtz’s territory to JFK Airport on military planes, in the coffins of fallen soldiers. When Frank’s trademark “Blue Magic” finally infiltrates Harlem (in tins of powdered baby formula, a harrowing image), brand loyalty and mass overdosing ensue.

    Cornering the heroin market despite countless deaths by the superpotent drug, Frank rises from gangster's driver to American Gangster after his beloved boss dies and he finally puts his own entrepreneurial spirit to work.  But Frank is slated to become something more than his employer Bumpy Johnson ever could, because Bumpy “never owned his own company.  White man owned it, so they owned him,” he explains to his brothers/new business partners on an edifying stroll through Harlem (during which he lays Idris out right in front of the entire neighborhood).  As a black man in the heroin trade, Frank is a true pioneer, forcing notoriously racist Mafiosos to bow to him to make a profit, baffling bigoted Feds who cannot even countenance Richie’s idea of Frank as a drug superpower.

    The only reason the meticulous, endlessly responsible Frank even pops up on Richie's radar is because Frank is too easily threatened by Richie’s investigation of the deadly Blue Magic.  Through Richie’s mafia-mired close friend Joey Sadano (played to perfection by Ritchie Coster), Frank offers the nosy detective a massive ski chalet in Aspen because he is fully accustomed to bribing crooked DEA agents.  Unfortunately for Frank and his empire, Richie is the most honest, most curious cop in the tri-state area, so Joey’s desperate warning to “leave Frank Lucas alone” only piques Richie’s interest in the name.  It doesn’t help that Frank’s well-meaning wife gives him a garish mink coat with matching hat, which he wears quite uncomfortably to a highly publicized prizefight.  It is precisely this kind of attention-grabbing gangster attire that Frank avoids, even slaps his brother around for wearing, because his only ambition greater than success is anonymity.  But out of obligation to his wife, he keeps the whole outfit on as he takes the best seats in the house and rouses the watchful Richie’s attention.  Had he just followed his own rules, he might have run Harlem forever; but as happens so often in this film, Frank’s perilous devotion to family puts his business in danger.  (It is impossible not to empathize with him on this point, though—Ruby Dee as Mama Lucas is hands down the most adorable yet commanding mother ever realized on the screen.)

    While Frank does suffer at the hands of justice, his downfall is only semi-permanent because he takes his tormentors with him.  Identifying every crooked, blackmailing, bribe-snatching cop led by the iniquitous Detective Trupo (a supremely hateful, mustachioed Josh Brolin) who shot his dog, Frank catalyzes the prosecution of an outrageous 75% of New York DEA. Consequently, his 70-year prison sentence is brought down to a mere 15, after which only a few gray hairs and a dated suit suggest Frank has missed a beat. Despite the fact that he is a drug dealer, despite the proliferation of graphic overdose scenes, despite our first introduction to Frank, when he lights a man on fire before shooting him to death, we root for Frank.  We have no choice--he is too inspiring, too self-made, his motivations are too noble and his success too unlikely, his will too strong and his enemies too deplorable for us to wish him anything but greatness.  My heart leaps out of my chest when he steps out of prison and reveals to Richie that he could recapture the Harlem drug trade in a moment, and I’m not entirely ashamed to say I wish he would.

Kathryn's Characters

    His name is James Cameron, the bravest pioneer!
    No budget too steep, no sea too deep
    Who's that?  It's him!  James Cameron!

    James Cameron, explorer of the sea!
    With a dying thirst to be the first
    Could it be?  Yeah that's him!  James Cameron!

    So goes the director's very apt theme song in "Raising the Bar," this week's episode of South Park.  None will marvel at just how brief Cameron's two-year marriage to fellow director Kathryn Bigelow was, considering his credits include films of Titanic (ha!) proportions while hers are markedly smaller and quieter, with nary a Fern Gully appropriation in the bunch (I'm talkin' to you, Avatar).  It's possible their joint effort on Point Break kept them together those 27 months.  Perhaps the film's tagline, "100% pure adrenaline," secretly applied to the fatally thrilling volatility of Camelow.  Perhaps not.

    Neither Kathryn nor James is by any means a great director, but her work is infinitely more interesting than his in terms of character portrayal and development.  Two of her films in particular (both very post-marriage) warrant multiple screenings for their troubled antiheroes: Sarah Polley as Maren Hontvedt in 2000's jumbled but sometimes satisfying The Weight of Water and Jeremy Renner as Sergeant First Class William James in The Hurt Locker (2008), the film that earned the Academy Award for Best Picture and made Bigelow the first female Best Director.

    Sarah first.  Hers was the only character I cared about in The Weight of Water, but I cared about her enough to make up for all the others.  The film's temporally bifurcated storyline leaves much to be desired from the modern-day characters--Sean Penn as a humorless, self-obsessed writer, Elizabeth Hurley his attempted accomplice to adultery, Catherine McCormack his inexplicably insecure photojournalist wife and Josh Lucas her admiring brother-in-law. Through little fault of the actors' own, these troubled couples make the modern-day storyline a mere distraction from the gripping plot of 1873. Sarah Polley's turn as an incestuous murderer very nearly leads one to forget her character Maren is an incestuous murderer.  Her simultaneously stoic and passionate performance elicits such empathy that I found myself trying to explain away even her most twisted moments.

    Maren truly never had a chance at any semblance of happiness.  Her incestuous relationship with her brother, which began in their very early adolescence, screwed her up permanently, and her cruel older sister made everything worse by telling their father:  He swiftly paired Maren up with an unremarkable stranger and sent them from Germany to an uninhabited island off the northeast coast of America. Her eventual axe murder of her older sister and mindless sister-in-law is equal parts desperation and retribution.  And her damning accusation that her arthritic former boarder committed both murders and tried to kill her, too... well, she kind of lost me there. But he did attack her sister-in-law at one point, so at least she did not martyr an entirely pure man?  The two murders are somehow not tragic because they are the sole instance of her agency and self-interest, two traits her family, era and circumstances never before allowed her to express.  In addition, her victims are practically one-dimensional compared to her; it is as if she is offing simpler, less sentient beings than herself.

    In terms of direction, the film is amorphous and the modern characters ill-explained; but what Kathryn Bigelow's direction lacks in clarity, Sarah Polley's performance makes up for in potency.  It is a bonus that Polley's face is just fascinating--calmly beautiful, but always hinting so subtly at the soul-crushing emotional repression Maren must practice in her achingly lonely, stunted life.

    Now for Jeremy (oh Jeremy, would that you weren't so small!  Unfortunately this six-foot-tall CinemAddict can't sustain a full crush on a man of your 5'7"-ish frame.  So we both lose).  S.W.A.T., 28 Weeks Later, The Town--what movie hasn't he improved exponentially? Renner's talents are on full display in The Hurt Locker. James is the leader of an Explosive Ordnance Disposal team during the Iraq War, and he faces each bomb defusing with such lighthearted professionalism that one cannot imagine him ever straying from the job he seems born to do.  And indeed, he cannot stray: Hopelessly dependent on the thrill of facing death and saving lives, Sergeant James barely exists outside Baghdad. His brief foray into civilian life shows how ill-equipped he is for a simple trip to the grocery store, how stifled he is by the monotony of clearing out rain gutters, how impossible it is for him to sustain human relationships outside barracks in the desert. Renner's portrayal fortifies the tragic character with a sense of purpose and of pride, making James a frightful weapon--mechanical at times, and completely self-destructive--rather than a victim of war.  In short (pun intended), Renner is perfect.

    While The Hurt Locker was widely praised as a cinematic triumph, it was more character study than story.  This is because Kathryn Bigelow is not a great director.  But clearly she possesses the vital ability to engage her actors and make them as great as they can possibly be, so maybe she is great by association.  Having your three stars stand cheering and beaming behind you as you accept your Oscar has to mean something.

Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle Fundamental Physical Comedy Pitted Against the Agile Acrobatic Buster Keaton in The Bell Boy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    At the tail end of the 19^th century, Joseph “Buster” Keaton tumbled into a life of stunt work at the tender age of three joining his parents as the third member of their Vaudeville act, The Three Keatons. After being tossed around stage as his father’s prop, Buster quickly learned how to take a pratfall, as well as developing other skills of stunt etiquette. At the age of twenty-one, Buster left the family business in order to transition to the meteoric silver screen.  Buster was immediately apprenticed to silent comedy veteran Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle as a fellow funnyman with vaudevillian beginnings. Arbuckle had been in the film industry for ten years prior to meeting Buster and was at this point, the lead actor, head writer, and director of short films for Paramount Pictures[1]. 

    The Bell Boy (1918) was one of the first couple of silent shorts where Buster and Arbuckle worked exclusively side by side. Although Buster sees more screen time in this film than usual, he still plays second fiddle to Arbuckle. Buster and Arbuckle both two inept bell boys with various responsibilities ranging from the mundane, carrying luggage and mopping the floor, to the utterly ridiculous, artfully barbering and managing a horse drawn elevator gone awry. Essential to silent comedies of the time, there is also a romantic interest (played by Alice Lake) that both Buster and Arbuckle initially fight over, but then work together using an elaborate scheme to woo for Arbuckle. In this case, Buster and the hotel clerk, Al St. John stage a bank robbery so Arbuckle can heroically intervene and in doing so, sweep the girl off her feet. Of course, at the time of the feigned robbery a gang of brutish criminals actually hold up the bank.

    This silent film, like Arbuckle’s other shorts, exemplifies his distinct comedic presence while showcasing the skill of his counterpart Buster. The heart of Arbuckle’s gags was in his robust, clumsy nature and the bizarre agility of his pratfalls. He believed in using simple and often predictable visual cues rather than complex ones for the sake of what he believed was the dim-witted moviegoer[2].  The first couple stunts consist of Arbuckle and Buster taking a fall after an unfortunate placement of luggage later followed by a similar tumble over a bucket of soapy water (a gag that resonates throughout the film). When a strange bearded patron checks into the hotel, Arbuckle offers him his barber services.  In this sequence Arbuckle armed with comically large scissors and a straight razor transform this mystery guest into a dead ringer for Civil War General Ulysses S. Grant, then with a few snips he becomes Abraham Lincoln, and with a close shave finally Keiser Wilhelm (each caricature followed by a title slide leaving no doubt which painfully obvious historical depiction is which.) Meanwhile Buster and St. John are tumbling all over the heavily soaped floors.  The most impressive stunt which takes places in the elevator, is one of the only opportunities Buster is able to show off his acrobatic prowess other than a brief moment of jumping over the bank walls to elude the criminals. The emphasis is still placed on Arbuckle as he repeatedly tries to push Buster back into the elevator car with a 2x4 before his head is crushed between the two floors. When the car falls back to the ground floor, the love interest is propelled into the air after stepping on the unfortunately placed board. Buster jumps onto Arbuckle’s shoulders and crawls up the wall to retrieve the girl from the moose head perch. Arbuckle catches the girl and then leaves Buster to fend for himself. Using the 2 x 4 as a springboard, Buster defies gravity and manages several masterful feats eventually crashing and knocking over St. John who has tried to saw the board in attempt to save him. After the arduous rescue from the moosehead, Arbuckle and his love interest Miss Cuticle who is the hotel’s manicurist skip the hotel’s work day to take a romantic carriage ride. At this point, the movie might have ended since Arbuckle is cozy in the carriage and gets a kiss from Miss Cuticle.

    In order to further secure his love interest affections, Arbuckle devises a plan to which he can emerge as a hero by foiling a robbery.  The plot takes a departure to the absurd as Arbuckle enlists the aid of Buster, his bellboy counterpart, and hotel clerk, St. John. Director Arbuckle demonstrates his comedic sensibility in this next scene.  Buster in league with St. John are behind the hotel counter preparing for their scheme by throwing pick axes, shovels and all manner of tools from a seemingly endless arsenal.  Once outfitted, our two bungling burglars head to the bank where they encounter the real criminals. Delayed by the encounter, Buster and St. John fly around the bank like gymnasts.  Of course, you might wonder how they will finally reconnect with Arbuckle who seems to be doing quite well on the dance floor with Miss Cuticle. Arbuckle ventures into the bank we assume to check on the progress of his wayward friends. And after another scuffle, and two ceramic pots to the face, Arbuckle sends the buglers out of the bank by ripping a door off its hinges and throwing it at the lot of them. After an elaborate chase scene, they are apprehended in the hotel lobby and Arbuckle is rewarded with glory, a cash reward, and the affection of the girl he was attempting to impress.

    This film is very important to Buster's history as this one of the first films where Arbuckle lets Buster assume a major role. Arbuckle excels by using his stature in simple rough and tumble gags with little to no deviation (except for a brief bizarre nod to pop culture icons in the barber shop scene).  Seemingly limited by straight-man role, Buster still wows with the aerobatic feats and stupendous stunts all the while carrying a slightly melancholy expression that hints at something more. Although Arbuckle and Buster have distinct comedic styles (taking note that Buster's is still developing and Arbuckle had the last say as writer and director of the film) they seamlessly complement each other by providing the audience with separate but necessary visual elements. While Arbuckle has found his niche in silent comedy, Buster will go to create more complex and profoundly athletic stunts while further developing his signature stone face expression and soulful eyes that continues to captivate audiences, commanding their attention to hang on every hint of a smile, frown, or sigh.

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Bibliography:

[1] Keaton, Buster, and Charles Samuels. "Ch. 1." My Wonderful World of Slapstick. New York, NY: Da Capo, 1982. Print.

[2] Telotte, J. P., Arbuckle Escapes: The Pattern of Fatty Arbuckle's Comedy , Journal of Popular Film and Television, 15:4 (1988:Winter) p.172-179

Photo Credit:

Dr. Macro

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It's alive! Jenn...

Production Journal #3

     This is part 2 if my previous blog where I posted about my actor Oscar and his audition for my next film project. Recently, I met with a potential actress or (non-actress) named Jenn who auditioned for the role of Oscar's girlfriend Olivia. Like Oscar, Jenn has never had any acting experience and I quickly reassured her that she should not worry about it. Similarly to Oscar's audition, I asked Jenn to go through the one scene of dialogue I had written and to read straight through it. Once she was able to get a feel of the scene and of her character, I asked her to put down the script and just talk with me in character. I wanted her to respond in any way she thought her character would and the result was something that I didn't at all expect.

Jennifer Saaty - Still from her audition footage

    When I originally wrote the script, the first dialogue scene between the couple was supposed to reflect their stressed relationship. My idea was that their interaction introduced the viewer to an already strained relationship. In the scene, Olivia (the main characters girlfriend) wakes up the hung over Oscar who has slept through work and is on the verge of being fired. The exchange between the two reflects how frustrated and jaded Olivia has become with Oscar and how she's at the end of her rope with him. My original idea was for the dialogue to be an angry back and forth between the two of them as she tries to convince him to get up and get back on track. The way I had it written, Olivia was so angry towards Oscar that I began to wonder why they have ever been together in the first place? It just wasn't believable, the dialogue had no human voice. What I really wanted to get across was that the two characters, though going through a rough patch, where sill in love with each other and were still hoping for things to get better. I wanted to express this through the films visuals and the physical gestures of the actors, but my dialogue wasn't expressing this and that needed to change. 

Sweet Jenn - Stills from Jenn's audition footage

    The second Jenn put herself into the role, everything changed. Her take on the character was sweet and tender hearted while still discontent with her boyfriend. She was able to humanize her character as well as Oscar's, just by being herself. I find this approach to the character and her situation much more powerful then I had originally written it because the contrast between the characters sweetness and the bitterness of the failing relationship I think makes a bigger and more realistic statement. 

    This wednesday, I'm going to bring both my actors together so that I can see how they interact with one another. If all goes well, I can make my final decisions on casting and move on to finally shooting the film. I'm also still working on the title. As soon as I figure it out I will let you know!

Diana

It's alive! Oscar...

Production Journal #2

    It's all happening! This weekend I met with my actor Oscar and we went over the script for my latest film project. We started off the audition with a direct read of the script. When I wrote the dialogue for the film, I decided that I wanted what the characters were saying to be totally natural and organic. I approached the script as a guideline; a skeleton the actors could use to build upon and play with. As Oscar read off of the script, it seemed forced and almost stiff. It was hard for him to get into the character. That's when I decided to do away with the script and just talk.I asked Oscar to put down his lines and just converse with me in character. This is when we made the most progress. 

 

Still from Oscar's Audition Reel - Oscar Gonzalo Aspillaga

     The character he's playing, who's also named Oscar, is a deeply complex and torn person. His life is slowly falling apart because of his inability to control his drinking. It's affecting his work and most importantly the relationship between him and his girlfriend Olivia who's becoming increasingly frustrated and is at her wits end. At the same time, his alcoholic dead-beat father is trying to get back into his life. Eventually, Oscar's denial of his drinking problem begins to dissolve as he becomes more and more like the father who he's spent his whole life rejecting. During the more improvisational part of the audition, Oscar was able to really open up to his character and try to understand him. It was great to see him take the character and make it his own in such a short period of time. Oscar has breathed life into this role and has brought the film into existence. Without actors the characters don't exist; they lay stillborn on the page. Now, thanks to Oscar, it's alive!

Oscar's audition footage - Check it our for yourselves!

    This friday I will be meeting with my friend Jennifer who's auditioning for the part of Olivia in the film. I will be recording the audition so that I can edit it and put it together as well. Expect it to be posted sometime over the weekend! 

Until next time,

Diana

Willie Dynamite Saved My Life (Christen)

    In light of the death of another one of my favorite screen legends, Rudy Ray Moore a.k.a. Dolemite, I decided to write about the direction of black cinema. And by direction, I mean a complete U-turn. The revolutionary era of Blaxploitation may have ended with insistence from groups like the NAACP because of the portrayal of blatant stereotypes, but the genre went beyond stories that glorified pimps and hoodlums. The protagonists also consisted of vengeance seeking heroes and heroines that wanted to rid the city of the bad guys in the most visually stunning way possible. Actors such as Richard Roundtree (Shaft), Pam Grier (Coffy) and Jim Kelly (Black Belt Jones) were the only black action stars audiences had over 30 years ago, and their films are just as cool to watch today in the privacy of one's own home.

   Take, for instance, Larry Cohen's classic Black Caesar (1973). Copious racial slurs aside, the theme of the black gangster film wasn't different from those that starred James Cagney and Edward G. Robinson: gangsters, and the crooked cops that do business with them, are bad news and should be brought to justice...or at least shot. Tommy Gibbs, played by Fred Williamson, is "Black Caesar" and rises to the top of the crime underworld by killing a lot of corrupt white men and taking what belongs to them. He is a brutish husband to his wife Helen, played by the beautiful Gloria Hendry, and lies to his childhood friend Joe (Philip Roye) about giving the money he acquires back to the black community. Because Tommy got beat up by a bad cop at the beginning of the movie because of a misunderstanding, you want to feel sorry for him; however, this movie is a lesson on where being hellbent on gaining power and revenge will get you: nowhere but down with a bullet lodged somewhere in your mid-section. It should end fatally for our protagonist, but Cohen would have it that Gibbs survives being shot and beaten by a gang of youths to return that same year for a sequel, Hell Up In Harlem (1973). Ah, the magic (and efficiency) of blaxploitation! What also sets this film apart from The Public Enemy, however, was its impressive soundtrack composed and performed by the late, great James Brown. Funk and soul music was a staple of blaxploitation films that blacks could associate with, because the songs had important messages beyond the films they were contained in. Including Curtis Mayfield and Isaac Hayes, funk and soul musicians composed soundtracks for their generation, not just the fiction on the big screen. 

    There is a bevy of other black films that were made in the '70s and weren't credited as blaxploitation flicks, were meaningful in black cinema history. Black actresses were getting nominated for Best Leading Actress Academy Awards for the first time since Dorothy Dandridge in 1954; Diana Ross and Cicely Tyson in 1972 for Lady Sings the Blues and Sounder, respectively, and Diahann Carroll in 1974 for Claudine. Richard Pryor was gaining notoriety as a raunchy stand-up comedian who wasn't afraid to talk about race relations at length, and has many films to his credit he wrote and/or appeared in that helped him achieve cult status. The same Gloria Hendry that was in Black Caesar landed the role as the first black Bond girl to lock lips with the agent in the film Live and Let Die (1973); granted, the film was heavily influenced by the blaxploitation surge, but it showed that James Bond didn't discriminate when it came to romancing women. The 70's were such a vibrant, crucial time for black cinema. Black people were writers, directors, actors and producers of work that created meaning for an entire generation; a meaning that can still be understood and appreciated today.

    After the '70s, however, there was a seeming loss of interest in the black movie industry that was never restimulated. In the 1980s there was an influx of movies about breakdancing, and at the very end of the decade Spike Lee was able to squeeze in his landmark social commentary Do the Right Thing (1989). Where did all those black film pioneers go?! There is a movie produced in the late '80s that I appreciated by actor/director/writer Robert Townsend called Hollywood Shuffle (1987). Townsend plays Bobby Taylor, a young black actor who dreams of making a name for himself in Hollywood, despite the naysayers at his job and in his own family. However, during the audition process for terribly written a movie, he realizes he may have to sacrifice his integrity to work for a white Hollywood that wants him to act like Eddie Murphy, as opposed to just act. Hollywood Shuffle takes a no holds barred look at how stereotypes are still present for black actors in cinema, despite the suggestion that the end of blaxploitation era improved the image of blacks on the big and small screens. I respect that Townsend made this movie practically out of his own pocket, and it woke me up enough to write this piece and ask: where do we go from here?

 

     It's been 21 years since Hollywood Shuffle and black actors are winning Academy Awards and Golden Globes in bigger numbers than ever before; they're also being critically acclaimed for their performances as drug addicts and dealers ("The Wire"). Also, most of the roles available to black actors are in bio-pics about popular musicians and athletes overcoming racism and/or poverty; I feel like I'm watching the same movie over and over again. Another problem is that Hollywood is slow to become color blind in casting blacks in leads for modern day romantic-comedies as if interracial relationships in this country exist in small numbers. And what happened to the intelligent, butt-kicking black action heroes I can only see in "Soul Cinema" DVD collections? As a future filmmaker/actor, I'm hoping I can have a hand in changing this, even if only a little bit. Spike Lee can't do this by himself.

                                                                                                                                               

Paul Newman is an Aquarius? That makes sense. (Christen)

I have a horrible memory, but there are some things that stick out in my mind like a thorn on a rosebush. The first time I saw a Paul Leonard Newman film was on his 79th birthday when Turner Classic Movies ran a marathon in his honor. I turned it on near the end of Somebody Up There Likes Me, Newman’s first starring role in a major film. In it, Newman plays Rocky Graziano who goes through a troubled life and ends up being a successful boxer. Having missed the beginning, I was first hesitant to keep watching; however, I’m a sucker for a beautiful face. By the end of the day I spent with Paul Newman, it became less about his looks and more about how entrancing it was to watch him work; to watch him talk to someone onscreen, or even sit in silence was mesmerizing. Something about Paul Newman made me want to see more and more of him.

That same day, I was on a computer and trying to find out everything I could about Paul Newman. By the end of the day, thanks to imdb.com, I knew: his birthday (January 26, 1925, making him an Aquarius—I’ve been big on astrology since middle school), where he grew up (Shaker Heights, Ohio), where he studied drama (Kenyon College, Yale University and the Actor’s Studio in New York) and that he is the godfather of Jake Gyllenhaal (how, I don’t know). After several months and a few more praiseworthy Paul Newman films, I was applying to Kenyon University in a vain attempt to follow in his thespian footsteps. Getting accepted was a great honor, but Gambier, Ohio (where Kenyon is located) was a little too…quiet for me.

Because I didn’t know Newman personally, I can’t say all the qualities he possessed for certain. Nevertheless, I could see a lot of other Aquarian characteristics Goodman spoke of in the parts Newman played. Newman plays Eddie Felson in The Hustler (1961), and he takes on one of his most tragic roles. What makes him so interesting is the fact that Eddie possesses one positive Aquarian trait (devotion to his goal of beating “Minnesota Fats”), but he has negative traits (stubbornness and conceit) working against him. His tenacity keeps him from developing a lasting relationship with Sarah Packard (played by Piper Laurie), even though they seem like they could have saved each other. “Physical fulfillment leaves Aquarius emotionally empty and still wistful, failing to sense the Oneness with the mate—the final truth of love”.

In Hud (1963) Newman plays the title character as genuinely as possible. Aside from his performance, Patricia Neal and Melvyn Douglas unquestionably earn their Academy Awards for their supporting roles. It’s one of those movies that was filmed in black and white when it didn’t have to be, but it makes so much sense that it was. This is my roundabout way of saying, if you haven’t seen this movie, see it; if you can, see it on as large a screen as possible so when the camera pans the Texas landscape, you get the effect cinematographer James Wong Howe wanted it to have. Anyway, back to my Newman-Aquarian theory. Aquarians are said to be rebels, and Hud Bannon is a rebel in every sense of the word: he sleeps with married women, tries to take the family ranch from under his aging father’s nose, and gets into a fist fight nearly every time he goes into town. If you look at Newman throughout the film, you see him making every move impulsively; he says and does whatever he wants, regardless of the consequences. Goodman says, “If more conservative people are offended by the Uranus (the ruling planet of Aquarius) behavior, the Aquarian individualist laughs off their disapproval.”

Skipping a decade, I saw The Sting (1973) and couldn’t wait for every time Newman would come onscreen. Newman plays experienced con artist Henry Gondorff, and he possesses several key Aquarian traits, including far-sighted and intelligent.  He was a supporting actor to Robert Redford’s lead, but the most memorable scene in the film for me is Gondorff’s poker playing scene with the bad guy, Doyle Lonnegan (played by Robert Shaw). Gondorff has the authority that Newman’s characters usually have, or at least pretend they have, which is something no one else can pull off. I’m scared to give too much more of the movie away for those that haven’t seen it, but if you watch it closely, you can see that Newman put a lot of work into this role even though his screen time is minimal. “Aquarius knows that the rigid rules of today’s society must sooner or later be compromised.”

Paul Newman inspired me to find a part of myself in the roles I play. Another Aquarian trait that I know I can attribute to Newman is brilliance; that is something I’ve seen in every part he’s explored on film.

Remembering Paul Newman (Chris M)

Soon I will submit my usual post, but first I wanted to at least briefly mention the recent passing of Paul Newman.  There are so many ways you can remember him, both on and off the screen.  You can remember him for all the changes he brought to the world; in total, his donations to a number of charities have exceeded two hundred million dollars.  His “Hole in the Wall Gang” camps have brought happiness to thousands and thousands of seriously ill children.  You can remember him for his numerous memorable roles on screen.  I love to talk about how characters can touch us deeply.  Newman, always an actor before a movie star, had an incredible way of making the viewer attach to his characters.  Hud (“Hud,” Ritt, 1963) was one such character (one of my favorites).  Hud is a young, rough and tough, hot tempered cowboy that drives a pink Cadillac.  He’s the kind of character you hate to love.  To me, Hud stands out as one of the most lovable, conflicting characters in cinema.  Hud was just one of many of Paul Newman’s unforgettable roles.  We will all have our own ways of remembering him.  I will remember how he used his smile, his perfectly delivered lines, and his true ability to act, to make his characters connect to his viewers.

Street Symphonies (and Period Piece Cacophonies): Keitel and DiCaprio as Scorsese's Leading Men (Christen)

Regardless of the few projects he probably should have left alone, Scorsese has made a lasting impression in the gangster genre with two films made over thirty years apart. After I finished The Departed (2006) and watched Mean Streets (1973) for the third time, I resolved that Scorsese’s gangster films were gospel to my eyes. Both films are marked by impressive casts, which are led by Leonardo DiCaprio and Harvey Keitel, respectively, as well as the reverence Scorsese shows to his early film influences. Scorsese’s first feature length film, Who’s That Knocking At My Door (1968), also stars Harvey Keitel and it screams inspiration from French cinema; however, there are definitely the starting patterns of Scorsese’s interest in religion as a thematic concern and the infamous use of his personal record collection. The movie is about a young man in New York City, J.R. (played by Harvey Keitel), and his relationship to a girl with no name (played by Zina Bethune). Their relationship is innocent enough until she confides in him that she was raped before they started dating. For the rest of the film we see J.R. stumble through this conflict between his love for the Girl and his resentment toward her, which produces few memorable moments other than the eyebrow raising final scene. For me, the best scene in the film is after she tells him what happened to her; this particular scene brings out a lot of genuine hurt in Harvey Keitel that you wouldn’t expect from such a young actor. Considering he had to play against a pretty stale Zina Bethune, I have to applaud Keitel for being able to work with anything. In acting classes, I’ve learned that if you listen to the other person in a scene, your dialogue will be golden; you can see Keitel hearing what she’s said and then taking it in, slow to understand at first and then faster, his confused fury gaining momentum. In the end, this screenplay doesn’t give him much; I think Mean Streets is infinitely better.

 Mean Streets starts with a black frame and a voice (Martin Scorsese’s) saying: “You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home. The rest is bullshit and you know it.” Charlie (Keitel) then wakes up in a sweat, as if he just suffered a bad dream; but we’ve seen only darkness, and we only hear the words that pull Charlie out of this darkness and guide his actions for the rest of the film. Charlie wants to do his own penance as opposed to saying the ‘Hail Marys’ and ‘Our Fathers’ that the priests give to sinners looking for guidance. He tries to look out for his loud-mouthed, juvenile friend Johnny Boy (played by Robert DeNiro) and maintain a secret relationship with Johnny’s cousin, Teresa, all while trying to pull off some upward mobility by collecting owed money for his uncle. Harvey Keitel does a lot as Charlie that is worth watching again and again; in fact, the entire cast works ridiculously well together, which makes it an instant classic. Scorsese is speaking more in this film than in Who’s That Knocking At My Door, as we see him playing with his notorious tracking shot, red lighting and his affection for New York City in so many shots.

Thirty-three years later, The Departed boasts an almost entirely male cast list that still blows my mind and Scorsese makes a move up north to Boston as his featured locale. If you’ve never heard of it, it’s Scorsese’s most recent gangster film and it is downright wonderful. Before I watched it, I had some qualms about Leonardo DiCaprio playing a lead role and that’s because Leo in Scorsese’s hands equals me falling asleep. I may be the only person in the world that thought Gangs of New York (2002) and The Aviator (2004) were kind of on the mundane side (again the Academy Awards and I totally disagree), but I don’t think Scorsese was being reasonable when he invested in the belief that DiCaprio could help well-rounded actors like Daniel Day-Lewis and Cate Blanchett carry a film. A young Harvey Keitel probably would have knocked DiCaprio’s Howard Hughes out of the park, but the world will never know. Suffice it to say, I think Scorsese finally cast DiCaprio appropriately as Billy Costigan in The Departed, which got Scorsese the long awaited Best Director Academy Award.

Then, just as I was patting Scorsese on the back for a job well done, he went and made a choice I may never forgive him for: he cast Leonardo DiCaprio as Theodore Roosevelt in an upcoming biopic. I nodded off just thinking about it! Leo, Marty and period films do not mix; I’m especially concerned with period films about mortal legends like Teddy. Coincidentally, I learned a good deal about Theodore Roosevelt this summer from a good friend; I learned that Teddy Roosevelt was probably the most awe-inspiring president to exist…ever. I won’t go into details here, but he truly led a remarkable life and I’m not sure if DiCaprio can handle it. In order for Leonardo to earn this role, in my eyes, he would have to take a crash course in Teddy-ism. He needs to create and join a cavalry regiment to the same extent as the Rough Riders, as well as wrestle a bear. If Leo can survive, then he may have what it takes to tell the tale of a truly remarkable man. In other words, Harvey Keitel is probably up for playing the part.