The Key to Reserva, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Commercials

I am not sure if I'm required to write 500 words for a film that runs only nine minutes. A two hour film gets about 600 words, which averages out to about five words per minute or 45 words for The Key to Reserva.

It seems that this short was an advertisement for Freixenet Wines, and it may be the only film I review that you can watch in its entirety online. Before going any further, you should consider watching the film as it will prevent the disappointment of spoilers.
I'm not quite sure if I should feel upset or amazed by this film. It's not uncommon for big name directors to do commercial work, and prove that they are able to create amazing pieces of art (Terrry Gilliam has a brilliant Nike soccer commercial).

Let me explain why I'm amazed. The film brilliantly captures the aesthetic style of a number of Alfred Hitchcock's greatest films. Though I watched the film only once before writing this post, I'm certain I saw refernces to Vertigo, Rear Window, The Birds, and Notorious.

But it's not just the references that makes this so enjoyable. Scorsese is extremely funny, and funny in a way that I don't think would be accessable to the general viewing public. But perhaps Freixenet only wants to cultivate the most intellectual of wine drinkers.

However, I feel an overwhelming sense of disappointment because I realize the film is just a commercial for Spanish sparkling wine, and perhaps this means art can be just a byproduct of a commercial investment. I have no idea why this depresses me so much.

Of course, I might not find this practice so depressing if commercials were only directed by talented people who wanted to make an interesting short film instead of try and push product based on what market research tells them will compel people to buy it.

I haven't mentioned that this film features Simon Baker and Michael Stuhlbarg, and only Simon Baker is listed on the commercial's web page. The only reason I bring this up, is that Stuhlbarg goes on to work with Scorsese on both Boardwalk Empire and Hugo.

On a side note, I tried to keep every paragraph to 45 words as a challenge for this short film. Though I'm well under 600 words, I do believe I've worked nine times harder than I have for any blog post I've written to date.

This Entry Should Be Read Loud!

In the previous two entries I had emphasized the desire in Scorsese's films to create their own realities, and I thought that what I would very cleverly do was use a documentary to discuss the ways Scorsese captures reality. Even having seen The Last Waltz twice in the past month, I failed to remember how "unreal" it is, and thus I'm going to spend yet another entry discussing how Scorsese creates reality in place of capturing it.

I fucking love The Last Waltz. I never want to write that again in a blog post, but there is something about the music in this film that makes me want to ignore my pretenses and just make bold and unrestrained comments. If you'll permit me one more, Van Morrison is the greatest human being ever.

Okay, now that's out of my system I want to say that this documentary goes out of its way to try and prove to you that this was a real event and the camera is only capturing the last performance of The Band. During interviews with the various members of The Band, Scorsese is featured prominently and they even discuss restarting scenes to make sure they get the right take. Even the short tracking shot with both Rich Danko and Scorsese walking through the studio feels like it wasn't intended to be part of the film, but was simply them setting up the next shot. The desire to be transparent is just too transparent.

So how does the The Last Waltz create its own reality? First, this concert features Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Eric Clapton, The Staple Singers, Dr. John, Emmy Lou Harris, Ringo Starr, Ron Wood, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Muddy Waters, and yet it's about The Band. You might see a line up like this at a festival with each performer on stage for his/her own set with The Band as the featured guest. No concert like this could ever exist in this format. That's a fact.

Then there are the moments when the film cuts from the concerts and interviews to "live" performances on a sound stage. The Staple Singers perform, "The Weight," and Emmy Lou Harris performs "Evangeline." It's during the performance with Emmy Lou that again the camera work reveals just how much of a movie this is by showing the crew and the stage all working during the performance. What's even more bizarre is that there is absolutely no audience in attendance to watch either of these performances. Oh, and Robbie Robertson is clearly playing a fictional instrument during the performance of "The Theme of the Last Waltz."

I think the inclusion of the sound stage performances is part of what undoes the "reality" of this documentary. This and the fact that the film begins with the encore, all make us uncertain as to what it is we're watching and how we can orient ourselves in this film. This should be fairly easy as it's a live concert, but then again it isn't. Maybe it's like Robbie Robertson says in the film, this isn't a concert it's a celebration of sixteen years of touring and performing by The Band.

What I really want is for someone to write about having watched the concert to get a sense of what really happened because the film, though brilliant, is in no way an accurate portrayal of the concert. Again, this isn't a critique nor is my desire to have just a straight concert film, but I find it brilliant and at times frustrating to see someone use live events to create a completely different reality.

For the next film, I'm thinking I might watch the Age of Innocence as I have absolutely no desire to watch it, and think it's time to come down from my Last Waltz high. Oh, and though I didn't get a chance to comment on it, no one has done more cocaine than the cast of this film. Just ask Neil Young.

Martin Scorsese Day Two

In order to prepare for the Scorsese marathon, I took a quick look at the films he's directed and decided to start with films I had not seen. I also felt it was prudent to look at the IMDB top 250 to see what films made it to the list. It's not surprising that an overwhelming number of the films that appear on the list were released after the invention of IMDB, and the rest of the list reads like a introduction to cinema class. This is no less true for Scorsese as The Departed (55) and Hugo (201) have made it to the list along with Goodfellas (15), Taxi Driver (43), Raging Bull (79), and Casino (165). The only reason I bring this list up is because The King of Comedy is definitely deserving of the same recognition as any one of these films.

It's perhaps trite to bring up that this film predicts the American future where people are unnaturally obsessed with celebrity and fame. Because of this, I will refrain from any further discussion about it even though the entire movie centers around one man's obsession with a late night talk show host. In many ways, I think it's unfortunate that this film isn't mentioned in the same breath as films 15, 43, and 79 as it is as good as anyone of them. I think it could be easily the greatest performance of De Niro in a Scorsese film, and I'd be hard pressed to find a film where Jerry Lewis is as impressive.

What's most impressive about this film is the way in which Scorsese is able to create a clear predator in Rupert Pupkin, but one that lacks any of the immediate intimidation of De Niro's more violent and aggressive characters. At times it's heartbreaking to watch Pupkin try to mold the reality in his head onto the world around him, yet it's also terrifying to watch a man so removed from reality ignore the clear markers of what is real. And did I mention that somehow all of this is funny?

And on top of all this, the film is absolutely beautiful and compelling from a cinematographic stand point. There are a number of moments in the film (Pupkin performing for his "studio audience," Sandra Bernhard having dinner with Jerry Lewis) that are striking when the film in no way needs to be visually compelling. Moreover, these moments of aesthetic achievement don't feel out of place because the film wonderfully complicates things by showing the reality of 1980s America with the reality that Rupert Pupkin is trying to create for himself. Without sure footing in either reality, the audience can just accept the film not just as either/or but as both/and. This film is both the world of 1980s America, and the world in which Rupert Pupkin is a star and a celebrity, and the audience does not have to make a choice.

What I loved most about this movie was the simple fact that at no point did I know what I was supposed to feel. It wasn't like the scenes in Raging Bull or Goodfellas when I knew I was supposed to feel horror or disgust. When Robert De Niro has taken Jerry Lewis hostage, I couldn't stop laughing and I couldn't stop feeling the overwhelming sense of anxiety that Rupert would always be a danger to himself.

Twelve Days of Scorsese

Lydia pointed out last week that this year marks the blog's second most prolific output since its inception. In honor of this, I've decided to adapt a philosophy of quantity over quality and try to make 2011 the most prolific year in the blog's history. In order to achieve what I hope will be enough to put us over the mark, I've decided to watch and review the bulk of Martin Scorses's canon starting with Hugo, and then working my way through the highlights as I am able to get a hold of them.

Now, instead of using this post as a freebie and just reporting what I plan to do, this will be the first post of the series.

I should begin by saying I hate 3D movies, and I feel that 3D is a marketing ploy to make unwatchable films interesting. In reality, my hatred stems from the release of Avatar and the style of the 3D glasses. At the time I was wearing Ray-Ban Wayfarers as my normal prescription glasses, and somehow I was well ahead of the fashion curve. Sadly this would not last as the new world of 3D glasses would not be red and blue paper frames, but plastic frames modeled on the frames made famous by Jake and Elwood Blues. As I walked into the theater to see Avatar, some young pup proudly announced that my glasses were just like hers. I have yet to recover.

And as an aside, as someone who has to wear glasses regularly, the thought of wearing another pair of glasses over my glasses to watch a film is just awful.

All of this aside, Hugo is an absolutely brilliant film and a better argument for the transition from 2D to 3D than any film before it. As egregious a director as James Cameron can be, Avatar was a fine film and a great argument for 3D film making. However, the success of Hugo as a film stems from contextualizing the argument for 3D by showing the history of film making as one that constantly benefits from advances in technology.

In a flashback, Georges Méliès (Ben Kingsley) is on the set of a film choreographing a fight between four men and four skeletons. In order to show the defeat of the skeletons, Méliès stops the camera from rolling any further, has the actors pause and hold their position to allow for them to disappear from the frame. Now only a few moments before, there is a scene where Méliès watches the Lumiere Brothers' film of the train pulling into the station, and we begin to understand that technology in the right hands makes "dreams come true." The step from filming reality to creating it through technological means is the same thing that is happening now with the transition from 2D to 3D. We could continue to make films in one way, but if there is potential to use the medium to create then we should embrace it.

Side note: It should be said that in many ways the argument could also be made that with absolutely no digital support, Georges Méliès made more stylistically innovative and brilliant films than most of the people working in movies today. If I had seen the 2D version of this film, I might have had a different impression of the film.

With my pride firmly past my larynx and on the way to my stomach, I do want to point out that the film makes a few bizarre choices. Primarily, the film is set in Paris a city which appears to be wholly devoid of French speaking people. Sadly, the film for all of its innovation falls back on the cliched American device of casting British people to represent any group of foreigners (think Dr. Zhivago, etc.). At times it was extremely grating, even when the acting was amazing. As the French say, "That's Life."

summer movie double dactyls

Because I think everyone should be writing more double dactyls (aka higgledy piggledies), I'm sharing mine, left over from the summer. (It's harder to write silly poetry about the kind of movies I've seen lately.)


Captain America:
Higgledy-piggledy
Captain America
took on some nazis with
photoshop pecs.
After some cryo this
octogenarian
looks a lot better than
you might expect.


Xmen:
Higgledy-piggledy,
MacAvoy, Fassbender,
mind control, cameo,
decolletage.
Cameo, submarine,
psychoanalysis,
Fassbender, MacAvoy,
training montage.


That's the best I can do. Someone else's turn now.


(Note: with this post, 2011 is tied with 2008 as our second-postingest year! Total posts, not posts-per-month, which would be a ridiculous way to compare.)

About that

From an email from Lydia, dated 6/1/10:

“maybe it was about the essential sameness of Sullivan's Travels and hipster fashion? About playing at poverty? I can't remember. I think there were four things you put together into one thought, in two pairs. But I cannot remember what they were.”

Yeah, about that. First of all, I don't remember either. Second, apparently, we’ve all been talking about poverty chic for years, and it's gone way past hipster. Now it's hobo weddings and super-cool looking homeless guys. Arrested Development had us pegged with this one.

Last summer, Quirk Books released a new title, Home Economics: Vintage Advice and Practical Science for the 21st Century Household. It is an anthology designed to repurpose the traditional wisdom of a variety of women’s magazines and Home Ec guides for the modern woman, most especially women who, in a recession, see clearly the value of thrift. In her review of the book, Victoria Dutchman-Smith attacked the text as part of what she sees as a trend in modern media: “In the social context of the 21st century household, this book is not about saving money; it is all about thrift chic, how to be a good little recessionista, a middle-class poverty tourist who, to misquote Jarvis Cocker, doesn’t just think but knows that poor is cool.” 

Burn.

I'm interested in all of this, especially with regard to movies. As is already obvious I go to Design*Sponge for my  information on how people are buying their way into looking like a movie. Don’t get me wrong. I love these movies, I love looking at them, and I love Design Sponge. That's precisely why it sits so ill with me that a site I usually like tells me to look better by imitating something really unsettling.

A year and a half after the above email, we're irked by the aesthetic of Breaking Bad. They’re too folksie, in a super cultivated way. If we’re the Target class, why don’t we want to look that way? Why don’t we want our movies to look that way? And why at the expense of others? Make no mistake, it's frequently about this kind of expense. I submit the following for consideration: 

Living in The Fantastic Mr. Fox (The cost of furniture featured in the post alone--carved out of a tree by thrifty foxes!--is $15,672.00) 

Living in East of Eden (featuring a Vintage Factory Cart, $795; and an antiqued bread board: 5. Bread Board, $55)  

Living in Oh Brother, Where Art Thou (featuring Vintage 1940s Overalls, $125; and amazing commentary "The film oozes Southern charm of the Dust Bowl variety — suspenders and rocking chairs; front porches and mint juleps; escaped convicts and well-pomaded hair. Bluegrass sets the whole story on its feet, and wow, I was born in the wrong time.")   

Living in Cider House Rules (amazing commentary: "Not many movies portray a New England fall better than The Cider House Rules. Set in Maine among apple orchards, rambling old buildings, seaside towns and lobster docks, it’s obvious why we crave the 1999 adaptation of John Irving’s novel when fall rolls around. Toby Maguire plays an orphan trained as a doctor who struggles with the morality of providing health services to pregnant mothers who arrive at the orphanage. Moral dilemmas aside, we’d jump for joy to be adopted into the scene.") 

Living in Driving Miss Daisy (probably enough said, but check out this: "Driving Miss Daisy, where have you been all my life? Crotchety, sophisticated old ladies, sprawling southern mansions, classic cars, Morgan Freeman in suspenders, mahjong circles, driving gloves, the piggly wiggly. Seriously, a girl could base her life off stuff like this.") 

Living in The Last of the Mohicans (enough said without items or commentary)

 A lot of commentators say these trends are harmless, but when I look at the colonial Africa-themed wedding, I don't believe that. This post, by the way, is a lot more serious than I intended it to be, but I started googling and just got...distressed. That said, I love Sullivan's Travels. I just really love it. It says a lot of what's been said, but less directly and more effectively. You'd do better to watch it than to read this.

Spoiler Alert

I generally think spoiler alerts are funny. I don't really know why. I also at times find anarchy enthusiasts funny. This stems from many things, most particularly my tendency INTENSELY IDENTIFY WITH ANARCHY ENTHUSIASTS.

So generally, I think this post by the local anarchist collective to be the singularly most humorous thing I've seen in days. Nothing ruins a good Die Hard movie night like a stiff dose of politics and an eager desire warn the public about any unexpected fun they might not have.