FilmVomit

Pixar continues to put out adorable, morally upright, exquisitely animated films. I have nothing bad to say about the piece. Even the movie in-jokes were hilarious, though I was frequently the only person in the theater laughing at them- a position to which I am quite accustomed at this point. I especially appreciated the end credits, with their condensed history of art.

WALL-E

Santosh Sivan has made an almost note-perfect entry into the ever-growing compendium of third cinema inspections into the source, and subversion, of imperialist power in colonial states. The various power dynamics here- between British and Indian, between man and woman, between boss and employee, between man and wife, man and son- tell a tale of delicate balance, and of balance lost.
The primary power dynamic is between Henry Moores and T.K.; the English plantation owner and his Indian right hand man, a Western-educated man who has been occupied, as it were, by British ideals. The interactions between Moores and his wife; between Moores and Sajani, his housekeeper and illicit lover; between Moores and his wife; between Moores and the people of the village, and so forth, all serve to illustrate the same themes to different or lesser degrees.
The themes are, of course, familiar, but only because they must be. There is nothing else for them to be- the occupied colonies are, at a very basic level, all the same. And it is the variation on the themes that is interesting- in this case, an inspection of the damage wreaked by even the most benevolent power. Even a man viewed as gentle, and harmless, is rendered monstrous by his position of power.
And then, of course, there is the film as a visual thing. Sivan as a cinematographer is superb. While at times he is playful to the detriment of the work, generally the film is sumptuous and elegant- quite simply, utterly beautiful.

Before the Rains

I don’t want to analyze this one too hard, because I enjoyed it so much. I think I was in the mood for cute. There is a lot owed here to other directors and other films, of course- Wes Anderson springs to mind, as does The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys- and the aesthetic is a familiar one, though not yet entirely worn-out. As a whole the film rests on spindly legs, the threads that tie the segments together are very thin. There is more fluff than substance, but it is rare that music video directors make it in feature-length without feeling a bit vignette-y.
The majority of the charm comes from the relationship between the two boys- Lee Carter and Will Proudfoot- as the rest of the characters are fairly broad caricatures. The moments of childish innocence, Will’s quirky habits most especially, are delightful; and the depiction of kids’-world creativity is dead on. There is something to be said for letting the sheer joy of making something, anything, overwhelm you. If only they had managed to let that joy show through elsewhere, or had gotten someone other than their own characters to write THEIR plot, the boys of Hammer & Tongs would’ve been a bit more on top of the game.

Son of Rambow

I was so irritated that we left an hour in. I don’t do that, generally. I’ve only walked out of two other films- The Ring 2 and War of the Worlds- and War of the Worlds was only because the projection was so bad it was making me nauseous. Anyhow. Liv Tyler is being her usual dull self, the suspense is almost entirely music-based, the ‘scares’ are all loud noises and nothing else. I don’t know when I’ve been so bored in a ‘scary’ movie. And I’m usually the one watching through my fingers.

Yawn.

The Strangers

Wong Kar Wai is much more interesting when he is working in Hong Kong. Also, I hate conversations that sound normal but are occurring on the other side of a pane of glass. With that much effort to be visually interesting, shouldn’t the sound be interesting as well? The visual gimmicks are overdone in a way that makes me think he is hiding something… in fact, he is hiding something. He is hiding his discomfort with the English language, hiding that he cannot seem to guide his actors properly, hiding a story that is generally either unbelievable or rather drab. But the blueberry pie is awfully pretty.

My Blueberry Nights

I expected bad. I went in expecting the thing to be utter shit. I went in expecting the thing to make me shout at the screen, even. But I didn’t expect THIS bad. I kept wanting someone, maybe Indy himself, to look at the camera and say ‘I cannot believe you are watching this shit’. Unfortunately, instead, all I got was a bunch of poorly CGI’ed monkeys, some anthropomorphized prairie dogs, Shia the beef dressed up as Marlon Brando without the talent, swagger, or soul; and a reasonably good nap. John Hurt was, as always, emminently watchable; and Karen Allen has aged well. Harrison Ford, however, was airbrushed so much that every shot of his face is overexposed and his presence makes the lighting inconsistent from shot to countershot. And Cate Blanchett is the least believable Soviet ever, which is dismaying considering how lovely she is and my fetish for all things Russky.

I just don’t know what to think. It’s hardly even worth getting mad about, it’s so awful.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Steaming Bullshit

Be trained into docility, by yourself or by others. Your brain so accustomed to nothingness, to blankness, to mediocrity and blandness. You will never have the proper shock to bring you into humanity. You do not need to live your life because you have reached the point where all of your living is done. You are, in fact, American. You will not be questioned, not when you do nothing for your paycheck and not when you spend your evenings alone and not when you seem to utterly lack a soul. You Belong. You do not need to do aught for your belonging.
I do not understand what it is, not to Belong. Not really. But I will not idle simply because I can. I will not take my belonging as a given. I cannot take my belonging as a given. Belonging is not enough, and I am not convinced that it will not go away.

The Visitor