E... Q... U... A... R... A...

Day 54

The day was April 30, 1986. By Seth's count, it had been nearly two months. By this point, he had stopped using the car altogether. Somehow the bike felt safer. The same mist which had hung in the air for most of spring now hung in the air today. Everything was brisk and damp, and in spite of all that had happened, Seth felt exhilarated as it passed through his lungs. He now approached the supermarket and casually rested his bike against the brick wall when he slowed to a stop. The automatic door still worked, and as he stepped inside, he drew his bow. The sound of cans clattering in the back of the store distracted him, but as he turned, he soon saw that it was only a raccoon. He wandered the empty aisles, searching for food to bring back to the others. Most of the stuff had gone bad by this point, so it was hard to find something that hadn't yet spoiled. Josh and Minerva were getting tired of instant oatmeal. Before leaving, he checked the traps. One of them was bloodied, but empty. The trap was still intact however-- it seems a stray dog had wandered into it and had gnawed off its own leg to escape.

When he arrived back at the house, Josh was playing basketball in the driveway.
-"Josh, what are you doing out here?"
-"Come on, we haven't seen one of them in three weeks!"
-"It hasn't been that long."
-"How do you know they're not all dead?"
-"You know it's not safe to go over there."
-"How do you know?"
-"Because the guys in the helicopters haven't left yet."
-"And how log are we going to wait until they do?"
-"I think if we're going to have this conversation, we should have it with Minerva in the room."
-"Are we just going to wait forever? Huh?"
-"Just come inside, Josh."

Seth and Minerva sat silently on the couch underneath the house's harsh fluorescent lighting.
-"Are you crying?" Minerva asked.
-"It's only because of the light."
Josh had gone to bed by this point.
-"If something happens... and we can't all make it out... we're going to do it by age. First me, then you, then Josh."
-"Don't talk like that--"
-"No. We need to establish this--  foundation-- ground rule. If only one of us makes it past the barrier, it should be Josh."

Day 7 - SUNDAY

Seth lay down on the edge of the golf course, training his binoculars carefully on the distant light, and shining his flashlight into the dark.
-"It's not safe to be out here this late," prodded Minerva.
-"They gave us the signal. We're supposed to be here. If it wasn't safe, they wouldn't have called."
-"You don't know, though. They could be-- I mean, anything, they could--"
-"Shh! It's started. Okay, I need you to write this down. Okay, the first one is long-short-long. What does it say in the book?"
-"K."
-"Okay, the next one is short-short."

-"We can't kill them," said Seth, pacing across the living room, "I'm sorry; this ends here."
-"I told you we can't trust these people."
-"From now on, no more messages. We cut off all contact."

Day 6 - SATURDAY

The television set flickered in the dark room, as Josh sat holding his blanket close. Seth walked into the room holding a can of tuna.
-"Josh, what are you watching?"
-"This is important," he said, pointing to the screen, "Look at how that one snuck up on him. You've got to work in pairs. Guard each others' rears. We might need these skills to survive."
-"Look, Josh--"
-"If we're going to get through this, we're going to need a lot more guns."
-"No, Josh. After what happened with Mrs. Garner, no more guns, okay?"
-"Then what are we going to use then?"
-"I don't know-- I was thinking I could start learning how to use a bow and arrow."
-"How is that any different?"
-"Look; I found one just earlier today while I was at... the store."
-"You don't even know how to use it."
-"Yeah, but I have one so when I do know how to use it, I'll have something to use."
-"You can't say that this isn't helpful though," said Josh, gesturing towards the zombies on the TV.
-"That's made up stuff, Josh. This is real. I don't think-- I don't think it's appropriate to watch that sort of stuff anymore."
Seth left the room with a sick look on his face. Josh walked over and closed the door, then nervously glanced out the window at the street below.

Day 5 - FRIDAY

Josh and Minerva sat vigilant on the edge of the golf cart while Seth drove down the main road. It was the mid-afternoon, but it felt like dusk, as if the sun had already vanished beneath the horizon and the three of them were just waiting for night to arrive.
-"It still feels... weird," she said, looking out on the empty streets.
-"We're going to be okay," Seth said, "We've just got to stay calm and follow directions."
Overhead, the sound of a distant helicopter could be heard. It grew louder as it came closer and closer, until the noise was almost deafening; then it veered off to the right, over some nearby woods.
-"Where's it going?" shouted Minerva.
-"To the drop point!" retorted Seth, "Here, hold on."
He jerked the steering wheel right and they slowly puttered toward the grove. They stopped at the end of the street and moved into the trees.
-"Stay close, Josh."
-"Don't baby me."
-"If you don't want us to treat you like the little kid, can you at least keep an eye out for us? It's not safe in these trees."
Ahead, they could see a small clearing.
-"There. That's it. That's the drop point," said Seth.
-"There's nothing there."
-"Well, the helicopter is gone, so he must have dropped the package. Everyone, look around, maybe he missed the clearing and it fell in these trees somewhere."
They searched the grove around the clearing, scattering pine needles and wading through deep kudzu to find the package.
-"Here it is! I've found it!" shouted Minerva.
-"Come on, open it up!"
As Seth and Josh ran towards the sound of their voice, they could begin to see the package: a collection of light gray plastic boxes lying beneath a tangle of black rope.
-"Some help," said Minerva.
-"Look, we've got to have patience. This is probably the best they can do right now. It's a complicated situation and they're doing their best to control it..."
-"Hey, we don't need food or supplies or any of that, all right? What we need right now is escape! I just want to be able to fall asleep in a warm bed knowing that I'm safe, and you know what? I don't think I'm ever going to be able to feel that again, not after what--"
-"We can't dwell on what happened, Minerva. Now open the box."
She jerked open the lid to the box, revealing six large cubes of gray, cloudy gelatin.

Day 4 - THURSDAY

It was early evening, and the three were walking down an asphalt road that twisted through the farmland which surrounded the town.
-"Okay," said Seth, "So we know about the landmines down by the golf course. But who's to say they've planted them all around, all right? Maybe there's a way out over here. There are at least a dozen roads that lead out of town."
-"I just don't think it's a good idea... I mean, back there, they wouldn't let us get within, like, half a mile of them. No matter which way we go-- no matter how far we go, there will be some sort of barricade."
-"Shh, shh... I think I see something up ahead."
They stepped closer into the field and saw a small congregation of lights in the distance.
-"It's a... camp? Of some sort?" Seth whispered.
-"It could be help," Minerva replied.
Seth pulled out his binoculars. He could see shadows moving between the bonfire and the makeshift tent.
-"Whoever these people are; they're not with the people from the helicopter."
-"Then let's go to them."
-"No. Wait... we know these people... I see them holding rakes... and shovels. There's Mr. Collins. Then there's Ryan's dad... they're wearing... war paint."
-"Seth, none of this makes any sense. What's going on? Are Mom and Dad there?"
Suddenly, a deer emerged from the trees close to the camp. Activity in the camp seemed to freeze... then, in a sudden rush, the men and women lunged towards the deer. It bounded away, not towards the trees, but towards the three children. Seth and his sister backed away into the brush, dragging Josh along with them. The adults predicted the deer's movements with predator instinct, and finally surrounded it. They moved in and began jabbing into it with their shovels and pitchforks and hoes, then suddenly they were feasting on it, eating it raw, digging into it with nothing but their teeth and bare hands. Seth shielded the eyes of his younger brother. Minerva looked away.
-"I don't know if Mom and Dad are with them," whispered Seth, panting heavily, "But I really hope they're not."
-"Look... yesterday... they said that there was a disease," said Minerva.
-"I know. So?"
-"Are they the ones who are sick? Or... is it us? Maybe... they're not letting us out because... they think we're infected? I mean, what if we are infected, how would we know?"
-"Don't worry. It's... it's confusing. I... I can't talk about it like I know anything. But they can't keep us trapped here forever."

DAY 3 - WEDNESDAY

As they strolled through the park, they found that everything seemed particularly green and vibrant that day. Colors and smells always seemed heightened after rain.
-"Josh should not be out here," Seth said, "I saw dead bodies yesterday. Dead bodies."
-"We're not going to leave him at home. Someone like Mrs. Garner might show up."
-"Point taken."
They walked on in silence for a brief moment.
-"Look," said Seth, "Whatever is going on, we're-- us-- it's a problem."
-"A problem?"
-"You know what I mean; it... can still kill us."
-"What's the plan, then? Are we going to just... run?"
-"We can't stay in the house anymore. We've got to find out what's going on. I'll go check out the golf course. If anything goes wrong, I'll come running back here."
-"Why can't we stay together?"
-"Because I'm the fastest runner."
-"That makes no sense."
-"If we come across something, I might make it out and you two might not. I don't want that to happen... I... I don't want to live with that."
-"How do you know we'll be any safer than you over here?"
-"Because you'll have the advantage of high ground. See that playground there? Climb up there. You'll be safe. From what I've seen of the victims... I... I don't think these things, whatever they are... I don't think they travel in packs."
Minerva and Josh reluctantly climbed up to the top of the playground.
-"Just one hour!"

An hour later, Seth came back, driving a golf cart.
-"What on earth is that? Where did you get that?"
-"I mean, we can't use the car anymore. Get in. I found something."
Minerva and Josh slid down the fire pole and joined Seth in the golf cart. He began to move it towards the course.
-"So you remember that helicopter from earlier that came flying through?"
-"Yeah, I..."
-"I found out where it landed."
As they moved onto the golf course, Minerva could see the helicopter resting in a sandpit, far way. She could see figures moving, but it was too far away to see who they were or what they were doing. As they drove closer, a noise suddenly filled the air: the loudest noise that any of them had ever heard in their lifetimes; a blaring foghorn screech from some distant siren, but it seemed to come from all directions, as if God himself were shrieking at them.
-"Stop the cart!" screamed Minerva.
-"I can't!" Seth screamed back at her.
They all jumped out of the cart and tumbled down onto the green. The golf cart kept whirring forward, and after continuing about ten or fifteen feet, hit a land mine and exploded. The children stared on in silence.
-"What the fuck was that?" shouted Seth.
-"Well, I guess we're not getting to that helicopter."
From across the field, they could hear a man with a megaphone trying to communicate with them.
-"We can't hear you!" screamed Seth towards the helicopter.
The man with the megaphone stopped talking, and for a moment there was nothing but silence. When the smoke cleared, Seth could see a small blinking light on the other end of the field.
-"What's that?" asked Minerva.
-"It's morse code..." replied Seth.
-"Hold on, there's a book on this, I know it. Let me go home and get it. You keep signaling them."
-"What am I suppose to signal them with?"
-"Just wave your arms up and down. Watch Josh."
-"I'm not going to step on the land mines, idiot," Josh interjected, "I can take care of myself."
-"Look, um... be fast, okay?" said Seth.
Josh looked out towards the helicopter and gazed at the flashing light.
-"E... Q... U...," he began muttering to himself softly, "A... R... A..."

DAY 2 - TUESDAY

That morning, Seth walked to work, like he did every morning. There was something different, but he couldn't put his finger on it. When he stepped inside, he found the store empty. Shelves had been ransacked. The dead bodies of his coworkers lay scattered on the floor of the back room. He was initially shocked, but eventually gathered himself enough to run home. He slammed the door on his way in.
-"Minerva!"
-"What?"
-"Did Mom and Dad ever come home last night?"
-"I mean, their car is in the driveway..."
-"No... I mean, have you seen them?"
-"No...?"
-"Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Make sure Josh is inside the house."
-"Why do I have to take care of Josh?"
-"You're the one that's been home with him all day."
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
-"Don't answer it," whispered Minerva.
Josh walked over to the door and looked through window.
-"It's our neighbor," said Josh, "She may know something."
He opened the door.
-"Hello, Mrs...."
-"Mrs. Garner."
-"Is everything okay?"
-"I was actually just about to ask you the same thing, this morning I woke up and I..."
-"Why don't you come inside?" Josh asked, "Tell us all about it."
Moments later, Mrs. Garner was sitting calmly at the kitchen table sipping coffee.
-"Do you know-- at all-- what happened to our parents?"
-"I haven't seen them at all. It's my husband, you see..."
-"What? What happened?"
Mrs. Garner stood up suddenly.
-"I need to use your phone."
-"Um, are you all right?" Seth asked.
-"No, and I need to use your phone."
-"Yeah, sure... it's right over here..."
Seth led her through the kitchen to the phone that was hanging on the living room wall. He turned around and suddenly noticed that she was smiling oddly, and holding a large kitchen knife.
-"Whoa, where'd you get--"
She lunged for him, and he ducked out of the way, screaming.
-"MINERVA! MINERVA! GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!"
Minerva ran into the room to see Mrs. Garner chasing Seth back and forth around the room, making clumsy stabs at him, which he easily dodged.
-"WHAT THE-- WHAT IS GOING ON?"
She immediately runs out of the room and runs back in, holding a gun.
-"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?" shouted Seth.
-"DAD KEEPS IT IN THE TOP DRAWER IN CASE OF A BURGLARY!"
-"IS THE SAFETY ON?"
Minerva checked to see if the safety was on, but in attempting to do so, wound up firing the gun, and in a lucky shot, killing Mrs. Garner.
The girl seemed shocked. Frozen in place, speechless.
-"I'll go get some paper towels," murmured Seth, rushing back to the kitchen.

DAY 1 - MONDAY

-"I'm bored..." said Seth, "I don't know anyone here."
-"Well, sometimes being bored is good for you," replied his father.
The pool party was hot and crowded, despite it being very early in March.
-"I guess they picked the right day for a pool party," said Mom.
-"Where's your sister?" Dad asked Seth.
-"I don't know. Off somewhere... doing something..."
Seth shrugged and wandered off through the crowd. He had some punch and sat on the couch watching everyone else.
-"Theres, like, no one here our age," commented his sister as she sat down on the couch next to him.
-"Don't you want to go swimming?"
-"Not here."
Josh trudged up and sat on the couch with the two of them.
-"Are you bored, too?" Seth asked him.
Josh nodded and ran his hands through his hair.
-"Something doesn't feel right. Kind of like I've just got to get out of here," mumbled Seth.
-"You brought your own car; why don't you just take us with you?"
-"I'm thinking about it."
In the background, someone collapsed and fell onto the refreshments table. The children stared in his direction.
-"Don't worry; he's fine!" Dad reassured them from the corner.
Pause.
-"Well; I think I've had enough. Anyone want to grab anything before we head out?"
Josh walked over to the table and grabbed one last piece of cake; while Minerva went to the kitchen to wash her hands.
A few minutes later, they were all outside, heading for the car, when suddenly their parents came rushing out.
-"Don't go!" they shouted.
-"Mom? Dad? What's going on?"
-"Come on, kids, seriously... we... we really need you, just, come on, come on one second, it'll be... it'll be fun... it'll be great."
-"Dad, you're like... really drunk... how did you get so-- I mean, you seemed fine just a moment ago."
-"Son, it's okay, I can take the kids home."
-"Why don't you stay here until you feel better and sober up and everything, and uh, I'll just take Josh and Minerva home. It's getting kind of late anyways, I mean, we've been here for, like, I don't know how many hours?"
-"No, son, wait!"
Seth backed out of the driveway while his mother fished into her purse and started throwing lipstick and other makeup at the car. Some of it smeared on the windows.
-"Are you sure they're gonna be okay?" Minerva asked as they drove away.
-"They'll be fine. It is weird, though. I've never seen them like this," Seth replied, with a concerned tone in his voice.
-"Do you feel bad at all?"
-"They're adults. They can work stuff like this out on their own. Besides, it is late."
-"Yeah."

Essential Films: The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007)

When The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford was released on DVD, Mark Kermode of the Guardian wrote that "When the books documenting the history of 21st century film are written, Andrew Dominik's magical feature will surely feature as one of the most wrongly neglected masterpieces of its era."¹ I would have to agree with this statement wholeheartedly. This film is, in my experience, one of the best of the past ten years or so. Although it heavily suffered at the box office and wasn't exactly a huge hit with critics, both audiences and critics are now returning to the film and realizing how much of a masterpiece it really is. As of today, the film has made twice as much money in DVD sales as it did in theaters: which to me, seems to justify Kermode's description of the film as a "neglected masterpiece".

The story is, well, exactly what the title says: the assassination of the famous outlaw Jesse James. But despite taking place in the Old West, I strongly believe that this film is not a Western. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, it focuses so little on action and is so tonally dissimilar from other Westerns that it may very well belong in a different genre together. But while Butch Cassidy just narrowly manages to qualify as a Western, The Assassination of Jesse James is a far more difficult film to classify: in fact, it's more akin to Shakespearean drama than it is to films like Stagecoach or True Grit. This can be attributed to the film's source material: a book of the same title by author Ron Hansen. Hansen intended to write his novel in such a way that was both thoroughly researched, historically accurate, and yet emotionally moving, so that the depth of the story's realism balanced with the profound themes. Director Andrew Dominik manages to translate this to the screen without missing a beat. This way, the film is based on true events, yet relates those events to us using motifs borrowed from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Both are stories of a leader being betrayed and murdered by his followers; in both stories, the leader has an odd prescience of his own death, and much time is devoted to examining the nobility of the assassins' actions. What this results in is a film which centers on two things: firstly, an exploration of a relationship between two complex characters, a relationship riddled with obsession, jealousy, and subtle homoerotic subtext, and secondly, an exploration of fame and how it complicates that relationship. The film has the kinds of grand themes that one might expect in an epic novel: in fact, some critics have criticized it for seeming too bookish: "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford represents a breakthrough in the moviegoing experience. It may be the first time we’ve been asked to watch a book on tape."² But what this critic fails to notice is that this movie is not simply a film adaptation of a book: it is heavily stylized in a way that constantly justifies the medium.

Andrew Dominik and cinematographer Roger Deakins (who you may know from  almost every Coen Brothers film ever) worked together to create a distinct visual look for the film which borrows from old photographs, the paintings of Andrew Wyeth, and Terrence Malick's film Days of Heaven. Deakins himself explains, "Most of those shots were used for transitional moments, and the idea was to create the feeling of an old-time camera. We weren’t trying to be nostalgic, but we wanted those shots to be evocative."³ Shots which establish different chapters in the narrative will be curiously tinted and blurred around the edges, and will focus on the natural scenery that sets the stage for the characters to unravel themselves. Very often throughout the film, Deakins will use time-lapse. This is to draw attention to one very important aspect of the film: time.

Early on in the film, we are told that being in the presence of Jesse James made one feel like time was becoming stretched out. When we finally get to that climactic assassination scene, it seems to go on and on forever, tension building with every moment in expectation of the inevitable. In a way, the entire film is contained within that moment, in the sense that the film's pace on the whole is long and slow, and sometimes seems uneven: the story takes long detours for the sake of keeping a realistic grip on the actual events that it draws from. But the challenging pace of the film never leads you to lose interest in the film, because it isn't just there to enhance the realism of the film, but also to enhance the mountain tension between Jesse James and his young admirer Robert Ford. The seven months from the opening of the film to the assassination are deliberately prolonged for us, so that by contrast, the years after the event fly by like minutes, plunging us into the perspective of Robert Ford, who, the moment he becomes famous, finds that life flies by far too quickly for him to handle. Thus the film's final fifteen minutes seem to cram in just as much information as is contained in the film's first two and a half hours, and that's not an insult to either half of the film: both the main bulk of the film and the epilogue are equally powerful, and we end on the perfect note. Christopher Orr of the Atlantic writes that the film "takes its time and rewards those willing to do the same."⁴

The film begins as Robert Ford joins the James gang. He idolizes Jesse James and is eager to pursue many adventures with him, but it just so happens that he has joined the group during their last robbery. James knows that the government is closing in on him and that these are his final days, and so the fantastic train robbery sequence at the film's beginning is for him, the beginning of the end, and so throughout the film we are watching in his character, the decline and fall of an American legend. But as the film clearly points out, James was no hero-- he was no Southern guerrilla fighter, nor was he a "Robin Hood of the West"-- all his crimes were for his own personal benefit. In the film, Jesse James treats crimefighting as if it were just another job, and keeps it separate from his otherwise peaceful family life. As Robert Ford discovers or fails to discover the difference between the man and the myth that's been built up around him, he begins to develop a bittersweet resentment which slowly leads him to kill his hero, and in today's age of celebrity culture, I think the character evolution of Ford in this film is sadly becoming more and more relevant to our times. But what's so important about the film and its finale is what it says about youth and adulthood. Ford's tragedy is that, in his youth, he allows his impulsive tendencies to manifest in acts of violence, and like James he emerges bloodstained and haunted: this is amplified by the fact that he literally repeats the past over and over again in dramatized reenactments of the killing, where he revels in his own fame, and yet, simultaneously is forced to ponder his past actions until he reaches his breaking point. In contrast to his early, pathetic, slimy persona at the beginning of the film, the Robert Ford that is portrayed at the end of the film is more seasoned, solemn, and reflective. But by the time his desire for fame has worn off, the damage has already been done, and he discovers the dark side of fame as the public's adoration of him soon turns to loathing. Observing this, one critic cleverly points out that perhaps this was part of Jesse's plan all along: 

As his career draws to an end, Jesse James becomes aware of the impossibility of facing an increasingly vast army of sheriffs, federal agents and Pinkerton men. He senses that, inevitably, one of his gang will in any case sell him out for a fat reward. Unwilling to give the lawmen that satisfaction, James embraces his own death and subtly cultivates the mercurial attentions of the most obviously cringing and cowardly of his associates: 20-year-old Robert Ford. With the taunts and whims of a lover, he encourages Ford's envious, murderous fascination, and grooms him as his own killer, so that his own legend will be pristine after his death. He engineers a character-assassination of Ford, and the title, knowingly, gets it precisely the wrong way around.⁵

After watching the film, we know that Ford, despite his pathetic and slimy demeanor, is no coward. And we also no that James is no hero, making the killing more than a murder but far less than an assassination. The title, like the rest of the film, is lengthy, but its length is there to alert you to something, in this case, it's alerting you to the deceptive nature of legends, how, the story that winds up being repeated is often far from the way things really are, and that when we can't tell the difference between legend and reality, between fame and infamy, between mere popularity and true greatness, we are really setting ourselves up for disastrous consequences, and perpetuating a cycle that is destined to repeat itself over and over.

Sources:

¹Kermode, Mark. "When outlaws fatally fall out". Guardian, 29 Mar. 2008, https://www.theguardian.com/film/2008/mar/30/dvdreviews.bradpitt. Accessed 8 Jan. 2017.

²Zacharek, Stephanie. "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". Salon, 21 Sep. 2007, http://www.salon.com/2007/09/21/jesse_james/. Accessed 8 Jan. 2017.

³Pizello, Steven and Jean Oppenheimer. "Roger Deakins, ASC, BSC explores the existential perils of the American West in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford and No Country for Old Men." American Cinematographer, Oct. 2007. http://www.theasc.com/ac_magazine/October2007/QAWithDeakins/page2.php. Accessed 8 Jan. 2017.

⁴Orr, Christopher. "The Movie Review: 'The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford'". Atlantic, 5 Oct. 2007. http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2007/10/the-movie-review-the-assassination-of-jesse-james-by-the-coward-robert-ford/68387/. Accessed 8 Jan. 2017.

⁵Bradshaw, Peter. "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford". Guardian, 29 Nov. 2007. https://www.theguardian.com/film/2007/nov/30/3. Accessed 8 Jan. 2017.

Essential Films: The Artist (2011)

When I first saw the 2011 critical hit The Artist, I was halfway through the 10th grade; this was back when I still thought Facebook was worth the hassle and many of my classmates were into vintage fashion and swing dance lessons. As an artistically inclined self-centered hopelessly romantic teenager in that kind of an environment, The Artist was naturally a perfect fit for me and it instantly became one of my ten favorite films. But over time, it gradually slipped out of my top ten list and now I would be hard pressed to consider it as even one of my twenty favorite films. However, I've since revisited The Artist, and although it seems a tad melodramatic, its diminishing emotional grip on me has more to do with the fact that I've changed as a person; the film itself has essentially remained the same. I say all this, not because my personal experiences hold any weight in assessing the quality of the film, but because I believe that many people have had similar experiences with the movie. Praise for the film seemed unanimous when it initially played in theaters, but now, it seems like those who saw it tend to look back on it as one of those films where the critics gave the film way more credit than it deserved. Even some the critics have slowly turned on the film themselves, claiming that it was perfect Oscar bait for the time because it was "different without being challenging or worrying"¹. Now, I can understand the frustration with the Academy Awards-- it takes time for us, as a culture, to figure out which films deserve to be considered classics, so proclaiming a picture "Best Film of the Year" just months after its release can often produce some fairly ridiculous results. But while I certainly agree that The Artist wasn't the best film of the year, I'm kind of glad that it won Best Picture because the award serves to bring the film the recognition that it deserves. Because despite how simple it may seem, this is a challenging film-- the challenge is not in the story itself, but in the format. Modern audiences must challenge themselves to have the patience to sit through a film which is not only black-and-white but also silent in the sense that it is without audible dialogue, and furthermore, the filmmakers have the challenge of trying to structure the film in such a way that it will help audiences adjust to the different format. So, in a way, this movie was the disadvantaged underdog from the start, and in some ways, it is kind of a miracle that it managed to snag Best Picture. It's a perfect example of creators and audiences meeting each other halfway: it's supposed to be an intersection between high and low culture. The critics should enjoy it because of the inventive ways in which it works with the format, and the common audiences should enjoy it because of the simple and appealing story. Sadly, while the film may have achieved brief success, it seems that over time the audiences have ignored it because of its challenging format, and the critics have ignored it because of its simplistic story. In the same way, I found that I've become far less passionate about it than I once was-- but as I've said, this is not the film's fault. I find  The Artist is less emotionally moving with each viewing, but that's only because I've become familiar with the plot, and knowing what's going to happen removes a lot of the tension that really pulls on you the first time you see it. What has convinced me of this film's classic potential is that with each viewing, I've noticed small details and layers of mastery which have led me to respect the film more. So, in as few words as possible, I would like to try to share with you what I've found in persuading you to watch this movie for the first time, or at least give it a second chance, in hopes that you'll come to see it as the true modern classic that it is.

The first complaint that people seem to have about The Artist has to do with its basic plot: namely, that it's too simple, and that it doesn't have the originality, subtlety, and nuance that a truly great film should. And in a way, they're right-- this is a movie about actors; I mean, it basically lifts its entire premise from Singin' in the Rain: a silent star falls under hard luck when he is forced to cope with the advent of sound. And while I'm just as tired as everyone else is with movies about movies, I think the very clear-cut and generally predictable plot of this movie is justified. The film knows that we're all familiar with the story, and so it has to find unconventional ways of telling that story to keep us interested. The brilliance of the filmmaking techniques justifies the story, in a way, and that's what makes this movie feel so fresh and enjoyable, despite how bland it would be if it were told in any other format. Hence the film becomes kind of like a card tower: if they hadn't done it perfectly, the entire thing would come crashing down. This is because the director not only has to persuade the audience to be interested in the familiar story, but he also has to persuade them to adjust to an unfamiliar format. Michael Hazanavicius leads us into the story with a movie-within-the-movie. The audience is watching a silent film. But as we soon see, the silence is not just contained to the screen, but also to the entire world surrounding it, and he alerts us to this fact by having the music end at just the right moment, so that when the audience breaks out in applause, we receive pure silence precisely where we would expect to hear the most noise, and in a moment we are subconsciously alerted to the kind of experience we're going to be getting from this film. The story is paced so perfectly that it not only persuades you; it flat-out seduces you. There are many more instances where the director plays with this format he's adopted: he uses homages to silent directors like Fritz Lang to establish himself as knowing the rules of the game, and then he goes on to break those rules. In the absence of dialogue, the story is told through the visuals: behind the broad and obvious gestures of the actors, we get subtle visual clues to what's going on through movie posters which mirror the events in the plot, as in one instance where a film poster reads "The Thief of Her Heart" in the middle of a scene where the two romantic leads share a tender moment. But beyond the mere clever gags the film draws your attention to, it also wants you to take notice of those moments within the film that can't be expressed through words: unforgettable moments like the coat scene, or the man's reflection in the tuxedo, or this darkly comic moment of brilliant foreshadowing.

This connects to what I believe is one of the central ideas of the film: that silence allows for a certain kind of expression and communication that is ignored in regular cinema. This answers, I believe, the second complaint that people have with this film. They complain that they believe the film is a silent film as a gimmick; a trick devised to draw attention to the film. But whether a concept is a gimmick or a tool depends on how it's used: and what it all comes down to is whether or not the idea is necessary for the plot. I've felt that some modern films which similarly employ a certain degree of silence do it, not because they need to, but rather, because they can. The Artist, on the other hand, wouldn't work without silence, and I say that not as an insult to the film, but rather, as a compliment to it. Just as the format the story, the story also justifies and necessitates the format: they are inseparably linked, interdependent. But what is it about the content that makes the style so important? Well, why is the film called The Artist to begin with? It's a vague title that could be applied to quite a few other films, and I'm sure there are plenty of other titles that might fit this film better: The Actor, The Star, and so on, and so forth. But the title is important because it leads us to examine acting not as a skill or a feat of endurance, but instead, as a form of artistic expression. The art which the actor produces is not the film, but the performance within the film. Silent films allowed for a very physically expressive type of acting, relying on pantomime rather than speech to communicate. Writing on the film, David Denby of the The New Yorker reflects on the acting of the day: "The stories of silent drama may often have been elemental, yet, within the broad outlines, the artists among the actors could bring out shadings that had no immediate analogue in language... Almost by necessity, silent acting was devoted to dramatizing the unconscious-- hidden lust, the struggles between desire and principle, between one loyalty and another."² This is a talent that George Valentin, the main character of the film, has worked very hard to develop, and it's how he's come to express himself. He is afraid of talking pictures not because he is a purist, but because they will draw attention away from his abilities as a performer. Thus, the film embraces two meanings for silence, which interact paradoxically: through silence, he can speak. But in the world of speech, he realizes he is unable to express himself, trapped in silence. Some have criticized the film for being too clean and glossy in its aesthetic, as many films in the silent era presented a more raw, passionate experience for the audience. However, The Artist seeks not to be a carbon copy of the traditional silent film, nor to revive it: instead it exists to point us back to them. This film was actually what led me to explore the work of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton in the first place. On the surface, The Artist may look like another pretentious film trying to snag awards, but looking at the interviews with the director and the stars, you really start to understand how hard it was to get this idea off the ground, and that when you get down to it, this was a film that was made because of the passion of those who wanted to make it.

Each era in our collective cultural history seems to be accompanied by a different trend in filmmaking. The 50s had the rule-breakers and the French New Wave, and the 70s had its own wave of counter-cultural filmmakers, just as the 90s had a surge of independent films. It may be too soon to say what defines the era of film that we're in now, but I believe that starting somewhere in the mid-to-late 2000s, we slowly began to enter an age of nostalgic cinema. The three best films of 2011 all were reflections on the past, and reflections on the films of the past. Familiar pop culture figures dominate the box office, spawning an endless stream of sequels and prequels. This is not only an artistic trend, but a social and political trend as well. We are scared about the future, and as a result, we are retreating into the past: and if you want proof, let me remind you that we just elected a man whose entire campaign centered around the idea of changing things back to the way they used to be. In fact, acknowledging this troubling "spirit of the times" and how it connects to both movies and politics was probably the best thing about South Park's disastrous Season 20. This is why films like La La Land, which many people believe will win Best Picture this year, concern me. Because it's important to remember the past, but it's all too easy to fall into the trap of getting lost in it. The Artist, along with two other films which also celebrate different eras of film history, serves as a kind of landmark for when we fully entered this era of nostalgia. But nonetheless, I don't think The Artist is entirely nostalgic. It isn't trying to persuade us that the past is necessarily better, instead, it's trying to get us to respect the past. The solution at the film's end is not a call for the return to days gone by, but rather, an encouragement to use what we've gleaned from history to help push us forward into the future... and it's that kind of hope that I wish was more emphasized in similar films. I hope that I've shown that The Artist definitely has a certain degree of intelligence to it; but in the end there's no denying that the film is experienced less in the mind and less in the heart. And even if you don't see it as anything more than a brainless film that just happens to be very charming and enjoyable, at least give it some credit for being a real pleasure to watch.

Sources

¹Thomson, David. "David Thomson on Films: ‘The Artist’ Was Awful—and Other Reasons I’m Not Watching the Oscars". New Republic, https://newrepublic.com/article/100896/84th-academy-award-oscar-artist. Accessed 1 January 2017.

²Denby, David. "The Artist: Notes on a Lost Style of Acting". The New Yorker, 27 Feb. 2012, http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2012/02/27/the-artists. Accessed 1 January 2017.

Essential Films: Apocalypse Now (1979)

To be completely honest, Apocalypse Now is not a film that I'm particularly keen on talking about: not because it's bad or anything; on the contrary, Apocalypse Now is a movie that is so good that no words can fully describe exactly how good it is; it's something that has to be experienced firsthand. In fact, it's so good that I would probably place it among the ten best films I've seen. Granted, I only first saw it a few years ago, so as I was getting ready to discuss this one, I was wondering if perhaps the film's critically acclaimed status influenced my original impression of it. But no. Upon re-watching it, it is every bit as great as I remember it. For those who aren't familiar, this is a film about the Vietnam War-- but it is important not because of what it says about Vietnam, but rather because of what it says about war in general. Over the course of the film's long and troubled production history, director Francis Ford Coppola attempted to place within the film everything that he believed could said about the war-- and as a result, one discovers upon watching it a complex range of ideas presented, even further complicated by the many different interpretations different critics have offered on the film. Here, I want to present some of the various ideas explored in the film, and for the sake of both newcomers and returning fans, to provide a coherent picture of what the film ultimately says about war, evil, and human nature. 

The best starting point for interpreting Apocalypse Now is to consider its inspirations: the film has literary origins in Joseph Conrad's 1899 novel "Heart of Darkness" which follows a steamboat captain as he heads down the Congo into the heart of Africa searching for a manager named Kurtz. Apocalypse Now borrows the basic structure and plot of Conrad's novella, but transports the captain's journey into a river in Vietnam during the war, but instead of seeking to do business with Kurtz, he is instead on a mission by the government to assassinate him. However, film critic German E. Vargas discusses the issue of regarding Apocalypse Now as an adaptation.

If one holds fiction to be an imitation of nature, then likewise one would think that cinematographic adaptations of literary works would be imitations of literature. Apocalypse Now proves that this is not necessarily so. It also proves that there is more to literary adaptation than fidelity, infidelity, and additions. In this film, we see a multiplicity of texts, for instance, as well as musical and historical associations or adaptations, and the ways in which these texts and adaptations can all intermingle and cohere. By mixing rather than translating the images, narrative, and ideas of literary works as with other "texts" such as musical pieces and historical events, Coppola is able to develop a subtext for the film that freely incorporates any association that is relevant to its purpose.¹

What Vargas is saying here is that Apocalypse Now is essentially an amalgamation of different cultural sources. Aside from the novella, the film incorporates anecdotes from Michael Herr's memoir "Dispatches" and stylistic elements from the German film Aguirre, the Wrath of God which also follows a group of men traveling down a river and moving closer and closer to madness. But although it cannot considered an adaptation, "Heart of Darkness" remains crucial to addressing the film's political statements and the way that it deals with its mysterious central figure, Kurtz. Within "Heart of Darkness", Kurtz stood as an emblem of British Imperialism, containing within him all of the goods and the evils of the "white man's burden" model of thinking, and if you're unfamiliar with all of that stuff, then, well, unfortunately, that's a topic for me to explain another day. In Apocalypse Now, though, Kurtz can be seen as a representation of a similar American ideology: that of foreign interventionism. Some have criticized the fact that none of the Vietnamese characters have speaking roles within the film; when in fact, the Vietnamese are portrayed as silent because of the film's psychological nature: here, they are a projection, constructed from the country's collective memories of the war-- suggesting that perhaps the war was a mistake because it was more about us than it was about them.

But as I've said before, the film is not just about the Vietnam war; it's also about war in general, and if you look further into it, the human psyche as well. Francis Ford Coppola's wife even described the film as "a metaphor for the journey into the self."² I know I've used Roger Ebert quotes a lot in the past, but here, I really think that here he really gets to the bottom of the central idea of the entire film. "Apocalypse Now is the best Vietnam film, one of the greatest of all films, because it pushes beyond the others, into the dark places of the soul. It is not about war so much as about how war reveals truths we would be happy never to discover."³ In this film, Kurtz begins as a noble man-- an ideal man, even. But once he is exposed to the horrors of war, his philosophies turn against him. What he realizes is that war may be fought over ideologies, but ultimately wars are decided not by the strength of the ideology, but by the brute force of those involved-- and that to be successful in war, one must abandon moral judgment and embrace the primitive instinct to kill without mercy. Hence, in the thick of the battle, despite the emphasis that we Americans place on principles, ideology becomes irrelevant and the issue becomes one of killing or being killed. This instinct lies buried within all of us; but most of us have not been forced into situations where this instinct must surface. In confronting Kurtz, the film's protagonist Captain Willard confronts that instinct within himself and rejects it. Kurtz is painted out as alluring and desirable-- but there is no deception; instead Kurtz is presented as a brutal and uncomfortable truth of man's innately vicious nature, a nature that we must all try to fight, then.

It's easy to see Apocalypse Now as an anti-war film, but many critics have also interpreted it as a pro-war film. For me, it's a bit of both. War, as described by the film, is evil because it turns men into animals-- and yet, at the same time, it's sometimes a necessary evil. Hence the film withdraws from any particular political stance, instead choosing to simply observe and describe the past as best it can. But beyond the profound themes the film contains, the film's true greatness relies in how it's constructed as an experience for the viewer-- which, referring back to the beginning of the review, is something that can only be understood by watching it. At the film's close, we have gone through the jaws of hell, and we have confronted the "heart of darkness" at the climax of the film's narrative, but we ultimately emerge victorious. Yet like returning from war, it is a victory that comes with a price-- the lesson that we have learned about ourselves and the world we live in will haunt us, and the things that we have seen cannot be unseen; the things we have done cannot be undone.

Sources:

¹Vargas, German E. "Narrative Mode, Mixed Images, and Adaptation in Francis Ford Coppola's 'Apocalypse Now'". Atenea, vol. 24, no. 2, p.91

²Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse. Directed by Fax Bahr, George Hickenlooper, Eleanor Coppola, Paramount Pictures, 1991.

³Ebert, Roger. "Apocalypse Now". Review of Apocalypse Now by Francis Ford Coppola. Chicago Sun-Times, 28 November 1999. Web. Retrieved 25 December 2016.

Essential Films: Annie Hall (1977)

I think we're all familiar with the genre of the rom-com: two people start out apart, separate, and then they meet and slowly come together. The rest of the film is devoted to exploring their relationship as it progresses, and the suspense for us lies in whether or not they stay together at the end. Despite how formulaic this genre may seem, there are really endless permutations and variations that can be applied here, and every once in a while you get a film that really illustrates the best of what this genre has to offer. One thing that sets the romantic comedy genre apart from your typical romance film is, well-- obviously-- the comedy; but trying to alleviate the tension and anxiety of the couple by adding humor can often go too far, resulting in stories that risk becoming too cheerful and too shallow to feel genuine. So, for me, the best romantic comedies are those which are able to properly balance the humor with the real problems that people go through in relationships. Annie Hall remains one of the first, and one of the best examples, of a film successfully balancing the bittersweet ups and downs of a modern relationship. At the time of its release, it was unconventional for a romance movie: mainly because, at the end, the guy doesn't actually get the girl. But it was also unconventional for a comedy, because there's a certain kind of melancholy which underlies the film's jokes. "While Annie Hall includes many jokes, the jokes often contribute a tragic element of characterization or feature as part of a tragic twist to the romantic narrative."¹ Throughout the course of their relationship, main character Alvy Singer and his girlfriend Annie Hall exhibit signs of paranoia, obsession, depression, and so forth, and while the film finds particularly funny ways of portraying this, it never allows the humor to detract from the reality of the characters' struggles. It goes without saying that this is on all accounts a Woody Allen film. In addition to writing and directing the film, Allen also starred alongside his ex-girlfriend Diane Keaton; meaning that in a sense, the two were basically reenacting their own past relationship within the film. Now, in many ways, Annie Hall marked a distinctive shift in Allen's style and his career path. Allen himself comments that in Annie Hall, he had "reached some kind of a personal plateau where [he] felt [he] could put the films that [he] had done in the past behind [him]. And [he] wanted to take a step forward toward realistic and deeper films... it was a real turning point for [him] in every way. From then on, [he] really count[s] Annie Hall  as the first step toward maturity in making films."² When I first watched the film, I was a bit underwhelmed because, like many of the audiences who originally saw it, I was introduced to Woody Allen's work through his earlier, less serious films, which were more focused on his particular brand of ridiculous, surreal humor-- so when Annie Hall took a more subdued tone, I didn't really know how to react. But over time, my respect for the film quietly grew, and when I watched it again, knowing this time what to expect, I was better able to recognize the film's genius.

One of the easiest and most tempting ways to recommend a film is to compare it to another film, and that's actually how I was going to start this video: introducing Annie Hall by comparing it to its modern successor that was clearly inspired by it, (500) Days of Summer. But the problem with this method is that sometimes the friend you're talking to hasn't seen the film you're using as a reference point, and similarly, I don't know how many of the people who are watching this have seen (500) Days of Summer. Nonetheless, I think it's good to examine some of the differences and similarities between these two films as a means of drawing attention to what makes Annie Hall so distinct as a story. Like (500) Days of Summer, Annie Hall is structured as the non-chronological reflections of a man on a past relationship, and both films also employ various fantasy sequences and unexpected camera tricks to create some really unexpected, funny, and memorable scenes. But while (500) Days centers on the divide between expectation and reality, Annie Hall goes a bit further. In this scene, Tom's delusions about his relationship with Summer dissipate, and he becomes aware of his false expectations. But Annie Hall isn't just about an expectations vs. reality problem. It's a perception vs. reality problem, and it's about how the main character's desires influence that perception, and how more his deeply ingrained psychological problems influence those desires.

Early on in the film, Allen's character Alvy comments his own struggle with this. This comment serves to establish the film's very fluid sense of reality-- the fourth wall is very often broken, and characters often intrude upon memory, and memory and fantasy frequently intrude upon reality; always for an unexpected comedic effect. But all of the film's clever imagine spots aren't merely there for humor: they also reinforce the more serious divide between truth and perception, and it's the connection here between humor and theme which keeps the varied style of the film's jokes from seeming incoherent. But the film doesn't simply address the problem of delusion on the individual level; it also hints that Alvy's problem might be more universal-- that maybe we all delude ourselves a little bit in our relationships with others. "In fact, the dichotomy of the real and the ideal, addressed by Allen through the implied difference between documentary and fiction, was part of solving the problem of why human relationships can be so difficult... Annie Hall is in some sense a testimony on the tendency of an entire culture deny and deceive itself."³ It's important here to focus on the original working title for the film: Anhedonia, which literally means "the inability to feel pleasure". This is what Allen essentially believes is wrong with his main character: as soon as Alvy has what he wants, he loses interest in it, and this prevents him from being able to maintain stability in his relationship with Annie. He becomes paranoid that her desire for him is fading, and in response, overreacts. He fears that the happiness he's experiencing is the result of delusion, and thus he creates a delusion of misery to live in instead. These psychological elements of the film are important because, well, the film places an emphasis on psychology. Psychoanalytical therapists have an omnipresent power in the film, and Alvy himself is obsessed with trying to psychoanalyze himself, filtering back through his memories at the film's beginning and trying to figure out where things went wrong. This explains the film's stream of consciousness structure-- in the early minutes of the film, the scenes are linked by Alvie's train of thought. One memory leads to another which leads to another, all linked not by the passage of time but by words or ideas which connect them.

Unfortunately, a subject which must be discussed when analyzing any Woody Allen film is Woody Allen himself. To say that he's become a controversial figure over time is a bit of an understatement. When an artist is controversial, the default response of critics is to try to find a way to distance or separate the work from the artist-- which honestly doesn't make a lot of sense. Good or bad, there is a connection between the artist and the work he produces, and despite how much we believe the two are different, trying to find the similarity will better help us understand the artist and their work. Some people are disillusioned when they discover that the lovable onscreen Woody Allen is, in real life, kind of an asshole. But for me, it's been easier to reconcile him with his creative output because I've always seen the characters he plays as assholes as well-- present in all of them is a preoccupation with sex and death, and the self that all contributes to a personality which is, on the whole, very narcissistic. This doesn't mean that I don't enjoy watching his films. I think he's one of the funniest men to ever grace the screen. But despite his wit and his wisdom about life and relationships, it's still easy to see Allen himself falling into the same psychological traps that his characters fall into: the traps of self-centeredness, of being blind to the needs of others. I don't think it's wrong to pick apart Allen's own mind and the mind of his characters simultaneously, because he invites it. On many occasions, he has remarked that many of his characters closely resemble himself. I think it's particularly telling that in this film, the character is a Jewish, New-York based comedian, much like Allen himself was at the time. In the film, then, Allen is acknowledging his own shortcomings-- but, as we see from his own life, being aware of your shortcomings doesn't always mean being able to push past them. So without pardoning his mistakes, we have to recognize that they are a part of not only his personal identity, but also his artistic identity; just as his work serves as a testament to his talent and intellect in his life behind and apart from the camera.

So what is the final message of Annie Hall? We know, at this point, that the film's main focus is about addressing the problems that we all have in distinguishing between perception, desire, and reality in the realm of modern relationships-- but so far, I haven't said anything about what kind of solution the film offers in response to this problem, if any. I think that Allen's solution lies in the film's ending, we are shown a montage of their relationship-- here, as his journey through his memories is finally coming to a close, Alvy is realizing that the time that he's spent and the memories that he's gained have made the experience worth it. Because in the realm of memory, time is in fact, irrelevant, and moments are suspended in time, isolated indefinitely. It may sound cliche, especially now that I'm essentially repeating the same message from last week's review: that maintaining a positive perspective on life requires accepting the bad with the good. And that, despite the cost, there's something in us which compels us, some part of us that needs the companionship that another human being can provide. 

Throughout the review, I've tried spoiling as few jokes as possible, because many of the jokes really only work in context, when you have the weight of the drama propelling them forward. Also, because, as I discussed in my Airplane! review, the unexpected is the essence of comedy and there are so many unexpected little gags throughout the film that I couldn't bring myself to ruin the surprise. But in the end, despite how varied and hilarious and coherent the film's comedy is, I hope I don't need to use the comedy to convince you to see it. Because besides being a particularly smart and inventive film, it's also a profound one, and if you're willing to give it a chance, a very emotionally moving film, too.

Sources:

¹Symons, Alex. "The Problem of "High Culture" Comedy: How Annie Hall (1977) Complicated Woody Allen's Reputation." Journal of Popular Film & Television, vol. 41, no. 3, 2013, pp. 118-127.

²Allen, Woody. "Woody Allen on Woody Allen". Grove Press, 2005.

³D'Aquino, Antonella. "The Self, the Ideal, and the Real. The Artistic Choice of Three Creative Minds: Fellini, Allen, and Kaufman." Italica, vol. 84, no. 2, 2007, p.556.