The thing about being a troll is that, in order to actually elicit a real, lasting response, parts of your argument need to have some sort of truth to them, even if the whole argument makes little sense. Simply being contrarian for no apparent reason and with no logic behind it wears thin.

Armond White’s become more and more notorious over the past year or so as his increasingly outrageous reviews raise the fury of regular filmgoers. Beyond the simple act of being a contrarian, however, there’s really very little in them, and the arguments are non-existent.

There’s been some fuss recently over his non-invite to a screening of Greenberg, Noah Baumbach’s new film. He’s criticized Baumbach’s previous film on weird, personal terms (holding a very evident grudge towards Baumbach’s mother, Georgia Brown; suggesting retroactive abortion towards Baumbach; saying his films show that he is “an asshole”), and it’s fairly obvious to anyone that he couldn’t possibly have anything interesting to say about them since he’s predisposed to hating them and making outrageous remarks about their quality.

And that’s, I think, the real issue. Being a devil’s advocate, or being known as the “contrarian”, or just generally having strange opinions is just the same as havng “typical” opinions and going along with the consensus: it’s only credible if the beliefs seem legitimate. Where’s the legitimacy in a review that, not only because the film being reviewed was directed by Baumbach, but because of the non-invite pseudo-scandal, was never going to be anything but extremely negative (or alternatively, extremely positive in order to subvert everyone’s expectations)?

Someone else found these excerpts which show exactly what’s wrong with this guy:

Bigelow shrewdly distills several genres, yet it’s all metaphor for personal involvement in policy. (The “hurt locker” is where James keeps souvenir detonators: “It’s fascinating to hold something that almost kills you.”) So far, the best fiction films about the Iraq War are Nick Bloomfield’s Battle for Haditha, Irwin Winkler’s Home of the Brave and John Moore’s allegorical Flight of the Phoenix remake, which Bigelow evokes in a stand-off scene between Bravo company, a group of British contractors and distant insurgent snipers. It’s sufficient praise to say The Hurt Locker joins that short list.

That’s from June 24th, 2009, his review of The Hurt Locker. When that film came out, it wasn’t really an Oscar contender. It had been out for a while internationally, if I’m not mistaken, and had been online for ages. It was just an action movie, a decently-made one. There weren’t any real expectations that this could be considered a great, acclaimed movie, and so it gets called one of the best Iraq war movies, along with two blatantly contrarian choices, Home Of The Brave, a movie widely laughed at, and Flight of the Phoenix, which has nothing to do with the war in Iraq, and was widely laughed at too.

But then,

Critics ridiculed Point Break when it was first released but, since then, Bigelow’s visual splendor and genre proficiency has won enough regard that she now receives retroactive esteem for The Hurt Locker, the Iraq War action film that critic Gregory Solman nailed as “totally unexceptional.” It is worst than inexact when critics call it “One of the best war films ever made.”

That’s one year later, in his piece about the Oscars, from March 2010. It is worse than inexact when critics call it what he just called it less than nine months ago when it wasn’t an Oscar movie, but rather a small action film in limited release.

So where’s the value in this review, or in these opinions? Even though they can both be legitimate, it seems fairly obvious that the only reason the opinions exist is to contradict whatever the current consensus is or will be. So what’s the point of reading it? If I wanted to read the opposite of the consensus, I’d grab a Peter Travers review and edit “…. NOT” at the end of the last sentence, not read this dumb garbage about Norbit being funny.

I saw Fantastic Mr. Fox. If it had been any other director, I would have thought the idea of making an animated stop-motion film was a terrible gimmick, but in the case of Wes Anderson, it’s really the logical extension of his past three movies, which often seemed like very lifelike toy sets placed onscreen. It’s a beautiful art project; the amount of detail makes every scene a treat to watch. The models look strange at first, but acquire a certain lifelike quality after a few scenes. I’m interested in how pausing any given scene and looking at a still frame makes it clear that these are elaborate miniature sets, whereas the film in motion seems full of life and natural.

Plotwise, it’s similar to most of Anderson’s movies, except it has a better climax (though it’s nothing spectacular). For better or worse, it’s a typical Anderson film, except with furry animals instead of confused urbanites. It helps that he has George Clooney playing Mr. Fox, an actor with the charisma that Anderson’s characters often lack (the last one was Gene Hackman’s Royal Tenenbaum).

The most interesting thing about a project like this is the fact that animated film directors and live-action film directors are usually two wholly separate groups, and a film like this one is the rare cross between animation and a more traditional director. The style fits Anderson well not just because of the elaborate art design of his films, but also because he tends towards framing and angles that are easier to reproduce in animation.

One can only hope for a Paul Thomas Anderson sunday cartoon.

Two movies I saw recently that were enjoyable: Plein Soleil and The Talented Mr. Ripley.

My main interest in the films was the aesthetics: the clothes, the settings, the lifestyle. They both deliver at that, Plein Soleil perhaps moreso. It’s easy to get caught up in the lives of leisure that’s on display, and why it captivates Tom Ripley to such an extent that he’s willing to kill for it.

Both movies follow Tom Ripley, who meets Dickie Greenleaf (Philliphe in Plein Soleil) and Marge  in Italy. He’s been sent by Greenleaf Sr, a very wealthy man, to bring his son back to America. Tom finds himself enjoying the life and the wealth, kills Greenleaf, and assumes his identity.

It’s interesting to watch both movies because, even though the basics of the plot are the same, and a lot of set pieces are present in both versions, the character of Tom Ripley is completely different from one movie to another. Matt Damon’s Ripley is a boring leech clearly out of his world. He’s at least bisexual, and is deeply infatuated with Dickie, who he kills with much remorse and arguably in self-defense. Alain Delon’s Ripley is an amoral killer. He is not particularly interested in Philliphe, only in his money. He kills without so much as wincing. And even though he does not become Philliphe (unlike Damon’s Ripley, who wanted to be Dickie), he’s much more believable as his replacement, as he’s a handsome and comfortable man.

Delon’s Ripley is a more interesting character. It’s captivating to see him circling his prey, gleeful and confident as he tries to get away with the perfect crime. But Plein Soleil’s script is vague and somewhat simplistic. Though Damon is a less interesting Ripley, we understand him more. The Talented Mr. Ripley is longer, its first act is much more eventful, the characters are more fleshed out (and there are more of them), and the logic of Ripley’s actions and everyone else’s reactions is clearer. We understand why Ripley would like Dickie; we understand why he’d be compelled to keep this lifestyle. Since Delon’s Ripley isn’t very interested in Philliphe or his life, those aspects aren’t as fleshed out. In fact, Plein Soleil’s starting point is much farther along during the story than The Talented Mr. Ripley; we see Damon’s Ripley go from learning about Dickie to meeting him and getting a taste of the life, whereas when we meet Delon’s Ripley, he and Philliphe are already apparent friends.

What’s interesting about this is that even though both Ripleys have different motivations and personalities, the plot’s developments fit both fairly well; it’s credible that the morally conflicted Ripley and the amoral Ripley would both act the same way, one out of necessity and one out of the thrill.

In the end, neither stories can allow evil deeds to go unpunished. It’s here where they are a good complement to each other. Where Delon’s Ripley is apprehended by the police, Damon’s Ripley is allowed to go free. But he’s never truly free. In the end, he realizes the only way for him to survive will come at the cost of his soul.

I do feel like getting on a boat now.

Except for all the death.

I like Bored To Death. It appeals to certain parts of me. Some would argue those are the bad parts, but I don’t know. This style gets criticized incessantly for being too artificial and ‘indie’, but who cares? There are no “real” shows. It’s a good thing to introduce new styles to the least stylish form there is.

The great thing about television drama (and to a lesser extent, comedy) these days is that there are so many channels that trying to appeal to large audiences isn’t really that great of an idea anymore, and shows for niche audiences like this one can survive.

On the other hand, most of these HBO comedies aren’t really very funny, are they? That’s ok.

The fourth season of Big Love, though suffering from some issues mostly stemming from its 9 episode run ( rather than the usual 12 or even last year’s 10 for a series with as many characters and plotlines as this one), is still some of the most emotional and interesting work being done on television.

I wrote some more about it here.

People used to watch The Wire and rave about how it explained so much about ‘institutions’ and ‘the state of the modern city’ or whatever else they read in a David Simon interview.

Now people watch Mad Men and get drink recipes and go buy Mad Men inspired clothing.

Progress? I actually think it is.

“The funny thing is – on the outside, I was an honest man, straight as an arrow. I had to come to prison to be a crook.”

Malik El Djebena, the lead character in A Prophet, is not an honest man, straight as an arrow. He’s a two-bit hoodlum, utterly powerless and naive. He enters prison as a nineteen year old, having to serve a six-year sentence. In those six years, he’ll become a real crook, playing off various groups in order to survive and make a life for himself.

In a way, A Prophet is the anti Godfather. In Puzo and Coppola’s gangster epic, Michael Corleone is a victim of his own desires. He is the legitimate son and has the best chances out of all of the Corleone children to make an honest living, and it’s what he’s being groomed for. But partly out of family ties and partly out of his own ambition, he enters the world of crime and becomes a loathsome figure in the process. We are never truly with him, since his transformation is ultimately a defeat.

Malik’s situation is the opposite. He has no hope in life, being illiterate, having no family, and being jailed so young. He enters the life of crime unwillingly, forced by a Corsican mafia who threatens to kill him unless he kills for them. We do sympathize with him, since he hardly has free will. And yet, throughout his quest to become a powerful criminal, he is never really deplorable. His crime ring consists of an old prison friend who is trying to care for his young wife and child, and a harmless dealer. He learns to read, write, to speak different languages, and advances courses. While it would be preferable that his life was more honest, it’s hard to begrudge the guy.

The film is successful in the way that The Wire was successful: it allows us to sympathize with people who are completely removed from our own experiences, because by explaining the world they grow up in we can understand why they are what they are.

It was inevitable that the style some call hyperlink cinema (multiple, disjointed storylines that slowly connect to reveal essential truths about human interaction) would become the choice for commentary on globalization. The interconnected world hasn’t changed the alienation, cruelty, and loneliness of life. Films have explored these issues locally or globally; Traffic and Syriana more sociopolitical, Babel and 21 Grams more social and emotional. Lukas Moodysson’s Mammoth is more narrow in scope, less focused on narrative tricks. It focuses on the social relations of the globalized world with little fanfare, in a direct and clear way, without ever feeling dishonest. Events are presented in a way that some might consider hamfisted, but they are hardly ever contrivances or coincidences.

The film focuses on Leo and Allison (played by Gael Garcia Bernal and Michelle Williams), two upscale professionals living in New York. Leo is the creator of a Myspace clone and is in the process of selling it, which takes him on an extended trip to Thailand as he waits for the negotiations to be finalized. Meanwhile, Allison works long hours as a surgeon. Their daughter Jackie is taken care of by Gloria, the Filipino nanny. She is working in America in order to send money to her family and give them the type of life that most poor people in her country, can never truly aspire to. Her two children, Salvador and Manuel, deal with the realities of life in the Philippines without their mother. Leo escapes to the beaches and tries to get to know the places and people, but he can avoid neither his own dissatisfaction and alienation nor the fact that the problems of the world at large are much too complicated for his help.

The Third World is, in Moodysson’s story, little more than a large source of labor for the more advantaged First World and those at the top of the economic pyramid. The lines of work the characters from the Philippines and Thailand pursue are those focused not on development, but service. Gloria’s source of income comes from being the caretaker for a wealthy family and essentially the mother figure for the child. Cookie, the prostitute that Leo meets, makes a living by pleasuring inadequate foreign tourists looking for a cheap lay. Salvador, attempting to help his family, stumbles into the world of prostitution, perhaps the most blatant and disturbing example of poor nations being the playground of those with means. But a mere tale of evil exploiters would satisfy no one, and the effects of the one-way dynamics of these social relations end up affecting everyone, including our upscale leads, Leo and Allison. Leo’s trip to Thailand finds him confronting the realities of the world, and his inability to fully understand them through his framework of traditional liberalism. There are notable moments which show this inability. In one, Leo pays Cookie not to have sex with him or anyone that night, a noble but ultimately pointless gesture. In another moment, her self-image angers him, annoyed that it does not conform with his ‘equality’ standards, not understanding that her line of work requires her to present herself the way others want to see her. During one of his more trying times, he tells his wife he has to do something, help people out with his money, a moment portrayed not as the epiphany of a newborn philantropist but the reflex reaction of a lost and confused soul.

The greatest damage caused by these new social relations isn’t economic, it’s social. What all the characters have in common is that they are observing the way their actions are breaking down the family unit, but unable to stop themselves until the damage is done. The characters are all empty and lost, with various levels of awareness. They try to find happiness through substitution, replacing their loved ones with what they can find at hand; Gloria connects with Jackie in a way that indicates just how terribly she misses her own children, who are adrift in the Philippines, trying to understand the tangible material benefits that come from their mother’s work but unable to cope with the emotional pain of her absence.

Moodysson’s approach is direct, but never dishonest. There are no incredible coincidences, no plot contrivances so unbelievable that they reduce the message’s weight(think Crash). It’s not a very subtle film; the first half addresses technologies and new connections by having its characters constantly on their phones, computers, etc. Even Leo’s work (developing a Myspace for the gaming community) reminds us of these connections. What’s clear from the film is that these are all ultimately irrelevant, because it is the substance of the shared experiences that we have as pairs, families, or communities that ultimately matter.

In the end, the world keeps turning. For all the dramatic changes, there is no end to the game the players are in.