Reviews

The Parking Lot Movie covers a group of intellectual social misfits that love the comfort of working in an environment that they can shape to their will, but hate dealing with the society that comes and goes through their business. Watching their interactions with the college surroundings is classic. On one side, you have parking lot employee with a PhD in anthropology, passionately working for minimum wage, and on the other is a drunk sorority girl driving a luxury SUV (assumed to be paid for by her parents), and she's trying to skip out on her four dollar parking fee. Although the entire film essentially takes place in a parking lot, it manages to create quite a bit of social commentary, and really works as a fun and thought provoking film.

I picture The Parking Lot Movie working as a brilliant double bill with The Social Network. If one shows how intelligent outcasts can outclass society by working hard and becoming a powerful billionaire in just six years, the other shows how other intelligent outcasts can be just as happy removing themselves from the equation entirely, shielding themselves in apathy, and outclassing society in an entirely different way. The difference is really just between a Type A and B personalities. As the parking lot owner says: "I really like to hire Type B personalities."

Overall, the content the film ends up being much more engaging than you'd expect. The parking lot itself almost seems like a last bastion of creativity and normalcy in an invading world of mindless consumption. The employees really make it out to be an amusing struggle, and you can't help but root for them. Personally, I can't remember ever feeling closer to a group of people on film, and I'm already recommending this to like-minded thinkers.

Enter the Void is exactly the kind of polarizing film that cinema needs right now. Too many films these days play it safe, being concerned with keeping the audience comfortable, safe and happy. Enter Gaspar Noe, who clearly has no regard either for the well-being of either the audience or his actors. We have antagonistically long (but brilliant) takes, beginning in an apartment and ending in a bar, several blocks over. We are given characters and are exposed to their darkest moments, but are never given a real reason to care for them, or to perceive them as anything but wretched. We are also shown some sexually discomforting things that we never really wanted to see on the silver screen (if you've seen it you probably know what I'm talking about). Also, the film is almost completely in first-person viewpoint, so you're constantly feeling confined to what Oscar is looking at, which are mostly psychedelic images. In effect, the feel and tone of the story are immediately off-putting for the viewer, but since you've already bought a ticket, what can you do but follow it through?

This is definitely the kind of film that can be approached in the wrong way, both with the medium that you view it through, and with your state of mind. Enter the Void is meant to be a transportive film (i.e. you living directly in the viewpoint of another, and feeling how that person feels, and perhaps even thinking how that person thinks). To technically maximize the experience, the film should really be experienced on the big screen. I'd imagine an IMAX screen to be ideal.

I also think a film like Enter the Void really needs to be approached with a separate set of goals than that of a normal film. First of all, chuck any notions of entertainment, or even enjoyment, out the window. While you're at it, remove any notions of positivity that you can think of. The only reactions that Enter the Void will draw from you are negative ones. Personally, the only emotion I consistently felt was a slight nausea, tinted with the occasional horror, or perhaps a shameful arousal, as there is excessive sexual content that is all wretched in one way or another.

The film is shot with a certain frame of mind, and sticks to it with remarkable faith. It's in the point of view of a small group of friends who are confined to the drug and clubbing scenes in Tokyo. He then films them in the most abrasive ways possible, showering the viewer in infinite neon lights, and fish-eyed close-ups, and then Noe lets his frames linger on these unsightly images for uncomfortably long. Even with his tracking shots moving from one location to another, when the viewer is normally given a moments rest, he rapidly cuts across hallways, stairs, and streets, and never gives the viewer a free moment to settle down.

Despite the film's antagonistic feel, and despite the physical and psychological discomforts that the film drew from me, I still found Enter the Void to be a worthwhile and even inspirational experience. More to the point, Enter the Void may not be a friendly experience, but this exact kind of experimentation and determined expression are just what cinema needs in order to be taken seriously as an artistic medium, when so many other directors air on the side of caution and safety. It might be a difficult ride, but just watch it once and you'll carry it with you forever.

Mesrine: Killer Instinct shoots to cover more than a decade of the life of Jacques Mesrine, as he becomes a famous burglar, bank robber, kidnapper, and prison escapee (who later attempted breaking back into prison to fulfill a promise). If captured correctly, this should be fascinating material. But Richet, in the vein of the recent Public Enemies, really only gives us a series of rushed vignettes through Mesrine's life, and offers very little insight towards the titular character.

Throughout the film, we see repeated examples of Mesrine's strange, but strong moral code, and his romantic and passionate nature. Richet clearly wants us to empathize with Mesrine, but due to his pacing and his decisions of where to allocate time, he largely fails at making the character breathe. For example, in one scene he loses his wedding ring in a poker game. In the next shot, we see him get into a car and ponder the absence of the ring, and what it meant for him. The only problem is, the entire shot lasts less than seven seconds, including the time it took for him to get into the car. To further his redundancy, Richet next shows us the Paris skyline of the next morning, but instead of giving the audience a moment to gather what they just saw, he changes the shot three seconds later, and rushes us through the next scene. Richet attempts to make up for lost time towards the end, by spending more time in the prison sequences, but it's too late. By that point, the film is nearly over and he'd rushed through (and even skipped over) all of the dramatic tension that makes films worth watching.

Normally, a filmmaker would make such pacing decisions to achieve a sort of atmospheric or psychological effect, as seen in Requiem for a Dream, or Tetsuo, the Iron Man. Richet's motivation only seems to be a lack of time, and perhaps effort. On the positive side, the performances are pretty solid all around, and if you get bored during any segment, don't fret it, it'll be over soon.

I went into Inception with considerable expectation, in regards to the talent and concept involved. I was expecting something truly groundbreaking: a blockbuster that didn't rely on Hollywood's conventions to wow audiences. Ultimately, all that Inception is, is a complex plot disguising a relatively shallow film, supplemented with your standard chase sequences and mindless gun battles where the heroes gun down scores of thugs, who in turn are conveniently inflicted with James Bond syndrome, where they can fire endless rounds and hit nothing. Nolan disguises this by having the one (and only) bullet connect early in the film.

Let's talk about plot. I think Nolan has driven himself into a hole. He is universally lauded for his complex, original plots, which make people think, while simultaneously entertaining them. The only problem is, as his projects stack up, Nolan seeks to outdo himself in terms of plot and structure, and not in terms of emotional content. Inception is by far his most structurally complex plot, but unfortunately, the plot is so intricate that he spends the entire film explaining what is going on, rather than building any sort of emotional core for the audience. Watch people come out of a Pixar film, then watch people come out of a Nolan film. As people come out of Inception, they will be talking about the mind-bending plot and the cool fight scenes. You'll be hard pressed to find a conversation about the tragedy between Cobb and Mal. Compare Inception to The Fountain, which faced a similar dilemma. Unlike Nolan, Aronofsky sacrificed explaining his complex plot, and instead, focused on fleshing out emotional resonance in the characters and themes. Financially, it was a terrible decision, but Aronofsky's vision was much more respectable artistically. And don't get me started on Inception's ending 'twist,' which was an insulting cheap trick that will be probably be disregarded by most audiences.

The music of Inception was also troublesome. Hans Zimmer's soundtrack was formidable, but did not fit with the atmosphere of the film. Instead of supplementing the film, the music made Inception seem pretentious. Just listening to it, you would have thought that the entire world was at stake. Instead, you were just facing a bunch of people that would have been dreaming for a long time, had they failed. Was being 'in limbo' really that big of a threat? I know that Nolan gave the reasons that their brains would rot and all, but I just didn't buy the danger.

The film still had its merits. It's easily more intelligent than your average blockbuster, and will have you thinking to keep up with it (a friend compared it to playing a game of minesweeper). It has a great action scene or two, and some innovative visuals. But in the end, Inception doesn't have much to say, and unless you count sorting out plot as thinking, it won't leave you with substance to ponder.

The Broken Lizard team aren't one for conventional plots, and The Slammin' Salmon - set entirely in a restaurant - is no exception. In fact, almost the entire film takes place over the course of one evening, and most of the dramatic tension centers around waiters competing with one another for a bigger paycheck. It sounds implausible, but they pull it off pretty well, by making great characters, then relying on them to entertain us.

If you've seen Super Troopers, Beerfest, or Club Dread, you'll know what to expect. The characters are likable, memorable, and generally well conceived. And just like all their other films, they all could generally have used some more character development. Is it just me, or do Jay Chandrasekhar's characters never get enough screen time?

Unfortunately, Slammin' Salmon contains even more slapstick than their past works, and it really brings down the overall tone of the film. We're not watching you for slapstick! We want more awkward tension, more wit, and more character development.

They also moved across the jokes too quickly. The writers really set up some very funny situations, and then move on without capitalizing on them. For example, they set up a humorous interracial relationship between Cleon's sister and Rich, but spent literally only a minute on it before moving on and never returning to it. Take the time to develop your jokes! Imagine the potential dialogue there, between Cleon, his sister, and Rich. We'll never know.

When it comes down to it, Slammin' Salmon is funny. If you go into the movie wanting to hate it, Michael Clarke Duncan will make you laugh anyway. I just think that we could expect more out of these guys.

In modern cities, we're bombarded by sounds and images all the time, creating over-stimulation. As a result, we can't feel very strongly about any one thing we see. Werckmeister Harmonies takes place in a small Hungarian town, where not much ordinarily happens. The citizens are under-stimulated, and as a result, have the sacred ability to be moved to the core by small things. Bela Tarr wants us to be able to experience this with the townsfolk, and goes through great pains to do so. The film is made up of only 39 shots, each one spanning at least several minutes. As with Satantango, they chronicle the monotony of village life: long dreary walks, manually heating up water, the unhurried conversation.

While I wouldn't say I found every moment of Werckmeister Harmonies riveting (perhaps the non-city dweller may fare better), I can easily say I did myself a favor by watching it. First of all, the imagery: Bela Tarr captures some of the most enchanting and unique images you'll ever see on film. The ambitious art direction and cinematography are perfectly realized, and the skill and artistry in the single-take scenes found here is astounding.

The film's simple but beautiful soundtrack works well, and Tarr combines it masterfully with his imagery, creating a lot of memorable and powerful moments.

My only complaint is that Bela Tarr hasn't mastered dialog to the extent that his predecessors have. Some of the dialog-driven scenes feel a bit stale, and serve to work against the wondrous tone that he painstakingly creates. But all is forgiven when the dialog fades and he is able to focus on poetic expression through imagery. Who else can make a circling helicopter appear so organic, and so strange?

Also recommended: Tarkovsky's The Sacrifice and Roy Andersson's Songs from the Second Floor.

Greenberg is a character study of a man without much use to society, himself, or anyone around him. He's full of interesting things to say, but can never relax enough to channel his thoughts. He's determined to do nothing with his life (at least for a while, he says). His daily struggles (and I mean struggles) include swimming across a pool and trying to hold a basic conversation without freaking people out. In other words, Roger Greenberg was conceived as a rich, deeply troubled and tragic man, but unfortunately, the potential depth and complexity of his character are never fully realized in the film.

Although the casting of Ben Stiller in the role of Greenberg was certainly intriguing, I believe his interpretation of the character lies at the heart of the problem. Going into the film, I knew I wasn't going to get a performance on the level of Carrey in Eternal Sunshine or Sandler in Punch Drunk Love, but I still felt sure that Stiller would make the film work. It's not that Stiller's performance was flat... it wasn't. He nailed the abrasive and socially frustrated side of Greenberg perfectly. But when it came to delving into the meat of his character, he seemed to come up short, and with the exception of a few overtly dramatic scenes, we never get the sense that Stiller truly grasps the tragedy of his character.

Unfortunately, the slow, minimalist structure of the film relies on a knock-out performance by Stiller. For the first hour of the film, Baumbach had this to say: "This is Greenberg. He has problems with people." It wasn't until the last half hour that Baumbach began to explore the possibilities of the character, and this is when the film becomes truly interesting.

If this were coming from an average writer/director, Greenberg would be hailed as a reasonable achievement, but coming from Baumbach, I came out of it feeling like he could have done better. Greenberg isn't a failure as a whole. If you go into the film searching for brilliance, you'll find it. Just don't bother bringing a handkerchief with you, as you may have needed one for his past works.

In this latest Bond offering, the world leaders are dividing up South America for oil. It's crooked business, but no one seems to mind, because hey, There Ain't No Such Thing As A Free Lunch. James Bond enters the picture with considerable strength, frenetically whipping through Italy with his trademark silver Aston Martin, evading the ever-present gang of minions set on him like mindless hounds. These are the moments when Quantum of Solace is most engaging: when the characters are silently bounding through these vague streets, tunnels, and rooftops, and are completely focused on the task at hand. Indeed, there is almost a poetic relationship between Bond and these nameless thugs.

Unfortunately, once the thrill of the chase dies out, the film begins to taper into a messy experience, where the viewer can't help but feel removed from the vapid plot, the awkward villains, and the ambiguous editing. Throughout the entire film, the longest shot length is perhaps a measly 10 seconds. During action sequences, expect several shots per second. In one shot, we see Bond jump onto a balcony. A second later, we see two split-second shots of him climbing some sort of pipe, and the next time we see him, he's running on a roof. The editing style is easy to criticize, but it's important to note that it isn't completely unintelligible. The viewer may not know the exact details of what is going on, but with a little imagination, following along isn't too difficult.

The plot twists and turns with similar ambiguity. Dominant world figures are introduced, threatening global plots unfold, and treachery seems to loom, but Bond doesn't seem to truly care about such things. With only his obligatory duty to unmask the truth, he instead is wholly focused on a revenge quest which is only loosely connected with the plot of the film. Inevitably, the viewer doesn't care either, and the villain, along with his evil schemes, are lost on the audience.

Luckily, the cast (namely Craig, Dench, and Wright) carry themselves well, and give performances that are as magnetic as ever. So despite a throwaway villain, an anticlimactic structure, and tiresome editing, many pieces of Quantum of Solace do work, and though it may hurt at times, you might just come out of this one smiling anyway.

How do we convey profound connection to an 'other'? How can we feel strongly towards spirituality that we don't believe in? Why do we feel obligated towards figures of the distant past? How can a simple situation overwhelm us?

All Things deals with one of the most difficult objects to film: intangible emotions. Emotions that go beyond being sad, happy, or confused. Emotions that make you sit down and really think out: "What the hell was I just feeling?" I've read comments about this episode that complain that it isn't an X-File. In the tradition of Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles, I ask: Why explore other worlds when there is so much of ourselves left unexplored? How well do we really understand these vague, alien dynamics we feel towards ourselves and others? Gillian Anderson offers a depictions of these difficult emotions through original and deeply artistic direction, paired with masterful acting.

On top of that, All Things provides an new and interesting lens through which we can view Scully. She can seem utterly in control of her environments and competent as an individual, yet internally feel lost, confused, and perhaps helpless. Unfortunately, this is a concept that seasons eight and nine failed to follow through with. Instead, we are to settle with just one brief, beautiful glimpse into the potential of Scully's character. All in all, this isn't the slickest X-File, but it is certainly the most emotional for me. Submit to Gillian Anderson's artistic vision and she will show you the way.