(That's my new term for 'guy flick'; I was looking for something that rhymed!)
Yes, another testicular pelicula. You'll think I'm a tomboy. Well, I am, but only sort of.
Another of my movies for life--and I don't know about Gess, but I'm grabbing these out of the mind-box in no order, chronological or otherwise--is a little-remembered film called The Edge, by David Mamet, directed by Lee Tamahori. It stars Anthony Hopkins and an extra-specially-annoying Alec Baldwin as the male two thirds of a (heterosexual) love triangle, cast alone together upon a hostile Alaskan wilderness. They spend most of the movie fighting for their lives, and of course they bond in the process--but only sort of.
The absolutely only thing that sold me on this movie before I'd seen it, was Hopkins. That, and the price: two dollars. I picked The Edge out of the sale bin at the movie store in a strip mall next to Sun Harvest grocery in El Paso, Texas, in 2001. As I recall, I had ducked in there to avoid somebody I didn't feel like running into, and so I deliberated quite awhile over those videocassettes! (I also bought Dead Man Walking, but found it pointless. It didn't survive the move, when I moved.)
I picked The Edge because I was collecting movies with Anthony Hopkins in them. Hopkins gives me a warm, family feeling. He has an air of my Grandfather Lyman about him, and I am, in fact, Welsh, on that side of my family, which means almost nothing at all, aside from the physical characteristics. He seems to play good guys, too. He plays one in this movie: he's the hero. (Never mind about Hannibal Lector; those days are gone.)
Baldwin plays--there is no other way to put it--a jerk, and I found him quite believable in the role. I thought Alec Baldwin was a jerk even before he came to our attention shrieking at his daughter when he thought nobody was taping his phone conversation. The character Baldwin plays in this movie would probably do something like that, if he had a daughter.
The Edge was more or less overlooked, by reviewers, I hear. Back when I was beginning to fall in love with it, I found a bunch of online reviews, and they all dwelt on its status as an adventure tale and not at all on its message of survival of the virtuous: Hopkins plays a survivor, humble, successful, unappreciated, underestimated, and, in the end, triumphant. Reviewers entirely missed character development, likely because these characters are purposely underdeveloped--as are the characters in No Country for Old Men, come to think of it!
It's not a guy flick; it's a one-guy flick: the movie is entirely carried by Anthony Hopkins--and a most excellent trained grizzly bear, named Bart. Reviewers said more about Bart, than I am going to. It's my movie-for-life, after all!
I’ll write five posts about this film, in addition to this introductory one:
1. Our Story
2. The Bookworm
3. Younger Man, Envying
4. The Faithless Trophy Wife, a non-Character
5. The Accidental Victor
Onward!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
(Instant) Karma
A Brief Meditation on (Instant) Karma from "The Mummy"
Or Why You Needn't Worry About Getting Even
You know that urge you get to retaliate at, say, a driver who cut you off at 70 mph? Let it ease on down the road.
That fantasy you have of sending door-to-door solicitors to the cornfield? Send it packing to the next house, the next street, the next neighborhood.
Your plan to gift the neighborhood's howling dog to friends with a ranch 20 miles out of town? Save it for holiday gift-giving instead.
The voodoo doll and the sparkling sharp needles intended for your inept boss? Keep them for the religious fundamentalists trying to gain political office.
A curse you want to hurl at the leader of your home owners' association? Forget about it!
You needn't risk your life, limb, or soul to engineer payback. For as Evy wisely points out, “Nasty little fellows [...] always get their comeuppance. [...] Oh, yes. Always.” (Don't you just love the word “comeuppance”?)
That's right. Everything has a consequence. Every action has a reaction. Every vibe spreads like a ripple through still water. And since the Earth is a sphere, what starts in one person comes around back to that person.
The consequence of a misdeed can take any form. It can take a mighty long time in manifesting, too. And its sufferer is not likely to know why some calamity has befallen him or her. And you are even less likely to know anything about it. It's not for your benefit or prurient thrills, after all.
Just don't worry yourself with tricky machinations. Don't risk your ever-lasting soul with ill intentions. Let Karma do her thing as she always does. Always.
Or Why You Needn't Worry About Getting Even
You know that urge you get to retaliate at, say, a driver who cut you off at 70 mph? Let it ease on down the road.
That fantasy you have of sending door-to-door solicitors to the cornfield? Send it packing to the next house, the next street, the next neighborhood.
Your plan to gift the neighborhood's howling dog to friends with a ranch 20 miles out of town? Save it for holiday gift-giving instead.
The voodoo doll and the sparkling sharp needles intended for your inept boss? Keep them for the religious fundamentalists trying to gain political office.
A curse you want to hurl at the leader of your home owners' association? Forget about it!
You needn't risk your life, limb, or soul to engineer payback. For as Evy wisely points out, “Nasty little fellows [...] always get their comeuppance. [...] Oh, yes. Always.” (Don't you just love the word “comeuppance”?)
That's right. Everything has a consequence. Every action has a reaction. Every vibe spreads like a ripple through still water. And since the Earth is a sphere, what starts in one person comes around back to that person.
The consequence of a misdeed can take any form. It can take a mighty long time in manifesting, too. And its sufferer is not likely to know why some calamity has befallen him or her. And you are even less likely to know anything about it. It's not for your benefit or prurient thrills, after all.
Just don't worry yourself with tricky machinations. Don't risk your ever-lasting soul with ill intentions. Let Karma do her thing as she always does. Always.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Dread Simple
I titled this post before I wrote it. That's what I get: now I can't think what to write. The Coens made another movie, Blood Simple; that's where I got the idea. I used the word "dread" to describe the effect the violence of the single-minded killer, Chigurh, had on me, when first I watched No Country for Old Men. I often wonder how I made it through this movie once, but, mercifully, the killing scenes don't haunt me.
That's because the Coens didn't dwell on them. Eureka! The violence, in the end, is not the point. Once we're subjected to a taste of it in the opening scenes, is largely assumed. Implied. Horrific, and yet not splattered before us. This leaves the viewer to dwell on the desert, instead.
So here I am, sitting down to have my final say on this Coen movie, and suddenly I'm at a loss. (Gess and I have agreed: it's five blog posts per film. Then we move on to another one.) What this is, is reluctance to leave the theater! And why should this surprise me?!--I, who've watched this movie, as I've said, on an excess of occasions.
McCarthy's prose suits the landscape; the landscape suits the tale; the Coens kept that spareness going. Here are some examples where characters drop just a few syllables around a reaction, or an emotion: simple. Chilling.
Chigurh to Man from Dallas: "Could you step out of the car, please? I need you to step out of the car."
Wendell to Bell: "Aww! They even shot the dog!"
Dying Mexican drug runner to Llewellyn: "Cierra la puerta! Hay lobos!"
But something gets through the violence. Sheriff Bell, the Force for Good, says to Molly, his secretary: "What's that Torbert says about truth and justice?"
Molly: "We dedicate ourselves daily anew. Somethin like that."
Bell: "I think I'm gonna commence sayin it twice daily.
It might come to three times, 'fore it's over."
...
But, of course, my favorite understatement is the final scene, where Bell, now retired from the police force, is describing a dream he just had. His wife listens, indulgently, wryly (wry, because they have this joke about his being retired, having time to dream, and she has to go to work, and he's detaining her to tell her about his dream). Bell has been struggling with being defeated by whatever this great evil is that has overwhelmed his county, his state, the world. He was forced to retire, over this Chigurh business, over this string of crimes that he could not stop. There are a number of soliloquies in the book--and, in the book, all soliloquies belong to Bell--where he muses on the drug trade, how come it was able to take such hold, and so on. The Coens analyzed all these, and sprinkled pithy bits in scenes, maintaining McCarthy's focus.
Here's the dream. It's about Bell's father, who died when he was twenty years younger than Bell is now:
"It was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin through the mountains of a night. Goin through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin. Never said nothin. He just rode on past and he had this blanket wrapped around him and he had his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. About the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up."
The book ends right here. So does the movie. I know exactly what I make of it, but I'll let you decide for yourself. It makes me take heart, somehow.
That's because the Coens didn't dwell on them. Eureka! The violence, in the end, is not the point. Once we're subjected to a taste of it in the opening scenes, is largely assumed. Implied. Horrific, and yet not splattered before us. This leaves the viewer to dwell on the desert, instead.
So here I am, sitting down to have my final say on this Coen movie, and suddenly I'm at a loss. (Gess and I have agreed: it's five blog posts per film. Then we move on to another one.) What this is, is reluctance to leave the theater! And why should this surprise me?!--I, who've watched this movie, as I've said, on an excess of occasions.
McCarthy's prose suits the landscape; the landscape suits the tale; the Coens kept that spareness going. Here are some examples where characters drop just a few syllables around a reaction, or an emotion: simple. Chilling.
Chigurh to Man from Dallas: "Could you step out of the car, please? I need you to step out of the car."
Wendell to Bell: "Aww! They even shot the dog!"
Dying Mexican drug runner to Llewellyn: "Cierra la puerta! Hay lobos!"
But something gets through the violence. Sheriff Bell, the Force for Good, says to Molly, his secretary: "What's that Torbert says about truth and justice?"
Molly: "We dedicate ourselves daily anew. Somethin like that."
Bell: "I think I'm gonna commence sayin it twice daily.
It might come to three times, 'fore it's over."
...
But, of course, my favorite understatement is the final scene, where Bell, now retired from the police force, is describing a dream he just had. His wife listens, indulgently, wryly (wry, because they have this joke about his being retired, having time to dream, and she has to go to work, and he's detaining her to tell her about his dream). Bell has been struggling with being defeated by whatever this great evil is that has overwhelmed his county, his state, the world. He was forced to retire, over this Chigurh business, over this string of crimes that he could not stop. There are a number of soliloquies in the book--and, in the book, all soliloquies belong to Bell--where he muses on the drug trade, how come it was able to take such hold, and so on. The Coens analyzed all these, and sprinkled pithy bits in scenes, maintaining McCarthy's focus.
Here's the dream. It's about Bell's father, who died when he was twenty years younger than Bell is now:
"It was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin through the mountains of a night. Goin through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin. Never said nothin. He just rode on past and he had this blanket wrapped around him and he had his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. About the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up."
The book ends right here. So does the movie. I know exactly what I make of it, but I'll let you decide for yourself. It makes me take heart, somehow.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Of Heroes and Hotties in The Mummy
(For a certain friend of mine, for any woman measuring up a man, and for all the boys who like boys.)
Looking for a good man? Let the heroes and hotties of The Mummy help you identify him. Just ask yourself these questions about your potential hunk.
1.Is he willing to do anything whatsoever for the woman he loves?
“For his love, Imhotep dared the gods' anger by going deep into the city, where he took the Black Book of the Dead from its holy resting place.” And then “he was condemned to endure the hom-dai , the worst of all ancient curses; one so horrible it had never before been bestowed.” He risked and lost. And was then sentenced to be “an undead for all of eternity.” Now that is commitment!
2.Is he honest even to a fault?
When asked by Evy why he kissed her, O'Connell admits simply, “I was about to be hanged. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” And when Evy storms off, he's oblivious about why she is angry. You can't fault a man for being honest, can you?
3.Does he know the value of a good woman?
O'Connell very subtly admits Evy's great value when he explains to Jonathan that he probably could have gotten their camels for free by simply giving Evy to the trader. On the surface, this seems like an insult. But the look on O'Connell's face and the tone of his voice belie his true feelings.
4.Is he an old-fashioned gentleman?
Every lady wants a gentleman, whether she knows it or not, whether she notices or not.
O'Connell: You're in her seat.
Beni looks at O'Connell and chuckles.
O'Connell: Now.
Beni hops up and leaves.
Evy sits down chattering about scarab skeletons.
5.Is he brave through and through, perhaps to the point of cockiness, recklessness?
Ardeth Ray: I told you to leave or die. You refused. Now you may have killed us all. For you have unleashed the creature that we have feared for more than three thousand years.
O'Connell: Relax, I got him.
Ardeth Ray: No mortal weapon can kill this creature. He's not of this world! [...] We must now go on the hunt and try and find a way to kill him.
O'Connell: I already told you I got him.
And for extra credit:
Does he maintain his rugged good looks by keeping his teeth pearly white regardless of... anything?
I love a man of good grooming. He doesn't need to be a metrosexual, or fit any other trendy monicker. He just needs to maintain a basic level of hygiene. And the heroes and hotties of The Mummy apparently do. O'Connell, Jonathan, and Ardeth Ray cross the Sahara repeatedly, do time in a Cairo jail, deal with biblical plagues, and fight off and outwit powerful mummies, all the while complementing their handsome faces with bright white smiles.
Looking for a good man? Let the heroes and hotties of The Mummy help you identify him. Just ask yourself these questions about your potential hunk.
1.Is he willing to do anything whatsoever for the woman he loves?
“For his love, Imhotep dared the gods' anger by going deep into the city, where he took the Black Book of the Dead from its holy resting place.” And then “he was condemned to endure the hom-dai , the worst of all ancient curses; one so horrible it had never before been bestowed.” He risked and lost. And was then sentenced to be “an undead for all of eternity.” Now that is commitment!
2.Is he honest even to a fault?
When asked by Evy why he kissed her, O'Connell admits simply, “I was about to be hanged. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” And when Evy storms off, he's oblivious about why she is angry. You can't fault a man for being honest, can you?
3.Does he know the value of a good woman?
O'Connell very subtly admits Evy's great value when he explains to Jonathan that he probably could have gotten their camels for free by simply giving Evy to the trader. On the surface, this seems like an insult. But the look on O'Connell's face and the tone of his voice belie his true feelings.
4.Is he an old-fashioned gentleman?
Every lady wants a gentleman, whether she knows it or not, whether she notices or not.
O'Connell: You're in her seat.
Beni looks at O'Connell and chuckles.
O'Connell: Now.
Beni hops up and leaves.
Evy sits down chattering about scarab skeletons.
5.Is he brave through and through, perhaps to the point of cockiness, recklessness?
Ardeth Ray: I told you to leave or die. You refused. Now you may have killed us all. For you have unleashed the creature that we have feared for more than three thousand years.
O'Connell: Relax, I got him.
Ardeth Ray: No mortal weapon can kill this creature. He's not of this world! [...] We must now go on the hunt and try and find a way to kill him.
O'Connell: I already told you I got him.
And for extra credit:
Does he maintain his rugged good looks by keeping his teeth pearly white regardless of... anything?
I love a man of good grooming. He doesn't need to be a metrosexual, or fit any other trendy monicker. He just needs to maintain a basic level of hygiene. And the heroes and hotties of The Mummy apparently do. O'Connell, Jonathan, and Ardeth Ray cross the Sahara repeatedly, do time in a Cairo jail, deal with biblical plagues, and fight off and outwit powerful mummies, all the while complementing their handsome faces with bright white smiles.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Rurality
If you do a Google search on 'No Country for Old Men, stills', you call up a ream of images, few of which have anything to do with the rural scenery that sticks with me most. What you get, instead of the marvelous series of photos that the Coens open the movie with, is a window on how much the ghoulishness in this film is what has held people's attention. I guess I forget that.
I had to go to YouTube and post the whole first scene (see below). That's sort of cheating, but there it is.
Did we as modern people dive right into the gore, and miss the transcendental point altogether? It's like riding a rollercoaster, this movie; it's like sticking your finger in a light socket: it just feels so good to be scared. Is that it? If the Coens had decided to clip every murder scene just before it got bloody, it would have made no less an impression on me. I'd've watched the film seven hundred times anyway, starting from the moment when the Tommy Lee Jones character monologizes:
I was sheriff of this county when I was twenty-five years old.
Where others were shocked to attention what they might call reality, I went straight for the rurality.
I have allowed the language of the rural people in this film to become mine. I use this, in moments of frustration:
Well, Wendell? With all due respect, that don't make a lot of sense!
Sometimes I just say, “Well, Wendell?!”—like when I lose my keys. I appreciate the gravity—and the reality—of the tale. It's just that I let its spindly, positive message be the one that gets through, again and again, to me.
What's that message? It's that people whom the rest of the world calls simple-minded have nothing to fight true evil with except their simple-mindedness, and they can cope, that way. They can survive small skirmishes. And, when they die, their deaths are not in vain.
What do you suppose would have happened to Beehive Hair Woman at the trailer court, if she’d not planted herself in simple opposition to Chigurh when he demanded to know where Llewelyn worked? (Her husband flushing the toilet off-screen is of course what turned the tide—Chigurh evidently decided that blowing her away was not worth it—but d’you think she’d’ve let him get close enough to put that little thing against her head? I think not.)
Chigurh: Where does he work?
BHW: I cant say.
Chigurh (more slowly): Where… does he work?
BHW: Sir, I aint at liberty to give out no information about our residents.
Chigurh: Where does he work?
BHW: Did you not hear me? We cant give out no information.
Then the toilet flushes, and just as Chigurh is changing his mind, Beehive Hair Woman makes a tiny, animal move. She throws her shoulder forward, as he’s backing out the door. It’s a “Harrumph!” gesture, relief at the breaking tension mingling with “…and stay out!”
Real.
[N.b. Dialogue punctuated as McCarthy would have—did, in fact.]
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