"My Man Godfrey" (1936)

The plot of My Man Godfrey is one of those narratives that if you blink twice it all falls apart. The film takes place in one of those heightened realities that's more live action cartoon than anything in real life. This is part of the film's charm. People talk fast and do silly things, and it all comes across with a loose, off-the-cuff style (much of the film was improvised). And in this way it's in that fine tradition of screwball comedies from the 1930's and 1940's. Godfrey (William Powell) is a homeless man living in the city dump until by a string of circumstances far too intricate and wacky to describe -- it's best to see it for all it's delightful absurdity and hilarity -- he becomes the butler for an aristocratic family the Bullocks (who have such a fitting name). The family proves to be, put politely, kooky; they have exceedingly ridiculous demands and whims. They're selfish and reckless, especially in their expenses and their lavish lifestyle. The eldest daughter (Gail Patrick) tries to get Godfrey fired over a petty slight. The youngest daughter (Carole Lombard) obsessively, stalkerishly pines for him. The matriarch (Alice Brady) seems to be constantly in a state of flight of fancy inebriation. The only level-headed one is the father (Eugene Pallette) who is henpecked and ignored to the point of uselessness. They bicker and talk over one another and Godfrey keeps a level head through all their increasingly absurd antics. In a bit of Great Depression era social commentary, Godfrey, who we learn once came from wealth and now understands the pettiness of the wealthy, is grateful for the opportunity given to him even as he's bemused and turned off by the Bullocks. Yes, it's implausible but sometimes implausibility doesn't really matter when it's this deliriously fun. 

Grade: A-

Thoughts on "Seven Up" (1964)

It's not entirely fair to review Paul Almond and Michael Apted's Seven Up on it's own so take this more as some brief thoughts on the film. I say that it's not fair as the film gains a weight and poignancy when taken in concert with the other films of the "Up" documentary series (fair warning that I haven't seen any of the others ones yet). The film series stops in every seven years with the same group of people, starting from the age of seven. The first film was never made with the intention of following up with these participants. The goal was to see what the lives of children across the socioeconomic spectrum of Britain were like. While the first film isn't bad, it often times feels far too lightweight and frivolous. There's great humor and irony spun out from the questions asked about race, gender and class but it never feels as though the film really gives us a sense of who these different children are. Some are referred to by name but the film sketches in broad strokes and never really gets at the pressing question at its heart about how social class standing affects the lives of individuals. I give Seven Up the benefit of the doubt though because it is an entertaining and interesting thought experiment in action and because I can tell from just this first film how -- if done right -- the later installments will really make this film carry much more meaning and weight in hindsight.

"Cat People" (1942)

Cat People is all about those untamed, repressed passions people have lingering deep down inside of themselves. Cat People's id comes in the form of Erena's (Simone Simon) black panther, her outward representation of her inner jealousy and raucous sexual appetite -- the kind well-to-do gentlemen, especially in the 1940's, fear to find their wives have. When her husband (Kent Smith) starts drifting away from her as Erena grows jealous and distrustful, she snaps and is lured in by that primal -- and supernatural -- desire to exact vengeance on those who've wronged her. Unlike that untamed feline rage though, Cat People is very collected in terms of its storytelling; it's not until late in its run time that we actually get any real action but in that time it builds a creeping sense of paranoia. The cat is playing with that ball of yarn and slowly unspooling the thread. The horror is almost entirely suggestion and director Jacques Tourneur turns those moments of  horror into scenes palpable with tension; in the tradition of the best horror, it's all shadowy lighting, eerie sound design and the implied presence of dark things just outside the frame. The lesson of classic horror such as Cat People is that fear of the unknown is the most powerful and potent fear of all. The film's own brand of mysterious sexual danger only makes it that much more unnerving.

Grade: A-

"The Great Dictator" (1940)

The most infamous moment in The Great Dictator -- and the one that has since inspired countless Charlie Chaplin kind of looks like Adolf Hitler jokes -- doesn't occur until the last ten or so minutes in the film. It seems so strange that this moments plays out for such a short length of time; the film goes back and forth between the story of a Jewish barber and a fictional dictator so clearly standing in for Hitler (both played by Chaplin) that we're constantly anticipating the moment when their two stories will collide -- though the moment itself is actually a bit tedious and dull sadly enough. Though the dictator is not Hitler but the tyrant of fictional Tomainia, Chaplin's mocking jabs are so specific in their aim at Hitler that it's hard to think of anything else. Back upon its release in 1940, more Americans would have been familiar with Chaplin than Hitler. Today the opposite is probably true. But you don't need to be familiar with Hitler or Nazi Germany to get in on Chaplin's joke; The Great Dictator is many things (a critique of tyrannical governments and megalomaniac personalities, a scathing satire of the Third Reich, a sweet, sentimental romance) but above all else it's pretty darn funny. Chaplin mixes social commentary with his ever committed slapstick. But there's also just a lot of really inspired silliness; his clearly fake use of German (politically incorrect but damn if it isn't funny all the same) or the dictator dancing with a giant balloon shaped like the globe. Though some of this wears its welcome out, much of it is simply too clever to ignore. Chaplin was ahead of his time with the political message; the U.S. had yet to enter the war, the government was neutral on their position towards Hitler, and he was making a bold statement. Though that statement sometimes seems quaint today, it still doesn't take away from the film's frequently winning humor.

Grade: A    

"The Rules of the Game" (1939)

Jean Renoir has a lot of affection for human beings and human behavior; his view of humans is somewhere between delighted, bemused and frustrated. The Rules of the Game is gently mocking its characters but there's still an odd sense that Renoir sort of still loves them all the same. If it's not initially clear that this is a send up than the film's wonderful third act makes that point very clear. Renoir allows the whole proceeding to devolve into one giant farce. So absurd and hilarious is this sequence that a character even exasperatedly comments at one point "What is this a farce!". But the whole joke really is that it is a farce; far before we get to the breathless sequence where character's paths endlessly intertwine and escalate to dizzying heights of exhilarating silliness the film is treating everything we see as a figurative farce. The literal farce is just a recognition of how petty and stupid the lifestyles of the French aristocracy are. The oh-so-noble and heroic Andre responds to Christine finally admitting she loves him by saying "But darling the rules ..." He's noting the titular "rules of the game" which in one sense is the charade that passes for codes of romance and love amongst the upper class -- a honor code with so many contradictions and general hypocrisies that it can hardly qualify as a set of rules. But in another sense it refers to the rules of society that determine what's appropriate for the different social classes. At the crux of The Rules of the Game is a strong critique of classism. And yet there's still the affection for humanity in spite of societal strictures; Renoir's signature, naturalistic style is so warm and tender in the way it observes the characters. The camera glides with such effortless gracefulness and Renoir's renowned use of deep focus allows for him to capture the many stories simultaneously which proves a vital asset as the plot leaps into its delirious, heady final stretch.

Grade: A

Breaking Bad: "Felina"

 **Spoilers Below**:

“I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really … I was alive” – Walter White

Expectations for how Breaking Bad was going to end were exceptionally high. And considering we place so much weight on how tv shows end in the first place that meant things were so loaded against it being completely satisfying no matter what happened. But I have to say, all the same, that as far as things can give you everything you’d hope for, Breaking Bad did a pretty phenomenal job right up until the bitter end. 

This was Breaking Bad revisiting every last meaningful aspect of what made it great. On a character level this was pretty perfect. This was a version of Walt we haven’t ever seen. He came full circle to accept that he was selfish and vicious and simply wrong. The quote above is to me the crucial moment of the episode. I expected, and I’m sure many of you might have anticipated, that Walt would still skirt the question of responsibility. If you think about it the one thing Walt has wanted for so very long is death. When his cancer was in remission he punched the towel dispenser because now he no longer had an excuse to justify his behavior. Death would be the ultimate reprieve for him but he hadn’t quite earned it yet. He had yet to show remorse and guilt. 

The cold open of the episode is essentially Walt having a conversation with this twisted universe that has allowed him to get away with so much. This world has become a character unto itself; it’s a world with a certain logic and with a high conception of morality. For a while the quote that I thought would appear above was a completely worn down Walt whispering “Just get me home… I’ll do the rest”. And for once the universe was like, “Well, dag-nabbit, may be Walt is being honest for once! Let’s see how this plays out!” (For some reason apparently the universe is a wizened hillbilly in my mind). 

For a brief window the episode is misdirecting us into considering that perhaps Walter means to take down Elliot and Gretchen as part of his plan. But after an excruciatingly intense and drawn out sequence where he enters their home (unbeknownst to them) and then threatens them into giving Walter Jr. what remains of his money, we realize that nope: the Nazis and Gretchen are the real intended target, as many suspected.  I think there would have been some level of catharsis to Walt taking down the two individuals that really were, supposedly, the first to bring out the worst to his pride, but it also likely would have been a little hollow. Walt has shifted mental gears and there would be no real pleasure in this kind of vengeance. 

The callbacks in this episode are actually quite astounding. Think for a moment how the show gives us one last appearance of Skinny Pete and Badger. It didn’t need to, but man if it was not really pleasing (A big old grin was on my face at the sight of them and their low-brow antics). The stoner Abbott and Costello duo pointed laser pointers at Gretchen and Elliot to trick them into thinking hitmen were watching them. The initial moment is pure badass, pulp Breaking Bad where Walt watches as the red dots land on his former colleagues chests and forces them into submitting to his scheme. But the moment after is pure black comedy Breaking Bad with Skinny Pete and Badger bickering. And then the show shifts into morality play Breaking Bad. Another contender definitive quote of the episode comes when Skinny Pete and Badger question the morality of their actions. Walt hands them some money and ask them how their actions feels now; a little better they reply. That scene is Breaking Bad in a nutshell. People do bad things, feel bad about it but find excuses to justify their immoral actions. 

The show then quickly pushes through the events we’ve already seen in the flashforwards. It only pauses briefly to have Walt once again contemplate what he’s done. He looks at the “Heisenberg” written in spray-paint on his old living room wall. He flashes back to the pilot episode when Hank suggested he take a ride with him some time to check out one of the meth labs he busts up. “Get some excitement in your life,” Hank presses. “Someday,” Walt mutters. There was no turning back from that moment. Walt used the cancer as an excuse to finally step outside his milquetoast self. 

Walt then takes on the first of his intended targets. Even if director Vince Gilligan hadn’t done that really explicit shot of the stevia into the coffee we would have picked up on the fact that the ricin was slipped in. Sometimes Gilligan underlines points too much. But it’s rare enough that it doesn’t matter. Gilligan really is a ferocious, daring and intelligent director. Gilligan makes an excellent use of visual space in this episode. Notice how he shoots Gretchen and Elliot’s home. There are the more obvious shots such as Walt hiding in the shadows to the obliviousness of the couple. But there are more subtle things at work as well; look how he creates the spatial relationship between Walt and the unsuspecting Gretchen and Elliot and builds up the tension to the point where Gretchen and Elliot will realize that Walt is there. Take another scene, that of Skylar and Walt. If my use of the term visual space is confusing then hopefully the placement of Bryan Cranston in this scene will make it clearer. We think we know everything about what there is in this apartment, but Gilligan uses that sneaky pole (reminiscent of the one in Pete Campbell’s old office on Mad Men). In the restaurant scene Gilligan doesn’t overstate the point that Walt is sitting at a nearby table; he lets us come to that realization on our own. 

Walt also uses the opportunity at the restaurant to gain entrance to the Nazi compound, using his shaggy state to alleviate worries of any foul play. Walt then proceeds to go to Skylar, but not before Skylar receives a phone call from Marie warning her that Walt is back in town. The coup de grace of this scene is Anna Gunn’s stifled, painfully mustered “Thanks”. The character, relationship coda given to Marie and Skylar is one in a checklist that Breaking Bad exactingly goes through in the finale. We start with Gretchen and Elliot; barely visible characters after early on. We then proceed to minor but lovable characters Skinny Pete and Badger. We then move on to Marie’s send off. She’s as prickly and self-concerned as ever and we wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Walt and Skylar’s conversation is brief. Skylar is broken-down. Her voice is barely audibly above a whisper. She’s furious but she’s suffered too much to really display anymore emotion. Walt gives her the lottery ticket and notes its significance (“It’s a burial site”). The best moment in all of this, if you couldn’t tell from the quote that opens this piece, is where Walt attempts to explain himself. “If you say you did it for the family one more time,” she begins fed up. Walt calmly steps in: Nope, I did it for me; I’ve come to accept that. The best part of that moment and that quote is the last part. Walt begins, “I was really” before trailing off; he could say any number of things but he quickly lands on the truth. He felt alive. He had become so white bread bland and self-loathing for everything he could have been but never was. 

Walt briefly visits Holly. The great part of this scene is how Walt exits. He doesn’t even say good bye to Skylar, look at her or pay her notice. He walks out recognizing that there’s no more appropriate way to leave than as quietly and without protestation as possible. He then watches Flynn from a safe distance. The camera lingers on this moment for a long time. There’s a fantastic camera choice where the camera slowly dollies in onto Cranston’s face and it’s just maybe twenty or thirty seconds but that’s infinity in television time. It’s the last inhale of breath before the action that follows. 

The last stretch of the episode is really about Walt and Jesse, and, well, that felt absolutely appropriate (if anything I wanted more time spent with these two, but c’est la vie). We know the Nazis are going down (at least, we’re pretty sure – knowing Vince Gilligan it could very well have gone very wrong in those last moments) so it’s less about Walt taking them down and more about him having this final bit of time with Jesse. 

The action is, of course, a wonderfully intense sequence. From the moment Walt drives up to the gate, Gilligan draws out the sequence. When Walt attempts to get his car keys to set off the jerry-rigged remotely activated M-16, it’s every bit as exciting as anything the show has ever done before. 

But the best part of these last few scenes is Walt and Jesse. Walt tackling Jesse to save him is almost cheer-worthy. Their confrontation in the aftermath where Walt kicks a gun over to him and begging Jesse to kill him is a necessary, cathartic one. For a second we think perhaps Jesse could go through with killing Walt but it’s not in him and then he gives himself the out when he notices the gunshot wound to the chest. And then Gilligan gives one last capper to the relationship. They stand at a distance from one another, drenched in shadows. They nod to one another. The nod speaks volumes; it’s an action that speaks depths of emotions I could not begin to articulate in writing. 

All that’s left is for Walt to die. He goes to the meth lab and looks at the equipment. Is he remembering all the thrilling times he had making meth? He looks at the equipment with a weary grin; he’s self-satisfied. He’s perhaps the most truly satisfied he’s ever been. And then he collapses, smearing blood on the pristine silver lab equipment, dirtying things as much in death as he did in life. We end with a bird’s eye view, pulling up and away from the dead, spread eagle Walt. At that moment it’s as if we’re the universe looking down at Walt in judgment and satisfaction. 

Stray Thoughts:

-The song selection for this episode is pretty fantastic.  Marty Robin’s “El Paso” which plays at the end of the opening scene and provides the episode with its title “Felina” in its prescient lyrics:  “Maybe tomorrow/ A bullet may find me/ Tonight nothing's worse than this/ Pain in my heart”. Badfinger’s “Baby Blue” which plays over the final scene and has the fittingly opening lyrics: “Guess I got what I deserve”.

-Betsy Brandt never is given enough credit. Her appearance here is brief but it’s every bit as good as ever. Marie was a purposely grating character and Brandt made her sympathetic even occasionally likable despite her shrillness.
-Marie has some hilarious trouble attempting to remember Becky's, uh, I mean Carole's name. 
-The moment the keys fall out from the car visor felt like a Schrodinger's Cat kind of moment; the keys could or could not have been there all along, the Universe just had to decide whether Walt deserved them to be there.  

-“Should make one hell of a story”, says Walt posing as David Lynn, New York Times journalist. It sure did Walt.

-I love how Walt closes the doors to the Schwartz’s home. He’s patient and precise even in this moment. The scene feels like a horror movie right down to Elliot pulling the knife on Walt. “If we’re gonna go that way you’re going to need a bigger knife,” Walt replies. I don’t think he believes it but he’s aware they’ll buy it all the same.

-The counterpointing classical music in that scene is just perfect and a little eerie. It makes the shift to Dave Porter’s menacing electronic score when the laser pointers appear all the more disturbing.

-I don’t know if the orange glow fantasy sequence in Jesse’s head was necessary but it’s still heartbreaking all the same. They made Aaron Paul look awful and more fractured than ever. Anyone have any ideas about the box he was making in the dream and what it meant?

-Uncle Jack’s pride ultimately does him in. He can’t be associated with a rat. And that gives Walt just enough time to kill him. Pride does wonders in the Breaking Bad universe, doesn’t it?

-How do we feel about Jesse killing Todd? It’s well-earned but I was hoping that Jesse didn’t have to kill any more people.

-Uncle Jack has one last cigarette like in an Old Western.

-Oh, how Walt has changed. He doesn’t even care about Uncle Jack’s babble about the money.

-I wish we had been able to spend more time with this new version of Walt as it’s so radically different from anything we’ve seen from him before. However, the show did an excellent job of believably earning this new state of being in such a short time.

-“Say you want this,” Jesse implores Walt like he did back in “Confessions” and for once Walt is completely honest and says that he does want Jesse to kill him. Jesse can’t give Walt what he wants at this point though. It’s interesting but this is the most honest we’ve ever seen Walt. There’s no manipulation or falsity to his conversations with Skylar or Jesse. Even when he’s playing Lydia, Todd and the Nazis, the act is nowhere near as convincing as it was when Walt was at his finest acting.

-It’s very telling that Walt feels Jesse has earned the right to kill him.

-Second to last scene of the episode: Jesse escaping triumphantly; Walt standing isolated, bleeding out. The way Gilligan cuts it draws a connection between the two characters. It’s a triumphant moment for both even if for Walt it feels a little less so.

Grade: A

This Week in Film (9/15/13 - 9/28/13)

This wasn't a cult week in the most exact sense of the definition but on the whole it might as well have been. Even going back to some of the movies from last week (with Jason and the Argonauts and Sonatine -- even Cabin in the Woods feels like it's got cult potential) and carrying into this week, I've been watching more cult films than not and I can't say that was intentional but it makes an odd sort of logic for understanding my impulses this week. Even the exceptions (Days of Living Wild and The Celebration), while not being cult movies, have cult vibes to them (Other Wong Kar Wai and Dogme 95 films have been labeled cult films so it's not too far of a stretch). So enjoy the kind-of-sort-of cult week. Lets tally it up:

Sweet Smell of Success (1957)  - This excellent late noir film finds Tony Curtis as the wonderfully slimy Edie Falco, a press agent trying to rise up in the newspaper industry by any means necessary. He desperately wants to get out from under the thumb of J.J. Hunsecker (a scarily commanding Burt Lancaster) even going to great, despicable lengths to crush Hunsecker's kid sister's relationship with a small time jazz player.

Breaking Bad: "Granite State" - It's essentially just a bridge to the finale but Breaking Bad makes it feel like less like a bridge and more like a hellish descent into absolute decay and resignation. All that means is the show is, as always, doing things on its own fearless terms and what could be better.

Wet Hot American Summer (2001) - The film takes pot shots at every last 80's movie and trope it can think of with really mixed results but there's enough inspired silliness so that it mostly doesn't matter.

How I Met Your Mother: "The Locket"/"Coming Back" - For the most part, HIMYM starts off its final season strong, proving its odd structuring centered around the wedding can be mined for genuine, deeply felt pathos as well as some pretty good laughs. 

Kiss Me Deadly (1955) - A dark and punchy film that sends up film noir by embracing the darkest, ugliest aspects of the genre. It also features one of the most memorable and cool endings in the history of cinema.

Bride of Frankenstein (1935) - A worthy expansion of the Frankenstein franchise that is moodier, more thoughtful and more provocative than its predecessor while losing none of the high camp and expressionist values that made the first so good.

The Celebration (1998) - One of the better examples of Dogme 95's quest to distance itself from traditional, conventional Hollywood filmmaking. The Celebration is a searing and honest portrayal of the psychological fallout that comes with sexual abuse.

Insidious: Chapter 2 (2013) - Once again I was given the chance to write a review for my college's newspaper. This time around it was for a scary but not necessarily very good film.

Days of Being Wild (1990) -  One of director Wong Kar Wai's earliest films is an eerie, alluring mood piece about unbridled passions and the toll they have on a group of young people that Kar Wai observes with a hauntingly beautiful, evocative gaze.