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by Bill Gibron

18 Feb 2008


We critics love to give Oscar the razz. After all, they get it wrong so many times that, inherently, we view it as an out of touch, deeply political body whose process allows art to die at the hands of studio artifice. Recognizing that the voting membership is comprised of all previous nominees, along with occasional invited inductees, the insular nature of the beast is pretty darn obvious. But there are other instances where the Academy bungles its business so badly that you have to wonder if senility hasn’t set in, a kind of all encompassing lunacy that adversely affects the aesthetic of the constituency. It’s the bungles that burn our biscuits the most, slights and celebrations that mock the very nature of film.

While the list could go on forever, and accommodate everyone’s personal favorite and/or fiasco, the fact remains that the Academy Awards are one of the better bodies of recognition out there. After all, it could be a lot worse - it could be the Grammys. And don’t go harping about the old studio system. This overview is confining its critique to the ‘60s through ‘00s.  As a result, this is far from definitive. Instead, it’s just an example of AMPAS’s fairly consistent brain farts. Let’s begin with:

Robin Williams beats Burt Reynolds and Robert Forster 1998 Best Supporting Actor


Having chalked up almost every pre-ceremony award between them, predictions had the Boogies Nights and Jackie Brown veterans in virtual tie for their first Oscar. On the night of the awards, both men looked confident, especially as the nominations were being announced. Then the former funny man, known for his hirsute hissy fits, rode Miramax’s Affleck and Damon express to a totally undeserving triumph. While Forrester mostly kept his composure, Reynolds will always be remembered for his now classic hurt puppy reaction.

Roberto Benigni beats Nick Nolte, Ian McKellan, and Tom Hanks 1999 Best Actor


Some slights are unconscionable. Others are apparently the work of Satan himself. And then there was this undeniable abomination, a clear case of mass hypnosis where seemingly sensible people went pie-eyed for a Mediterranean stereotype in badly broken English. And his Holocaust comedy was pretty awful, too. Still, something about this Italian scallion’s shuck and jive wooed the weak willed Oscar body, resulting in a devastating loss for real actors who gave actual performances. It remains one of the Academy’s dumbest decisions ever.

Ron Howard beats Peter Jackson and David Lynch 2002 Best Director


Rewarding a journeyman for transcending his workmanlike trappings is nothing new, but the Academy usually picks a better movie than the underwhelming A Beautiful Mind. After bestowing unwarranted golden kudos on the supreme hack of the screenplay, Akiva Goldsman, Oscar went one better and tossed former child star ‘Opie Cunningham’ a little mantle magic all his own. That Mind made mincemeat of Mulholland Dr. and the first of what would be three massive Tolkien treasures stands as proof that it was still business as usual, even in a new millennium.

Kevin Costner beats Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola, Barbet Schroeder, and Stephen Frears 1990 Best Director


The Academy has had a long history of giving first timers - especially actors - its directing love in comparison to established career filmmakers. Back in 1981, Robert Redford took home a statue for his work on Ordinary People. Nine years later, the Bull Durham star deconstructed the Western, and Academy voters went wonky. They ignored four other famous helmsmen to give the novice their notice. Dances with Wolves has its merits, but ‘89 was clearly the year of Goodfellas. Apparently, no one in AMPAS thought so.

Chariots of Fire beats Raiders of the Lost Ark 1982 Best Picture


In what many saw as a box office no-brainer, Steven Spielberg’s brilliant throwback to the Saturday matinee serials of the ‘40s was 1981’s clear fan favorite. By the time Oscar rolled around, the film racked up nine nominations, including Best Director and Picture nods. While his own personal fortunes were always suspect, there was no way Raiders would lose to Atlantic City, Reds, On Golden Pond, or some British film about runners. Thanks to a screenplay win early on, Chariots unseated the presumptive champion in typical underdog fashion.

Kramer vs. Kramer beats Apocalypse Now and All That Jazz 1982 Best Picture


Back when divorce was still a hot button social issue (the ‘70s was strange like that), Robert Benton’s family in crisis drama managed to walk away with several of the year’s statues. It was five for nine, snagging two for acting, screenplay, director and picture. Looking back, the movie makes for a fine character study. But when put up alongside Coppola’s Vietnam fever dream and Bob Fosse’s autobiographical binge, it seems like a less solid choice.

Rocky beats Network, Taxi Driver, and All the President’s Men 1977 Best Picture


It will always remain a surreal situation. While nominated for 10 total awards, it looked like Sylvester Stallone’s labor of love was about to be swept out of the ‘77 ceremony. Then, in one of the most unlikely upsets ever, John G. Avildsen won Best Director (beating shoe-in Sidney Lumet) and Rocky took home the top prize. While a fine film in its own right, the notion that it managed to trounce a trio of post-modern classics confirms the Academy’s occasional lose grip on motion picture reality.

The Color Purple Goes 0 for 11 1986 Awards


At this point in his career, Steven Spielberg was constantly referred to as the most popular, influential, and considered director not to win the big one (apparently, the East Coast bias against Scorsese was still in full force). So when he took on Alice Walker’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel about rural African Americans in ‘30s America, his eventual win (and several more for the film) seemed like a foregone conclusion. Spielberg even received the coveted DGA blessing, making him the presumptive favorite. In pure Oscar style, he wasn’t even nominated.

Pulp Fiction Goes 1 for 7 1995 Awards


Sometimes, the shortsighted nature of the entire awards process more or less mandates Academy missteps. Though many saw it as nothing more than an overreaching critical darling, Quentin Tarantino’s cult crime epic has gone on to be one of the most influential films in the recent history of cinema. Of course, it couldn’t beat the feel good flimsiness of Forrest Gump (that year’s Oscar sweetheart) and QT did get the conciliatory screenplay nod. He and his still remarkable film deserved much, much more.

2001: A Space Odyssey Fails to Get a Best Picture Nod 1969 Awards


While a sensibility soaked in Star Wars might argue about Stanley Kubrick’s sci-fi meditation on man’s place in the cosmos, the truth is that the 1968 spectacle stands as a singular cinematic achievement. Yet, somehow, it failed to earn a Best Picture nomination. Clearly, the Academy thought Rachel, Rachel, Franco Zefferelli’s Romeo and Juliet, The Lion in Winter, Funny Girl, and eventual winner Oliver! were much more representative of the medium. Almost 40 years later, it’s clear which film remains the most iconic, and important.

by PopMatters Staff

17 Feb 2008


by Pablo Amor

Before I press the ‘play’ button of what seems to be an illegal recording (probably made by the projectionist of a north American cinema, early in the morning today) of the first Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (Steven Spielberg, 2008) trailer, I try to think how many times I’ll finally watch these 103 seconds until the movie is finally released worldwide on May 22nd, even if a second trailer comes up before that day (it will only add to the obsession…).

When I think that I’m ready, I close my eyes for a second, take a deep breath and finally press the button.

It starts… Wait a second! What is this landscape shot before the Paramount and Lucasfilm logos? Just a jungle, but not a very spectacular one (if this were some Lord of the Rings’ stuff, it would surely be much better looking) and…Hey!...this is not a very surprising transition, between the classic mountain peak of the Paramount logo and this kind of inverted view of a mappa mundi. I really hope this is not the actual transition in the movie, because it doesn’t measure up to the ones we have seen in the past trilogy: the real mountain peak in Raiders of the Lost Ark (Steven Spielberg, 1981), the engraving on the gong in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (Steven Spielberg, 1984), and the rock –no, not the so-called actor; an actual rock, made of stone– in the desert in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (Steven Spielberg, 1989).

As far as fans like me go (and there’s a lot of Indiana Jones’ fans out there), every new detail of the upcoming film is important. I recall the famous tagline ‘If adventure has a name, it has to be Indiana Jones’ which served as publicity for the second film. And today we have been blessed with three new taglines that will be part of our fanatic lives from now on (I wonder who is responsible for these…) and they are:

“He protected the power of the divine”
Hmm… Was John Waters one of the many involved with this project, before he died? Jokes apart, this is not right; it’s ultra complicated: it will surely please both Christians and Jews; and taking into account that the only figure we have seen until then is Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) dressed in Arab robes, the word ‘divine’ might be an opened invitation to Muslims as well; and, why not? For the same reason, welcomed are Buddhists and people from any other confessions everywhere. But the tagline skips the name of the famous box that we see on the screen, the Ark of the Covenant. Is this because, as rumored, the relics will play in important part in the plot of the new movie?

“He saved the cradle of civilization”
Ah! Wait a minute! Are they implying that the old village where the Sankara Stones were stolen, in deep India, is where human life started? (Coincidentally I read the other day that Lucasfilm has offices in Singapore, and that they’re doing really well…) Are they implying that we all descend from that Indian village that already had far too many children to feed? Ok, I get it. It is just another joke! Lucas, you bastard! What a twisted way for referring to the increasing number of westerners adopting oriental children (that may explain why we don’t get a single glimpse of Indiana taken from the Temple of Doom movie, just shots of Indian children running and being embraced by their ‘real’ parents).

“He triumphed over the armies of evil”
This is very straightforward stuff. Nazis were evil. That we already knew. Then I notice something: the order of the two following brief sequences taken from Last Crusade is inverted; first we get a glimpse of the famous sunset prior to the final credits, in which Jones Jr. has to hold Jones Sr. (Sean Connery) up on his horse, in a classic gesture between alcoholics; and then we see the hand of Indiana anxiously looking for a glass. Is alcohol the real evil, and not the Nazis? Is that why the character of Marion Ravenwood is showing up in the new installment of the series? Because she was the one that could drink endlessly in Raiders? Are we going to be shown the consequences of heavy drinking? Is the ‘crystal skull’ of the title a metaphor for sick liver?

Then, as a conclusion and comment on what’s to come, we are simply told that “On May 22nd… The adventure continue.” What? After so many years, you introduce the man in the hat with a mere “The adventure continues?” Just that, something that could have been either said of The Bourne Ultimatum or The Da Vinci Code?  Are you crazy, Spielberg? Was it David Koepp’s (the final script’s author) idea? We want to know…

There are simply too many questions.

And really, the new stuff, the first official images of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, won’t answer any. On the contrary, they will produce more.

The new material starts with something we have never seen in an Indiana Jones movie, and it’s the image of an USA flag. Is it some kind of reaction to the recent return of Rambo, as in this turbulent times, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg were trying to say ‘Hey, Sylvester, Indiana Jones IS the one and only national American hero’?

We also see a desert and a caravan of military vehicles, but it instantly dissolves to a scene that I already dare to consider anthological, one that is right now part of the mythical imaginarium of the series: In an aerial shot, we’re shown a car, surrounded by soldiers, and a hat –the kind of hat we know so well– lying on the floor; after being extracted from the boot of the car, only the booted feet of Indiana Jones are really visible to us, just before his hand clutches the aforementioned hat and before we see the shadow of the man putting it on his head (and the number 1B7731 painted over the U.S Army Ford car behind him; you, deciphers! get to work!).

And then, the first funny line (it seems that, between action and humor, Lucas & Spielberg have finally opted to make fun of Indiana): Ray Winstone’s character says “This ain’t gonna be easy” and Indiana Jones replies “Not as easy as it used to be”. It is not a joke per se, it’s more like the first example of the self deprecatory Indiana Jones that we will surely see, as Lucas had promised: confirmed, the issue of Harrison Ford/Indiana Jones’ age is included in the plot.

The next scene strengthens this theory, as Jones, taking hold of his whip, swings on the air… but fails to land on the jeep that Cate Blanchett’s character drives, in what happens to be the warehouse taken from the last scene in Raiders –the one in which the actual relics are kept hidden, presumably forever– and crashes instead into the following vehicle, in a slapstick solution that Ford sanctions with the line “I thought that it was much closer”.

So Frank Marshall said the truth as well: this movie will have a similar tone to the Last Crusade, where humor reigned. There’s one more sketch, and it closes the show, for now. In the middle of a stormy night, while in an ancient Maya or Aztecan temple, Shia Labouf simply asks “You’re a teacher?”, and Jones seriously replies, “Part time”, in a concise dialogue-driven joke in the same vein of the many we saw between Harrison Ford and Sean Connery in Last Crusade.

All in all, the trailer reveals three different locations or/and parts of the movie. It is clear that there will be something going on in some south American jungle and ancient temple; and that the Russians will get into the famous warehouse (or maybe is just another warehouse, as I don’t recall the one in Raiders having highways in between the piles of boxes), and there’s obviously Roswell, New Mexico, as we can read on some metallic surface to which some glasses (Dr. Jones’?) get mysteriously attracted due to some magnetic force.

And, of the three locations, only one is where the opening sequence (the equivalent to the temple ransacking in Raiders, the club scene and subsequent escape in Temple of Doom, and the Cross of Coronado chase with a young Indiana Jones in Last Crusade) takes place; it can’t be the warehouse, as that would imply that the Russians, led by Cate Blanchett, would appear in both the prologue and the central storyline of the movie; it can’t be the jungle either, for the same reason (there are scenes with Cate Blanchett, along with the rest of the characters); so it should be that part that takes place in Roswell, where Jones is accurately presented, in the way described before. But who knows, maybe the script is really full of surprises and unexpected twists; after all, Lucas has had plenty of time to come up with something truly remarkable…

Either way, and apart from having an introduction like the previous films, the trailer gives clues about some other kind of homages or similarities that may be central to the heart of a storyline that, for a start, includes previous characters like Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen). And these clues are, for example, the moment when Jones tries to push Cate Blanchett’s car out of the road (as he successfully does with a Nazi sidecar in the truck sequence from Raiders) or the brief moment where we see, from a subjective point of view, how some kind of debris is quickly approaching Harrison Ford, Karen Allen and Shia Labouf’s car, a similar peril to that in Last Crusade when one of the Nazi bikers manages to perch the front wheel of his vehicle upon the Joneses’ sidecar. And there is, again, a fight between Jones and some super villain, a part that Pat Roach (Chief guard in Temple of Doom and 1st mechanic in Raiders) would have surely played if he was still alive. And of course, there is a temple, there is a bunch of menacing natives and many reasons to run. And there is also a generous ration of tricky ancient mechanisms, like there’s always been in the series.

And all the way through the end of the trailer, we don’t get to hear a single new note by John Williams, but that’s right, as this moment, the first images of a moving Dr. Jones in almost 18 years, deserve no other musical accompaniment that his trademark fanfare. Yes, there’s some music we had never heard while we see the sequences from the previous movies, Indy’s past feats. But it can’t be John Williams’; it’s too vulgar, unspecific and out of place, it doesn’t belong to the saga, has nothing to do with its flavor.

And we neither get to see John Hurt -the rumored face of Abner Ravenwood, father of Marion–, I think…  Wait, have I missed something? Let me see the trailer again… Ah, yes; there he is: hidden in one of the passengers’ seats of the boat that Indiana Jones rides on the edge of the jungle. By the way, there is something in the visual perfection of that aerial shot that makes me suspect of some digital effectification; maybe Spielberg and Lucas have not really stayed true to his promise of not using them? The truth is that the last thing we see, before the trailer ends, is the actual Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull logo. And it really seems more like a 3D Studio model than an old style drawing…

PS: I have already seen the trailer seven times today. Still 97 days to D-day and counting…

by Bill Gibron

16 Feb 2008


Real life is not always compatible with ‘reel’ life. What this means is, not every true story can turn into a true work of cinematic art. For every pedestrian effort “based on…” someone or something that actually existed/exists, we get the rare gemstone that radiates beyond its ‘to tell the truth’ trappings. When it was announced that Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe would star in a film about the heroin trade in ‘70s Harlem, American Gangster became a potential instant classic just waiting for box office canonization. Of course, few knew the project’s already jaded history and near disintegration. Yet when the movie finally hit theaters last Fall, the precarious beginnings yielded a solid mainstream hit. For all its glitz and glamour however, Gangster has so far failed to become legend. As part of the new three DVD deluxe edition released by Universal, we begin to gain some perspective on how this potential epic missed the mark.

For those unfamiliar with the basic storyline, here is the breakdown. Frank Lucas, a low level hood from the Carolinas, was at one time the chief henchman for longtime NYC kingpin Bumpy Johnson. After the don’s untimely death, the apprentice vowed to create the same kind of classy, corporate like Drug Empire as his mentor. Realizing that buying directly from the source can cut down on the middle man, and increase the product’s (heroin) purity, he travels to Bangkok to meet up with an old military friend. They strike a deal with the locals, and soon, kilos of high grade opiate are making their way in the metal coffins of fallen Vietnam vets.

It’s not long before Lucas owns the streets, and he brings his entire family up from the South to help him out. He even has the mafia buying their Blue Magic from his organization. When his cop buddy gets involved in graft and dope, honest officer Ritchie Roberts decides to bring down whoever is pushing. Of course he must cut through massive corruption among his fellow policeman, a lack of real leads, and Lucas’ expertly planned process. All it takes is a tip, and a trail to follow, and both sides of the law are destined to butt heads. 

Sounds solid, right? It feeds the audience’s inherent love of crime and violence. And you’ve got Washington and Crowe near the top of their game as marquee matinee idols. So what went wrong? Why isn’t American Gangster the post-millennial Scarface, or a direct urban Godfather? For the most part, the fault lies squarely with director Ridley Scott. Not satisfied to pare the narrative down to its essential elements, what should be a tight little thriller becomes one of the most bloated individual character studies ever. Lucas has several siblings and they each get their moment in the escalating running time. As the leads, Lucas and Roberts get their own elaborated (and belabored) backstorys. Very little of the actual mechanics of the drug racket is revealed and the subtext is very light on understandable ethics. We never once see characters contrite or repentant for their acts, and attention getting monologues replace scruples as the main social statement.

As a result, Gangster goes wonky in ways that even an extended director’s cut can’t fix. If anything, the main body of the Lucas/Roberts relationship should have been boiled down to the police procedural, leaving much of the superfluous personal ‘flavor’ out of the mix. We don’t care about our drug lord’s kin (they are cardboard cutouts of clichéd types) and Roberts’ parenting issues are never interesting. Yet somehow, Scott thinks this makes his leads more endearing and easy to identify with. Instead of humanizing them, however, such sidetracks deter from what we are really most concerned about. What ultimately saves the experience, turning it into a memorable entertainment, is the high level of craftsmanship. It’s almost as if the filmmakers knew that by delivering quality technical and production merits, the interpersonal issues could be overcome.

Ridley Scott almost confesses to as much during the DVD’s audio commentary. While he is defensive and quite defiant at times, he (along with a separately recorded screenwriter Steve Zaillian) spends a great deal of time praising the individuals behind the look and feel of the film. Scott is typically a technical narrator, offering perspective on how artisans recreate the look and feel of different eras. He’s also a stickler for the foundational aspects of the film medium. So one has to read in between the kudos to get to the meat - and during the course of the discussion, we hear a few faint mea culpas. They’re not obvious, but they hint at a director realizing he may have taken the wrong track now and again. 

Of course, the one element here that tends to get lost in the glare of critical evaluation is why American Gangster got made in the first place. Without Scott, and his continuing connection to accidental A-lister Russell Crowe, this was a dead project. As Fallen Empire, the detailed and dense documentary on the film (included here as part of the extras) points out, the film was in the perpetual Hell of Hollywood’s development pipeline for years. Everyone from Don Cheadle to Benecio Del Toro was considered for the roles of Lucas and Roberts, respectively. Directors such as Terry George and, most famously, Antoine Fuqua, wanted to make this movie, but Universal continuously balked over budgetary concerns. Some have even suggested that Fuqua was the unfair recipient of some industry payback when his Training Day karma failed to carry over commercially to his decidedly odd take on King Arthur. That he was an African American filmmaker being replaced by a white Anglo Saxon added more fuel to the fire.

Indeed, one of the things DVD does best is provide creative and corporate context to the cinematic artform, and there’s no denying the power inherent in the American Gangster material. The chance to see Lucas and Roberts in person, discussing the era and their part within it, more than makes up for the lack of supporting evidence that everything in the film is 100% true - not that Scott and Zaillian don’t strive to convince us of the claim. Much of the aforementioned commentary track is taken up with point by point breakdowns on factual accuracies and fictional liberties, and yet very little mention is made of one Leroy “Nicky” Barnes. For those unfamiliar with the man, look up the nickname ‘Mr. Untouchable’ and you’re destined to find the New York Times Magazine cover story which crowned the drug lord with said moniker. Barnes claims that he was the real heroin king of Harlem (why anyone would want to argue over such a stature seems surreal) and a daring documentary released before Gangster seems to undermine much of what this dramatization has to offer.

Indeed, a main flaw in American Gangster is the underlying belief that we are getting a decidedly myopic and whitewashed view of this story. Lucas is referred to as “an illiterate Southern rube” by Barnes, and while such a putdown seems appropriate, considering their supposed street dealing rivalry, it makes the clean cut cosmopolitan version offered by Washington seem shallow at best, fake at the very worst. Gangster does pay the man lip service, offering Oscar winner Cuba Gooding Jr. as a clownish version of Barnes, but this doesn’t deflate the opposing positions. On the one hand, Scott and company argue that Lucas leapt into upper Manhattan, took the place of his mentor Bumpy Johnson, and single handedly rooted out the mafia in his African American neighborhood. Yet Marc Levin’s fact-based film of Barnes argues nearly the same exact thing - which goes to the very heart of the narrative.

In fact, one imagines that another way to make the film better was to simply remove the awkwardly righteous Roberts and stick with a Lucas vs. Barnes territorial showdown. While Crowe is fine in the role (though hardly believable as an American street cop), there is a hint of racial inequality in the personality he is given. Roberts is viewed as noble but flawed, married to the law as his personal life falls apart. He turns down bribes, refuses to keep thousands in unlaundered drug money, and basically makes his fellow officers uncomfortable with his ‘by the book’ bravado. He might make an intriguing yin to Lucas’ urbane yang, but the role is like subterfuge, undermining all the dramatic weight this story could hold. Toss in the fact that no one ever really pays for, or even addresses, the death of innocents at the hand of unrefined heroin, the destruction of Harlem, and the lingering poison that continues to possess the region some three decades later, and American Gangster becomes less than a classic.

Still, it’s hard to deny the inherent power in a group of well trained professionals doing some of their best work. Though it lacks the qualities that make something mythic (and the announced 18 minutes of added footage in the ‘director’s cut’ does little to change that), the film remains a genuine journeyman joust. There are times when Scott seems the perfect director for the material. He has always been proficient in producing period specific spectacle, be it ancient Roman (Gladiator) or completely imaginary (Legend, Blade Runner). He also has a wonderful way with actors, using his background in advertising to consistently put their best face forward. There are also moments when the Englishman is clearly out of his league. The various party scenes play like a white dude’s misinterpretation of Soul Train, and we never get a real feel of the Harlem community pre or post Lucas’ lamentable influence. It all stays the same - slightly sepia toned and CGI tweaked.

No one knows the real story about what happened to New York City’s black population during the late ‘60s through early ‘80s except the people themselves and the participants in their racket. Roberts may have indeed been a saint in slightly baggy street clothes, Lucas an amenable snake in the ghetto grass. And Barnes may have been both clown and competitor. But when one steps back out of the limelight glare given off by American Gangster, when they whittle away the superfluous moments of movie iconography and staged seriousness, it’s clear that, somewhere amidst the pomp and circumstance, someone is lying. What happened in real life just didn’t make it over into “reel” life. Perhaps if all the facts were presented, unfiltered and unadorned, we’d get a better handle on the truth. But as this otherwise stellar DVD of American Gangster suggests, accuracy is a lot like opinion - everyone has their own version.

DVD
American Gangster: Theatrical Version

American Gangster: Director’s Cut


EXTRAS

by Bill Gibron

15 Feb 2008


It’s been nearly two decades since Japanese maverick Shinya Tsukamoto set international tongues wagging with his amazing cyberpunk splatterfest Tetsuo: The Iron Man. A dark parable of man’s inability to control his taste for technology, the visionary work announced the first time feature filmmaker as an Asian force to be reckoned with. In the 19 years that have followed, he has consistently responded to his own unique muse, mounting films centering on demons (Hiruko), revenge (Bullet Ballet), and claustrophobic terror (Haze). Now comes Nightmare Detective, a left field flick for the noted auteur. Seemingly centered on a police investigation into a series of unexplained deaths, what we wind up with is a dread-inducing exploration into the correlation between nightmares and reality.

When female police officer Keiko Kirishima asks to be transferred from her cushy desk job with the Federal Bureau, she ends up on one of Japan’s most notorious current cases. It seems people are dying by their own hand, stabbing themselves in the throat, and yet all the deaths can be linked to a final cellphone call to someone named “O”. At first, the stogy males in the precinct don’t appreciate Keiko’s feminine ways. But they soon respect her, even as one of their own falls in the process. Desperate for help, the cops turn to the Nightmare Detective, a troubled young man with the ability to read minds and enter people’s dreams. At first he is reluctant to assist. But when Keiko falls under O’s spell, he decides to get to the metaphysical bottom of the killings, and the killer.

Like a crazy quilt combination of Se7en, Silence of the Lambs, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and a little Altered States thrown in for good measure, Nightmare Detective is suspense seasoned with a ripe amount of the unreal. New to Region 1 DVD from Genius Products and Dimension Extreme, this is a movie molten with mood and unswerving in its desire to unnerve. Using a very bizarre approach to both his storytelling and his acting, Tsukamoto (who also plays the important role of “O” here) tears the bottom out of the standard CSI procedural, and instead transformers reality into a realm of lies, stasis, and sin. It is only in the dream state, the bridge between what’s true and what’s telling, that any honest revelations can be considered. From the suicidal to the accidentally dead, the end of life is a blessing, not a calculated curse.

Into this diabolical domain walks Keiko, a fresh face following her own inner angst. Played by the noted J-Pop star Hitomi as a series of static, statuesque poses, our heroine is neither champion nor chump, equally unavoidable as fodder for the frighteners and catalyst for the divisive denouement. She is so much more important than the title character, a whiny little man who seems haunted by powers he is perfectly capable of controlling - at least somewhat. Thematically, Tsukamoto clearly wants to delve into the realm of human psychology, how issues from the past manifest themselves in the everyday patterns of the present. He uses visual cues to keep us connected - underwater sequences, splashes of blood, the physical acts of stabbing and choking - and as the film progresses, such hints settle in to cement the story.

But mood is just as important as clues in Nightmare Detective, and it’s clear from what we see here that our director is a master of ambiance. For a modern society, the Japan of this film looks dirty, ancient, soiled, and tainted. The supposedly pristine buildings become bland fixtures in the graying skies, and the typical neon nightlife is muted to the point of creepiness. As with Tetsuo before, Tsukamoto uses sound as an important part of his horror. During the opening murders, when victims are trying to run from an unseen force, the jagged camerawork and sonic cacophony create a genuinely disturbing chaos. But this is a filmmaker who also knows how to play quiet. When O takes on Keiko and the dream weaver in the last act confront, the absence of sound works wonderfully.

Watching the way the actors are framed, how this director references Japan’s past (O in full fright mode, blood dripping from his eyes and nose, is like a corrupt kabuki) while keeping things firmly in the post-Freudian future, allows even those unfamiliar with the mouth of madness to be intrigued. Nightmare Detective is a movie that plays with time, juxtaposing certain special elements with memories, flashbacks, and foreshadowing. It doesn’t quite all link up in the end, though Tsukamoto does a damn fine job in the effort. We get a great many “a-ha” moments as the story strides to its conclusion, connections barely visible before. They help make what many would see as a gore-soaked statement of standard serial killer cruelty into something more closely resembling art.

On the new DVD version of the film, unrated (meaning much more blood, for those who care), we get a clear indication that nothing in Nightmare Detective is by chance. Tsukamoto delivers a near hour long documentary on the making of the movie, explaining the premise and the various symbolic and subtextual aspects at play. We even get to see some amazing behind the scenes footage of the director working with his cast and setting up shots. Known for his unusual perspective both in front of and guiding the camera (Tsukamoto is a very accomplished actor, as his turn as O proves), these insights are special. They highlight the detail-oriented effort he puts into every project.

And the results really show in Nightmare Detective. While many may mistake this for just another juicy J-Horror romp (and envision the eventual Hollywood PG-13 bastardization of same), there is much more depth here than one initially expects. The psychological overtakes the standard superstition vs. the supernatural dynamic, and Tsukamoto transforms the celluloid canvas into a perverse pallet of his own unique design. It’s good to see that, after years of marching to his own individualist drummer, this Japanese legend has lost none of his stride. Nightmare Detective may not match its cover description or compliments, but in this case, that’s a very good thing indeed. We’d expect nothing less from Tsukamoto.

by Bill Gibron

14 Feb 2008


For the weekend beginning 14 February, here are the films in focus:

Jumper [rating: 4]

Jumper is junk, a halfway decent premise destroyed by some of the worst hiring choices in the history of motion picture personnel.


Casting is crucial to the success of a film. Just ask anyone who suffered through 2006’s god-awful (no pun intended) remake of The Omen. While audiences could live with Liev Schreiber as the Gregory Peck replacement - barely - in the modern day Antichrist thriller, Julia Stiles sunk every scene she was in. Like a teen mother trying to play grown up in a world where the rules of engagement are beyond her brief years, she diluted the danger in all facets of the copycat creep out. The same thing happens in the new sci-fi stinker Jumper. Between a bafflingly bad Hayden Christensen and a Stiles-like Rachel Bilson as his romantic interest, we wind up with fiction more specious than speculative.  read full review…

Persepolis [rating: 9]

Persepolis is astonishing, a revelation realized in masterful monochrome strokes.


They say the best way to know any culture is through its art. It’s also possible to gain a similar perspective via its artists. Born before the revolution in Iran unseated the reigning Shah, Marjane Satrapi saw her parents idealism embraced, and then eradicated, by a movement meant to free the nation’s tyrannized people. The resulting Islamic fundamentalism, with its deference to Muslim law and chauvinistic ritual, drove Satrapi from her home. Years later, she would reflect on these massive cultural and personal changes in a series of graphic novels. Named Persepolis after the ancient capital of the Persian empire, the brave, original books have now been turned into an equally inventive film. Via stark, stylized animation, and a vignette oriented approach to narrative, we learn the shocking truth that not all rebellion serves the needs of the people. Sometimes, it’s merely change for the sake of same. read full review…

Other Releases - In Brief

The Spiderwick Chronicles [rating: 5]

The story of a supernatural world surrounding ours, a domain where fairies battle goblins for control over their magical reality should be stunning. Its scope should sweep us up in conflicts between good and evil, benefice and the baneful, culminating in the ultimate epic showdown. We should want to revisit this realm over and over again, constantly enraptured of the vision and viability it provides. Sadly, none of this occurs during the dysfunctional family film The Spiderwick Chronicles. Even with indie scribe John Sayles involved in the script, this uneven adaptation of all five books by Tony Diterlizzi and Holly Black is nothing more than CGI smoke and mirrors. The characters are flat, their motivations mired in mid-‘80s angst over divorce and parental abandonment, and the action starts up before the proper mythological foundation is formed. Perhaps for a demographic raised on Ritalin, an audience who needs something more than instant gratification out of the typical compliant cinema, this film will fly. Others will be hemmed in by the slipshod sketchiness of Mark Water’s direction and wonder where the awe went.

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Ten Great Criterion Titles: What to Watch and Why

// Short Ends and Leader

"As the Criterion Collection's ever-growing roster shows, there are simply too many great pictures out on home video to know what to do with.

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