Film and Felt

Had I seen Japanese animator Makoto Shinkai’s three available features (The Place Promised in Our Early Days, Voices of a Distant Star, and 5 Centimeters Per Second) in order, the evolution of his work would have felt like natural progression. 5 Centimeters Per Second is a breathtaking masterpiece of human emotions on par with anything Miyazaki’s done this side of Spirited Away. By contrast, his earlier work oozes potential, but lacks the narrative cohesiveness to be truly great. The Place Promised in Our Early Days, Shinkai’s second film—and first full-length picture; Voices of a Distant Star is just 32 minutes long—is certainly an impressive debut. It contains a good deal to be proud of, including frequently dazzling vibrant color schemes and a deep understanding of core emotions that portends greatness down the road (and indeed, 5 Centimeters Per Second plays like a mix of Spirited Away and Before Sunset; shocking that I love it, I know!). But, overambition ultimately keeps The Place Promised in Our Early Days from being more than a promising initial foray into greatness.

The Place Promised in Our Early Days begins strongly, with 25 minutes of graceful interaction between the three teenage protagonists (two boys, Hiroki and Takuya, and one girl, Sayuri). It initially appears that the film will be a tender meditation on how youthful promises can gradually fade from relevance as the years go by, with an anti-war backdrop (Japan is on the verge of splitting into two countries, Korea style). Had it continued along this path, The Place Promised in Our Early Days may well have been a great movie, as Shinkai shows no jitters for a first-time filmmaker—the quiet, heartfelt discussions, particularly Hiroki’s monologues, are spot-on.

Unfortunately, Shinkai elects to sharply focus on the impending war and a surreal, alternate universe angle in which Sayuri’s future and life hang in the balance. While I give Shinkai props for creativity, his execution of the sci-fi-esque angles lags considerably behind the character development. The Place Promised in Our Early Days rapidly becomes muddled, and shifts between storylines too quickly without appropriate warning. While the final five minutes get back on track from an emotional perspective, I can’t help but think that this would have been a much more dynamic, memorable film had Shinkai not bitten off so much for his opening act. Luckily, he clearly learned from his rookie hiccups (though Voices of a Distant Star suffers from many of the same strengths and weaknesses), as 5 Centimeters Per Second strips away the backdrops and focuses much more forcefully on the soul with astonishing results. I suspect that in 20 years, film buffs worldwide will be pointing to The Place Promised in Our Early Days as the introductory work from one of cinema’s first-rate directors.

62/100

Now, this is a movie MADE for me! I’ve been saying for awhile that there’s a great film to be made about poker’s explosion of over the past 10 years, and finally, someone’s made it. The results are decent-to-solid, but much was left on the table—while director Douglas Tirola clearly loves the game and recognizes many of the key turning points, he fails to delve deeply into what drives so many to the game beyond and keeps them there. Nor does he tackle what might be the most exciting aspect of all to those who aren’t as familiar with the game—the massive amounts of money that the top players (both online and live, but particularly live) reel in per year, and what being a professional poker player is really like. Either would have been a much better choice for the fourth section of All In then an entire 30 minutes devoted to Chris Moneymaker. However, Tirola does do an excellent job with his section on Rounders (1998), and neatly touches on most of the key components in poker’s rapid-fire growth.

Tirola splits All In into four sections—the birth of poker, Rounders, online poker’s beginnings and impact, and the Moneymaker effect. Section #1 is very good, with enjoyable clips and short stories about many of the game’s legends (Amarillo Slim, Doyle Brunson, Stu Ungar, etc.). It also accurately portrays poker as a microcosm of the American Dream—anybody who works hard and puts in the requisite hours can become successful (albeit not all at the same level; obviously, you need a certain amount of natural talent to reach the heights of the true stars). For those unfamiliar with poker’s rich history (for instance, Richard Nixon funded his first campaign for congress almost entirely with poker winnings), the first 20-25 minutes should prove quite educational.

Section #2 contains the best moments in the film, as it measures Rounders‘ powerful impact on the boom. If you haven’t seen (or heard of) Rounders, it was released in 1998 to very little fanfare, and left theaters very quickly despite a big-name cast including lead Matt Damon, Edward Norton, and John Malkovich. I believe this is due to a complete lack of interest in the topic matter at the time; outside of home games and casino’s, few really knew much about poker if they weren’t REALLY into it. When it hit DVD, though, junkies began snatching it up…and showing it to their friends…who showed it to their friends. And just like that, a cult classic was born (count me in among those who 1. love Rounders, and 2. were drastically impacted by its depiction of poker as a game of skill that favored the sharp and patient, not just a form of gambling). Many of the top players were first inspired to give the game a twirl after seeing Rounders, and All In does an outstanding job of illustrating just how prescient Rounders looks these days, and what the poker underworld that inspired it did for the game as well. And for those like me who PLAYED at the clubs in question…well, it’s just too cool for words. Many of the greats cut their teeth in these joints (the shout out to the Mayfair was particularly awesome), and it’s terrific (and nostalgic…clubs are few and far between these days) to see them get their due onscreen.

Part three is probably the most important and applicable to today’s culture; the online explosion, government’s intervention, and what the future holds. With the current laws sketchy (idiotic former Senator Bill Frist tacked an amendment onto the end of a completely unrelated bill that bans online gambling, but sites such as Poker Stars and Full Tilt continue to allow U.S. players, as their headquarters are not in America and they don’t feel it’s enforceable), a few current congresspeople have sponsored a bill that would regulate and tax online poker, creating billions of dollars in much-needed revenue for the Government. Leaving aside the stupidity behind horse racing being completely fine but poker a “problem,” more and more people are recognizing that poker is an unarguable game of skill, and the support for this is rapidly growing—it also doesn’t hurt that President Obama is a big fan! Tirola effectively communicates all of this, as well as how the process works and just how much money is in it for the CEO’s of these sites, but there’s a missed opportunity here; too much emphasis is put on the advantages of playing in your underwear, and not enough about the lifestyle itself. Many of the top online players (as well as a large majority of the thousands upon thousands who make 200-500K per year playing on their computers) are in the 17-25 range, and have finally found a way to channel their intelligence into something productive. Plenty have been poor students without direction, and poker served as a vessel to channel their talents and avoid a deadbeat lifestyle. On the flip side, there are serious downsides to the career without discipline; it’s easy to eat terribly, avoid exercise, and have no balance to your routine. While Tirola can’t be expected to address this in depth, he certainly could have planted the seed.

Until now, All In has had many more positives than negatives, but by dedicating the final 25 minutes of the film to the story of Chris Moneymaker—the bumbling Nashville accountant who parlayed a $39 tournament on Poker Stars into a seat at the 2003 World Series, and won it for $2.3 million dollars—Tirola makes a serious error from a cinematic perspective. There’s no question that Moneymaker’s victory represents a key turning point in the boom, as it invigorated everyone who’s played & enjoyed poker with a “why not me?” attitude (and the ironic nature of his last name didn’t hurt matters either). But by this point in the movie, all but the biggest poker junkies were likely getting restless, and the concluding segment could easily have been edited into part three without losing any of its substance. I would have much preferred to see All In wrap up with some interviews with the young lights in the poker world (Tom Dwan, Phil Ivey, Patrik Antonius, et al), and let the audience into what it’s like to win or lose hundreds of thousands dollars in a given day. The emotional fortitude required is breathtaking, and could serve as a lesson for many in other fields. If Tirola felt differently, he should have just merged sections three and four, and produced a leaner documentary that doesn’t drag. As is, it’s well worth seeing, but could have been so much more.

58/100

It’s fantastic! It’s tremendous! It’s the riveting tale of a gigantic insect trampling Japan’s capital in a day, a dynamic throwback to the 1950’s classic monster flick! …No, sadly, it’s not. Rather, Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo is a plodding documentary about Japan’s longstanding obsession with bugs. It’s an interesting concept (especially for me, a compulsive admirer of Japanese history and culture), but amateurishly directed and tedious to sit through. The film begins promisingly, with a several-minute sequence inside a “pet store” where an adorable young boy picks out his very own insect to take home (who knew that bugs were like dogs?), but as Oreck runs out of ideas, she begins to recycle them with disastrous effects. The child and his family make multiple reappearances with nothing new to say, as does a bug-catching video game—educational the first time, mundane the second (and third, and…). Similarly, men trotting into the woods to find new species becomes a common sight. These are broken up by sporadic, monotonic short lessons about previous landmark moments; aside from the choice of narrator being a head-scratcher (the voice couldn’t be more dull), Oreck’s shaky editing further detracts from any sense of rhythm.

Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo is billed as working backwards through history to determine why insects are such an important part of Japanese lore, but the weak filmmaking prevents the viewer from feeling any sort of connection to the world. The aforementioned voiceovers are the only glimpses we get into how it all began, and then only from afar. Miyazaki’s Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is a much better depiction of the topic matter, and it manages to portray it within the context of a swirling animated epic. That Oreck’s movie is so stiff and technical is really disappointing, as the potential existed for a strong, enlightening documentary about a unique part of Japan’s legacy. Instead, we’re left with a banal, repetitive picture that could have achieved the same result as a 30-minute college lecture.

30/100

A biting political satire that tackles rising anti-war sentiments around the globe, In the Loop is very clever and moves at a breakneck pace, taking little time to breathe. Bouncing between Britain and Washington D.C, the movie tracks foreign ministers, Secretary of States, and paper-slave interns as they debate the merits of invading the Middle East, play possum for political purposes, and indulge in all sorts of sneakiness to get what they want, when they want it. Without any inside information, In the Loop feels exactly like I’d expect government decision-making to; hyperactive, sleep-deprived, and with as much bullshitting as intelligent decision making. The back-and-forths between the British Prime Minister’s #1 spokesperson/spinmeister Malcolm Tucker (Peter Capaldi), who wants war, and various members of the American cabinet, including the prestigious retired Lt. General George Miller (James Gandolfin) and his one-night lover, Depity Secretary of State Karen Clarke (Mimi Kennedy), who don’t, are snappily written and frequently hysterical.

The story is somewhat implausible, but not to the extent that it detracts from the fun. UK Minister for International Affairs Simon Baker (Tom Hollander) mistakenly declares on the radio that “war is unforeseeable,” which sets off a firestorm and causes the British Government to do some serious damage control. With his new assistant Toby (Chris Addison) by his side, the awkward Baker heads to Washington to sort things out, only to dig the hole deeper with his inability to speak coherently on any topic whatsoever. Meanwhile, Toby, who’s in a relationship back home, finds himself drawn to Clarke’s assistant Liza (Anna Chlumsky of My Girl fame; yes, the Macaulay Culkin “film” from 1991), whom he’d slept with years ago, while the pro-diplomacy Clarke dukes it out with fellow undersecretary Linton Barwick (Davd Rasche) over the merits of war. Eventually, Tucker is dispatched to smooth things over, with limited success. And all of this happens in about a 48-hour span! While the time frames and some of the subsequent actions are questionable, most of In the Loop feels astute and even educational, given the post-Iraq mood of America and Europe. Games are played in lieu of fact-based decision making if they can achieve selfish goals. It’s witty stuff.

The acting is universally excellent, particularly Capaldi (though his neverending string of cursing is a bit excessive after awhile), Addison, and Gandolfini, who turns his Tony Soprano into an over-the-top crusader for not repeating the mistakes of previous unnecessary battles.The script is also a bit cuss-heavy as a whole, but it mostly works in context with the characters’ personalities and the world they inhabit. While In the Loop is very entertaining, there’s a sober underbelly here that warrants attention; Ianucci directs with a focused eye on current events that leads to the film feeling relevant beyond some laughs and snappy banter. It’s a strong picture that places Ianucci on my “directors to keep an eye on” list.

67/100

I’ve had very limited computer time thusfar, but tomorrow morning may be one of serious writing. Or maybe not. I am in Las Vegas, after all! But at any rate, a slew of reviews will be up within 7-10 days. In the meantime, the screening log is updated with ratings of what I’ve seen so far.

As for poker, I’ve only played about eight hours of cash games thusfar — and broken up into small sessions, at that, due to other obligations — with no luck so far, though the games are weak as ever. As for my first crack at the World Series of Poker Limit Event, I couldn’t have been more card dead if I’d begged the heavens for 73o repeatedly. Bah. I did make the second day, but busted out with about 115 people left out of 650 entrants. Definitely plan to give it another twirl next year…

For eight days of poker, parties, and Cinevegas! Poker reports to be posted here, and I’ll certainly get some reviews up as well. ETA at Bellagio: 2PM Vegas time.

A few weeks ago, I finished up Malcolm Gladwell’s excellent book Outliers. Midway through, there’s a chapter about the culture of honor; specifically, Southerners—even those born in the 70’s who went to progressive colleges up North, or other such examples—are apt to be exceptionally polite under most circumstances…unless they’re insulted or talked down to, in which case they become downright confrontational and fiery (Northerners, by contrast, maintain a similar temperament regardless of conditions). It’s obviously a more substantive and detailed analysis than this (buy the book and see for yourself; it’s highly recommended), but it serves as an interesting backdrop to William Wyler’s Jezebel, especially when thinking about the evolution and expression of Southern attitudes, both in cinema and in real life.

I was particularly reminded of the chapter while observing Jezebel’s male protagonist, Preston Dillard (Henry Fonda). When things are going smoothly, Dillard is nothing short of a perfect gentleman, but as adversity builds, his temper begins to rise, and emotions begin to dictate his actions. Though he, unlike an earlier generation, is able to reign it in and function semi-normally most of the time, his heritage guides everything he does. In fact, Jezebel is chock-full of cultural symbolism; we see the world through the lens of 1930’s racial and gender stereotypes. The young black boys prance around the mansions, and the older blacks all appear to have, at least, semi-cordial relationships with their masters—hey, slavery isn’t that bad, right? Women aren’t treated much better by Wyler & co.; when Julie (a magnificent & feisty Bette Davis) wears a flashy red dress to a formal ball—and in doing so, breaking every tradition in the book—Dillard decides that enough is enough and walks, though not before thoroughly embarrassing her by parading her on to the dance floor in front of hundreds of glaring eyes and refusing to let her leave. Of course, the moral is that Julie learns her lesson and resolves to get him back when he returns to town a year later…but of course, it’s too late, as Dillard is now happily married to a nice, tame, domesticated girl who’s properly coiffed and knows her place. Even Julie’s gleaming white dress isn’t enough to snatch him back. That’s what a lady gets for showing some chutzpah…or daring fashion sense.

These restrained views on what’s socially acceptable are unfathomable in today’s world, but they should remind us that 1930’s America was still an extremely conservative place, even if the Civil War was 70+ years behind us (though Jezebel itself was set 10 years before the Civil War, an important distinction to be aware of), given the choices Wyler made. Jezebel is fascinating from a cinematic history perspective, but it’s also a strong melodrama beyond the aforementioned societal backdrops, with outstanding lead performances from Fonda and Davis, crisp black & white cinematography, and sharp dialogue that stands the test of time (contrast this to Hawks’ The Crowd Roars, which I caught a few nights ago; now that is one dated movie that just doesn’t hold up). And Jezebel’s conclusion, though somewhat sentimental, is effective in the context of Julie’s single-minded focus on self-redemption. Where her feelings of inadequacy stem from, though, is pretty fucked up from my Brooklyn 2009 perch.

73/100

Alternately hopeful and disturbing, Havana Marking’s documentary about the popular Afghan TV show Afghan Star—an American Idol clone in a country where television was banned until 2004—provides us with an up-close peek at the more progressive side of war-torn Afghanistan. Afghan Star follows four of the finalists as they battle cultural restrictions and innumerable other challenges to participate and shoot for glory. Two of the finalists, Setara and Lima, face the greatest risk as women putting themselves front and center: the 21-year old Setara becomes the main character of sorts after she takes her performance to another level by dancing on stage, infuriating even the more moderate Afghan’s who initially supported her. As death threats and denunciations roll in, she returns to her home in Herat with her spirit unbroken, convinced she’s merely followed her dreams like women all over the world. Her determination and passion is matched by many others who have tired of political nightmares, and simply want the opportunity to enjoy their lives.

Music itself was banned by the Taliban from 1996-2001, and seeing the battered country greedily latch on to a chance to democratically express themselves by texting their votes (Afghan citizens select the competition’s winner via SMS) is pretty amazing to watch, though Marking takes a mostly non-confrontational approach; there are only a smattering of interviews with opposition leaders who vehemently oppose Afghan Star, while most are with liberal-to-centrist Afghani’s that adore every second of it. Old habits and prejudices die hard, however, and even those fans mostly vote on issues having less to do with quality of voice than where the contestant came from, or, sadly, their sex. This is particularly true for Hammeed, a member of the Hazara tribe that’s always been one of Afghanistan’s most belittled ethnic groups. Many have been slaughtered by the Taliban over the years, and with one of their own so close to the gold, the proud Hazara’s mount a massive grassroots campaign that Barack Obama would be proud of, campaigning door-to-door and plastering flyers all over the place. Seeing the divisive cultural split in Afghanistan, a country of 30+ million people, is very sad and serves as a reminder that the situation there will take a long time to get much better. But Afghan Star gives us hope that this new generation of ambitious, art-loving Afghani’s might lead the way to a kinder, more humanistic place someday, serving as a visible reminder of what freedom can bring.

68/100

One of the greatest films ever made, Elem Klimov’s anti-war masterpiece is ironically named, as those with weak stomachs may want to steer clear; Come and See brings its viewers to a place that some will regret being exposed to. Set in Byelorussia during World War II, the film depicts a young boy’s slow descent into madness as he witnesses horror upon horror while fighting for a hopelessly overmatched resistance movement—Florya (an astonishing Aleksei Kravchenko) is exposed to the unthinkable time after time, from seeing his slaughtered family stacked up in a bloody heap outside his childhood home to the mass extermination of a nearby town. The direction is extraordinary; extended sequences etch themselves into the mind and won’t be easily forgotten, such as a mesmerizing 10-minute stretch of Florya flailing wildly through a muddy swamp in search of his dead parents. Klimov’s ability to pull viewers into his world is unmatched, and his seamless blending of reality and madness leaves us unsure of what’s in Florya’s mind and what’s actually happening…until we realize that it doesn’t matter; he’s experiencing it all regardless. Perhaps no other movie so perfectly— and painfully—captures the depths of what humanity is capable of, as well the unspeakable atrocities, consequences, and casualties of war.

Using creative, extended close-ups from various angles and haunting music that weaves in and out to match Florya’s state of mind, Klimov crafts a pitch-perfect atmosphere for such a disturbing topic. We feel immersed in Florya’s every thought—which is emotionally exhausting but entirely unforgettable—due in large part to Kravechenko’s extraordinary performance. From his facial expressions to his trembling body, he visibly ages throughout the film, and his focus is laser-like; rumor has it that he was hypnotized for the closing scene, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. Cinematically, Come and See is technically unrivaled, and the only question one needs to consider before seeking it out is whether they’re mentally prepared to endure it. From an art-appreciation perspective, there’s little doubt you’ll come out of it feeling you’ve witnessed something special…but you may find yourself somewhere you wish you’d never gone. That a film can provoke such an intense reaction speaks volumes about the quality of Klimov’s work; now you need to decide for yourself whether you’re up for the experience.

98/100

Sam Mendes’ Away We Go is a distinct departure from the directors’ previous glossy works such as American Beauty (1999), Road to Perdition (2002), and Revolutionary Road (2008). In those films, Mendes is occasionally satiric in his over-the-top portrayals of suburban families or the inner workings of hitmen, but they’re predominantly somber and heavy, steeped in symbolism and bright colors. Here, however, we witness a lighter side of Sam Mendes, as he mixes a serious topic (the whirlwind of emotions that encompass soon-to-be parents) with a hodgepodge of wacky secondary characters, starting with the male protagonists’ kooky parents. The result is an uneven picture that’s at times poignant and at times quite funny, but ultimately lacks a consistent flow.

Burt (John Krasinski) and Verona (Maya Rudolph), a longtime couple, learn that they’ll soon be parents, and uproot their lives and move to Colorado to be near Burt’s parents for help with the upcoming child. Soon after arriving, however, they’re greeted with the unpleasant news that the eccentric Jerry and Gloria (Jeff Daniels and Catherine O’Hara) are leaving Colorado to fulfill their lifelong dream of moving to China for several years. With three months to go before Verona gives birth, the pair is at a crossroads of where to build their life, so they embark on a travel tour to figure out their ideal vision of home: they go to Phoenix (where a frequently vulgar ex-coworker of Verona’s lobbies hard), Tuscon (home to Verona’s sexy sister, who happens to be her only living relative), Wisconsin (where Burt’s childhood friend/”cousin” Ellen resides with her husband in a pacifist, pillow-filled bliss), and Montreal, where old college chums provide the first balanced, if inperfect, look at normalcy the couple has seen in weeks. Yet it takes an emergency call from Burt’s brother Courtney in Miami—whose wife has vanished, leaving Courtney overwhelmed and stunned, and his young daughter confused and with no maternal influence—for Burt and Verona to recognize that they have to carve out their own meaning of family, as well as their life together and their upcoming responsibility.

Away We Go has some delightful moments, particularly the duo’s time at Ellen’s (Maggie Gyllenhaal) Wisconsin home, where strollers are the anti-christ and parenting is graded by how much physical contact and together time everyone has. But Mendes seems unsure where to take the film, as its primary themes of self-discovery and parental philosophies weave in and out of meaningfulness. One of the more intriguing subplots—Verona’s unwillingness to marry the man she considers her sure-fire life partner, undoubtedly stemming from insecurity issues relating to her deceased parents—is moderately explored, but it’s insufficient given how badly Burt wants to offically tie the knot. And the encounters with the various wack-a-doodle families could serve as an owner’s manual for what not to do as parents…which results in some chuckles but not any emotional fulfillment as Burt and Verona evolve, something that Mendes clearly hoped for if the final sequence is any indication. Strong acting keeps Away We Go consistently watchable— John Krasinski is particularly excellent as Burt—and the natural banter between the leads and seconds is quite good. But ultimately, large tonal inconsistencies prevents Away We Go from being more than passable entertainment with good performances and a few great moments mixed in.

51/100