As a stance, my not really reading other movie reviews is like shooting myself in the foot, career-wise, since I want you all to keep reading. But as I’ve written, it’s only because I want to stay as impartial as possible going in. I do check out the reviews of movies I’ve seen. Generally I see what I can, or what I’m curious about, given a director, an actor, a premise, or word of mouth, which often works well.

Looking to see what was in theatres in these post-Oscar doldrums, I happened upon a very favorable review of Rango which especially applauded the look of the movie. I figured it would be impressive enough as a spectacle to be worth the time and money, so I did see the movie which I otherwise might have skipped, or at least waited for.

For what it’s worth, I’d suggest you do the same.

Rango starts out with a lot of promise. He’s a chameleon, and he’s voiced by Johnny Depp, and like Donald Duck he wears clothes only to be humanized to an incomplete degree. His being a chameleon extends into his being an actor, too, one who puts on plays with the inanimate objects he finds in his tank. We first see that’s he’s on the road, moving somewhere else with the owners we never meet. An accident knocks him loose and he finds himself in the middle of the road, and soon, in the middle of the desert.

The chameleon happens upon a series of wild animals, to demonstrate both his craftiness and the technology involved in creating them all, the results of which are pretty exquisite. He then meets a lizard right out of the late-19th century, and that’s where the movie gets weird. He rides with her into what amounts to every poor Western town you’ve ever seen. As a chameleon, his blending in – really addressed only briefly in imitating some townsfolk – seems not enough based on his being a chameleon, merely being slightly more clever than most everyone else. Other film companies or writers would have fully made use of characteristics of the animal, for humor and for story, but here it seems the boat was missed, or they got one collective foot in and then ended up in the drink.

I suppose this is a kid’s movie, so I’ll overlook the tiredness with which the tropes of a standard yet fruitful genre – the Western – are lugged out. But at that rate, the movie wasn’t as charming as kid’s movies generally are, not nearly as funny, and in parts remarkably dark. There are moments adult humor, positioning the movie closer to Shrek, perhaps. But the combination of present-day America and old West fundamentally prevents the story from going where Shrek could, immersing the viewer in a world entirely, at which point modern references would somehow ring less anachronistically.

I’ll admit again that the visuals were highly impressive, providing a level of realism for me to have to realize every so often that I’m watching an animated movie in which every little thing was designed. Some of the animals were vivid enough to be legitimately frightening – for some viewers – and others grotesque enough to freak out people of all ages, from 8 to 29. The climax of the film is a chase/fight sequence that is stunning, but bears quite a resemblance to the Pod Race from The Phantom Menace, whatever level of compliment that might be. My favorite scene in the film comes at the end of act two: Divulging nothing, I’ll only say that it seemed to contain more heart and simple beauty than the rest of the film put together. This one missed the mark.

Vis-a-Vis: For larger narrative/mistaken hero connotations, I think Chicken Run (2000) is the far superior film in many ways, and much better for kids. For older folks, The Quick and the Dead (1995) might be the most recent analog storywise.

In brief: Much ugliness animated beautifully. Occasionally charming, occasionally funny.

2 stars/4 (C)

A few months back I saw Enter the Void, a demanding movie that only rang a bell because I’d seen the director Gaspar Noé’s previous effort, Irreversible. And I’d only heard of Irreversible because of its notoriety, its DVD release briefly addressed in Entertainment Weekly a few years ago.

It’s notorious for one scene in particular, one long, agonizing scene: A rape, captured by one camera setup, that for a scene lasts an almost unbearably long time, nearly ten minutes. It’s graphic, certainly because of the violence demonstrated. But – and none of what follows here is to take the situation lightly – it’s very interesting to me how the act is portrayed. That clothes are mostly on makes the act no less a violation, but it’s less sexualized, I’d say, and in that way even more personalized, or humanized. It’s not pornographic in that particular sense, though it’s still a physical confrontation. One camera angle, from on the ground, if not inches off, displays the scene with the indifference of the one scared passerby in the background. Yet still, this indifference is paired with the curiosity evident in that we are told, or at least suggested, not to look away. The act is portrayed, not merely hinted at. I think this combination of apathy and voyeurism creates a fascinating tension.

But there’s more to the movie, too. First of all, the scenes (and the credits) are arranged in reverse-chronological order. We see the aftermath of the attack before the attack. This reorganization leads to some shocking scenes, including a beating towards the beginning that remains the most explicitly gruesome thing I’ve ever seen on film. But the movie also raises interesting questions of crime and punishment and to what extent retribution is justified.

Possibly complicating matters is the actress herself. Monica Bellucci plays Alex, the victim of the rape and subsequent beating. We see her injured, then we see her being injured. But only after that, really, do we see how exquisitely beautiful she actually is, how charming she seems, how loving a relationship she has with Marcus (Vincent Cassel, her real-life husband). This information makes the movie increasingly more heartbreaking, but looking back, also makes me wonder how her beauty affects our thoughts of her rape. Is the attack more disgusting because she is more beautiful to begin with? If so, that seems like an unfair reaction. But is it a natural one? If a conclusion can be drawn, in that all such injustices are unfair and that kindness and a measure of respect should be exuded towards everyone, then this depiction of rape is not just exploitative. I’d say the visualization succeeds in making the violence real enough to make people think, or become more sensitive to actual acts like this, in which case the movie, as disturbing as parts of it are, has very much in the way of artistic merit.

Vis-à-Vis: I’d definitely recommend seeing Enter the Void in conjunction with this one, specifically for both having impressive camerawork. Between the two, though, there’s a definite divide in that Enter the Void is mostly surreal, with a beautiful representation of a drug trip, for example, while this film begins with a level of subjectively – the characters’ world turned upside down as it were – and becomes more realistic throughout. I also of course have to suggest Memento, with its similar “backwards” organization, others parallels in narrative, and the clever revelation of backstory.

In brief: Disturbing, visceral, gut-wrenching but also thoughtful and occasionally sublime.

3.5 stars/4 (A-)

Available on Netflix Instant

Before last week’s grand return to the IFC Center for Fight Club, the last time I’d seen one of my favorite movies on the big screen was a few months ago in October, for the 25th anniversary of Back to the Future. It went poorly. In short, a hipster dufus two seats down talked throughout and ruined the experience almost wholly; I hope his girlfriend broke up with him. On the heels of this, I was ready to throw down as only I know how – with words – if anyone ruined yet another of these rare opportunities.

For everyone’s good, the night went smoothly. Except for that sniffly dude towards the back ahemming his way through the film. Chinese coughing torture. I waited as often for favorite lines as for his involuntary spasms. I’d have whipped a lozenge at him, had one been on me, but I settled down when I realized it was tenfold worse for the poor bastards sitting right in front of him. It’s probably my least favorite way of cheering myself up – realizing other people have it worse – but it was in this case nonetheless effective.

This was my first time seeing Fight Club in a theatre. It was released in October of 1999, when I was a freshman in college. I spent too much time in my dorm room, a bus ride away from civilization, to consider seeing any movie. Unlimited internet access saw to keeping me there. I do wonder what I would have thought then – this hypothetical now and forever useless – but it probably wouldn’t have had the right impact. I felt like an outsider enough as it was, then: There was no pressing need for iconoclasm.

Nearly twelve years later, the film found its true mark. I watched it several times over one week last July, on account of all the commentaries, bookending what has been for me a period of, if not self-destruction, stripping away. Of employment, of friends, of familiar comforts. I was hoping to find inspiration several times over. Instead, I found that with the freedom to do anything is the freedom to do nothing at all. I ignored the metaphorical sense of self-destruction for the literal one. Moving on, progressing, evolving, any of these acts of creation and of self-creation are also in essense acts of self-destruction. Healthy ones. I was surrounded by vivid thoughts of what was, my memory occasionally being unforgiving, and entered a prolonged and early hibernation. Rather than keeping in touch with the physical, I eschewed it. I repeatedly and mindlessly hitched my wagon to a perverted mantra of the film – I’m not gonna play by their rules – rather than focus on a crux of it: Don’t forget to feel something along the way.

So, there I was, a week ago. Eight months after this slow descent began. This viewing wasn’t the transcendent experience I might have been hoping for – but it was helpful. More than anything, it was fun. Funny. That the movie is hilarious is integral to its message, I’ve found, at least integral to the transmission of that message, being the sugar that helps the medicine. The powerful moments were still powerful, in some cases more so: The car scene preceding the accident was more nerve-wracking, the accident itself possibly more cathartic. But it was the jokes that really popped. Tyler Durden, besides looking and fucking better than the Narrator, also gets to be funnier. And not just in the clever way that humorists are often clever. Funny in the popular-kid kind of way, the way that earns admiration and laughs a group of people at a time, not just one-by-one, and belly laughs at that. It’s not lost on me now that plenty of Tyler’s laughs are the result of slapstick: the nunchuks, the bicycle fall. Physical comedy in these cases outweighs the cerebral, and that’s freeing in itself.

The fight scenes, reasonably, came across more strongly. Their sounds and imagery, being more potent, constrasted that much more strongly with the cold brightness of the corporate scenes. Brad Pitt’s “rules” speech seemed even more stately, historic, even. The lye kiss scene was as essential as ever. And I must highlight the scene in the back of the bodega with Raymond K. Hessel. It usually gets me, but this time around, probably got me more than it ever had. Because in a movie full of large ideas and huge targets, that’s a small bit of practicality. The sense of community is one thing, the need to be a part of something larger than oneself certainly valid. But day-to-day, in and of oneself, existentially, it gets no more personal or important than wasting no time and doing exactly what it is that will make you the person you want to be. A lesson well taught.

Now at the AMC Empire 25
Directed by David Fincher
Written by Aaron Sorkin

It only takes about a minute for some integral pieces to fall into place for this movie. Jesse Eisenberg, as facebook co-founder Mark Zuckerberg, shows us how well and quickly he will be able to spout the sharp dialogue of Aaron Sorkin. David Fincher, meanwhile, keeps his direction simplistic so as not to compete with its density. In the scene, Eisenberg demonstrates his character’s superior intellect and also arrogance, those things which set him apart from his peers, but also the emotional vulnerability that connects him to every teenager. His girlfriend, Erica Albright (Rooney Mara), is out with Mark and breaks things off. Mark has belittled her school and insulted her, all while finding himself on the outside of the most exclusive of clubs at Harvard. He seems between worlds, and would seem happier to fit snugly into at least one of them. But he’s really mostly hurt by Erica’s rejection, and he uses that energy first for revenge, and then also for something more.

Without going too much further into it: Mark blogs about Erica, insulting her right back, and meanwhile, with some friends, creates a website that compares the attractiveness of Harvard undergrads versus each other. It’s popularity and ingeniousness draws the attention not only of the adminstration of Harvard but of other students. The Winklevoss twins (apparently both played by Armie Hammer) and Divya Narendra (Max Minghella) have an idea for a program to connect Harvard students, exclusively, and want Mark to program it. Zuckerberg uses their idea as inspiration – some, including those students, would say he stole it – and thefacebook is born. With later help from Sean Parker (a suitable Justin Timberlake), facebook’s influence spreads even more.

Much of the movie is told cleverly via flashback from a pair of depositions. We see that the relationships have broken down, and then we see how. It has the logic and exposition of a play, but wouldn’t have been as effective as one. Eisenberg’s take on Zuckerberg is not robotic as much as it is cerebral, and works best in smaller doses, and when it has other people to play off – whether he’s not being up front with CFO and co-founder Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) or cutting down lawyers or school administrators.

Turning back to Aaron Sorkin, he’s just about the perfect choice to have written the screenplay. There’s plenty of legalese in this movie, because it is so much of the story, and his experience with A Few Good Men and The West Wing speak to his success with it. But we can’t forget that, maybe above all, Sorkin terrifically captures self-importance. There’s not much walking and talking, but Zuckerberg’s confidence and even defiance places the character – if not also the person – firmly in Sorkin’s gallery of people with enormous balls.

Speaking of pitch-perfection, the music of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross is another fantastic complement. It’s largely subtle, but certainly familiar, insistent, mechanical, and ideally suited for a film about technology and an individual that, while also emotional, is highly logical, sometimes coldly so.

Especially as the modern world accelerates, it seems too infrequent that films are perfectly suited to their times. The Social Network is a story that could have been told a few years from now, but is so well-suited for today. It hits home for me, certainly for being on facebook, but also for having grown up in a time without computers connecting us. Going to college a few years before this story took place, I knew even then how alluring it was to get caught up in this technology, to see and especially hear things I would not otherwise have had access to. Who knows how quickly the film might seem antiquated – The Net doesn’t quite hold up on most levels – but that’s not for us to know now, or to care, really: This is a great movie, full of powerful moments, that addresses not only the nuts and bolts of the technology, but gets at the delicate humanity beneath it all.

In brief: The story of facebook, more or less. Superbly told.
4 stars/4 (A)