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10 Streaming Epics To Get You Through Quarantine
Because we finally have more than three hours to check these films off our lists
To be honest, I feel like I’d be writing some version of this article even if we weren’t all ordered to shelter-in-place. Epic in scale, scope, and especially length, there’s something magic to films that decide to go all out with their runtimes. Even more so if there’s an overture, an intermission, an entr’acte…all of the deliberate touches to completely immerse the audience into utter spectacle. From rich family trees to shocking crime capers, to intricately-planned revenge sagas and world-ending events, there are just some stories that can’t be confined to your typical two-hour fare. These films feel like whole events; and in demanding our patience they seek to reward us with rich, vibrant tapestries depicting everything the human experience has to offer. And since there’s no better time to get lost in films like these, here’s a selection of streaming titles to aid in your day-long escapes. Maybe you’ll finally be able to leave the house by the time you make your way through the list.
1.Magnolia — 3 hours, 9 minutes (Netflix)
My personal favorite film ever made, Magnolia is Paul Thomas Anderson’s sprawling LA saga depicting one particularly terrible rainy day in the San Fernando Valley. With a cast of 9 main characters, all facing their own emotionally-draining crises, there’s never a moment when Magnolia doesn’t have your full attention. PTA drags each of his characters through the muck of life, from fulfilling the dying wishes of a distant father to a gameshow wunderkind’s existential meltdown on live TV. As vile as the world can be towards our heroes, though, there’s chaotic moments of beauty as only PTA can make them, accompanied by an all-timer soundtrack by Aimee Mann and Jon Brion.
2. The Hateful Eight: The Miniseries — 3 hours, 26 minutes (Netflix)
One of the best unexpected treasures to come from streaming is the ability for famous directors to revisit their work however they see fit. Case in point, Quentin Tarantino’s recut of his divisive cabin fever epic, The Hateful Eight. Here, Tarantino splits the film into four episodes, each one chock full of smaller character moments that would otherwise never see the light of day. In this longer, more deliberately paced version, The Hateful Eight develops a unique rhythm all its own–and I honestly fucking love seeing all of these bizarre characters bounce off each other like chilled pinballs filled with napalm.
3. Seven Samurai — 3 hours, 27 minutes (Criterion Channel)
The towering champion of chambara epics and source of its own long-running series of American adaptations, Seven Samurai is rightfully celebrated as a pinnacle of action cinema. Decades after its release, Seven Samurai remains such a fun, gripping watch minute-by-minute. Kurosawa’s direction of action is so clear-cut and focused, and also recognizes how much more each fight scene lands if you put an equal amount of effort into character development as you do your fight choreography.
4. The Irishman — 3 hours, 29 minutes (Netflix)
The Irishman is the ultimate gangster film from a director who already had Goodfellas, Mean Streets, and Casino among his repertoire. Built around the bloody, brutal life of hitman Frank Sheeran, The Irishman chronicles the rise and fall of the Italian Mafia’s culture of violence and secrecy. What’s more, the film can also be seen as a reflection on the glamorization of the horrific actions mob movies depict — illustrating the heavy toll such actions take on the lives caught in the whirlwind of Frank’s chaotic actions. It’s an uncomfortable watch but an addictive one, like staring down the barrel of a golden gun.
5. Heaven’s Gate — 3 hours, 36 minutes (Amazon, with Showtime or Starz, DirecTV)
Known more for its storied apocalyptic production history than its own epic merits, Heaven’s Gate is the kind of restored, kitchen-sink historical epic I go absolutely nuts for. Michael Cimino’s recreation of the 1892 Johnson County War is the last of the true Hollywood epics, with its uncontrolled cast of thousands (amid an already stacked ensemble) and lavish production design. Criterion’s restoration of the film also revives Cimino’s full vision for this undeservedly reputation-ending epic, here presented as a footnote in history re-examined as a gripping western, a heart-on-its-sleeve love story, and a savage look at turn-of-the-century class warfare. Also, a ton of roller-skating.
6. A Brighter Summer Day — 3 hours, 57 minutes (Criterion Channel)
A Brighter Summer Day dramatizes the lives of a Taiwanese street gang in the early 1960s, building up to a shocking real-life incident that made headlines. Edward Yang’s coming-of-age epic bests his more well-known Yi Yi, imbuing a gripping gangland epic with the tumultuous context of his country’s troubled history. Set amongst the great exodus of Chinese Nationalists to Taiwan in the wake of the 1949 Communist takeover, Yang positions street gang life as a chance for these stateless youth to carve out their own burgeoning sense of identity, one defined by violence, fleeting romance, and Western rock and roll. There’s a disarming sense of sincerity throughout the film as our lead, Xiao Si’r, falls in love with Ming, a schoolgirl already caught in a love triangle with two other gang leaders. A real puppy love develops between the two, leading to sequences that remind us just how young these characters are…which makes the violent acts they commit in the name of petty victories all the more horrifying.
7. Kill Bill — 4 hours, 7 minutes (Hulu: Vol. 1 & Vol. 2)
Tarantino’s under-wraps “Whole Bloody Affair” version of Kill Bill hasn’t made its debut publicly outside of a handful of theatrical screenings. However, a benefit to having both volumes of this revenge saga on streaming is the ability to play the second immediately after the first ends–preserving the intended experience of seeing these films as one experience as much as possible. For my money, Kill Bill is Tarantino’s best work — it’s a madcap combination of influence and originality, walking the fine line between cartoonish mayhem and heartbreaking drama with as much precision and skill as a Hattori Hanzo sword. Some folks give Vol. 2 flack for not being as action-packed as its predecessor, but seeing Kill Bill as one work allows the tonal shift to work wonders. Seen in its entirety, Kill Bill approaches revenge as the grueling, necessary task it can be, tempering bloody satisfaction with equal measures of cruelty and consequence.
8. Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler — 4 hours, 30 minutes (Criterion Channel)
From the sci-fi worlds of Metropolis to the once-groundbreaking crime procedurals of M, Fritz Lang is an amazing director because you can guarantee he’ll try to show you something you’ve never seen before. With Dr. Mabuse, the Gambler, Lang gives his novel touch to a serialized crime caper chock full of hypnotism, elaborately and impossibly-planned heists, and a kaleidoscope of practical camera trickery. At nearly a century old, watching Dr. Mabuse feels like watching the ancestor of bingeable Netflix shows. There’s an insane amount of crazy subplots and events that somehow all manage to come together, all rooted in the cat-and-mouse game between a world-class detective and the even-more interesting crime genius who eludes him. Half-melodrama, half-magic-trick, Dr. Mabuse proves that the hunger for long-form storytelling is something that’s stuck with audiences since the beginning of cinema.
An added bonus: Lang’s sequel, The Testament of Dr. Mabuse, is also available on the Criterion Channel!
9. Until the End of the World — 4 hours, 47 minutes (Criterion Channel)
Wim Wenders’ rambling sci-fi epic is perhaps the film on this list that’s the most about the journey rather than the destination. Until the End of the World follows a love triangle between William Hurt, Solveig Dommartin, and Sam Neill as they clash with and avoid bounty hunters of all sorts all over the globe as Hurt travels to his mad scientist father, Max Von Sydow, with a device that purports to record images for the blind…and possibly our own dreams. And a crashing nuclear satellite is also going to wipe out life on Earth. It’s a lot to take in for a synopsis, but so is Wenders’ film; with sumptuous cinematography by legend Robby Müller, Wenders captures everywhere from the bush of Australia, to the ruinous sprawls of urban Europe, to the Blade Runner-esque vistas of Tokyo. All the while, the chemistry between Hurt, Dommartin, and Neill lends Until the End of the World a bubbling, infectious energy like a shaggy dog sci-fi caper by way of Frank Capra and Werner Herzog. The soundtrack is also an amazing eclectic who’s who of the ‘80s and ‘90s, with Talking Heads, Julee Cruise, U2, Depeche Mode, Patti Smith, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds…it’s a nearly 5 hour symphony you won’t be able to stop listening to.
10. Fanny and Alexander: The Television Version— 5 hours, 12 mins (Criterion Channel)
I couldn’t resist closing this list out with another in my all-time favorite movies ever made, and Ingmar Bergman’s best work, Fanny and Alexander. Winner of Bergman’s last Oscar in its “truncated” 3-hour version, Fanny and Alexander chronicles the lives of the sprawling Ekdahl family in the wake of their patriarch’s death. As his widowed mother begins a new relationship with the cruel Bishop Vergerus, bright-eyed Alexander finds refuge within the confines of his imagination. Vergerus, however, possesses a maddening drive to strip Alexander’s family of all of their worldly beliefs — and this nearly six-hour battle between imagination and ideology is chock full of everything both life and film have to offer. This extended TV version restores what Bergman considers the “lifeblood” of the film: those small moments between family and friends that make each relationship feel real, be it a passing romantic dalliance or a fart joke for the little ones. The standout sequence among many is a folktale in the film’s final episode, one that beautifully illustrates how without the delivering power of stories, we’d endlessly struggle to make sense of our lives. In a world of so much uncertainty, the Ekdahl family’s steadfast courage in the face of adversity is reassuring and inspiring in equal measure.
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THE GOLEM: Kino Restores a Silent Horror Classic
One of cinema’s first Frankenstein stories gets a brand new 4K restoration on home video
With much of silent cinema being lost to time, it’s always exciting to see the results of a new restoration of an influential classic. It’s one of the closest things we have artistically to resurrecting the dead, to bring new life to an unwatchable nitrate or celluloid print and make it look like the film was shot yesterday. It’s an unparalleled peek into a world long since vanished, and allows us to further close the gap between our past and present.
The Golem is an iconic silent horror movie, which alongside such greats as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Nosferatu helped establish the visual grammar and structure for modern horror films we know it. What The Golem adds to this group, though, is how it draws upon Yiddish folklore in telling a story about the futility of playing God and creating the one of the first cinematic incarnations of the Frankenstein archetype.
The Golem tells the story of a 16th-Century Rabbi who creates a powerful servant from clay to protect his village from anti-Semites, only to have it bring destruction the more it slips from the Rabbi’s control. For its time, The Golem features stunning practical effects in bringing both the story and its characters to life, particularly in the film’s conjuring and reanimation sequences. What’s fascinating, though, is how these fantastical sequences play into Wegener’s telling of a story of religious persecution. The Golem is created out of the Holy Roman Emperor’s decree to banish the Jews from the Prague Ghetto; and once the Golem is made, it is summoned before the court where it can be ogled as an example of Jewish mysticism. It isn’t long before these mocked forces unleash their destructive powers, ones that don’t discriminate between faiths, as the Rabbi’s creation wreaks havoc on Prague.
I can only imagine that, at the height of industrialized and secular Weimar Germany, that a film like The Golem aroused the same curiosity and fascination in its audience towards its folklore premise as the titular creature did for the Royal court. In that sense, it’s fascinating how, amidst all of its spellbinding effects and blazing climactic furor, The Golem uses that fascination against its audience. In his characters’ creation of this being as a means for survival, only to have it grow out of their own control, Wegener seems to push our views towards ancient folklore from a place of passive curiosity to one of genuine respect, if not fear.
It’s a rich thematic well that Wegener continued to draw from, as this iteration of The Golem was the second out of three attempts the director would make to put this tale on screen. With the ravages of time, though, only this film and fragments of the first survive today. Thanks to the efforts of the FW Murnau Foundation in collaboration with other international film archives, The Golem received a wondrous new restoration in 2018 and is now preserved for home video courtesy of Kino Lorber.
Video/Audio
Kino Lorber presents The Golem in 1080p in 1.33:1 pillarbox, sourced from a 4K restoration of the German release version by the FW Murnau Foundation. Sourced from an array of footage to create the most complete version of the film possible, The Golem is remarkably preserved for a film that’s now a century old. Much of the film is free of scratches and other aging, making The Golem look like a tinted play rather than the aged film it is. What interstitial lower-quality segments there are are few and far between, and don’t distract from the overall experience. The only eyebrow-raising restoration decisions are some text inserts that are plain text rather than written on props — though this only appears a handful of times through the film.
The film defaults to a score by Stephen Horne, while also featuring additional variations by Admir Shkurtaj and Lukasz “Wudec” Poleszak. Horne’s score is traditionally piano/strings-based, creating an experience more akin to how theatergoers must have viewed The Golem back in 1920. Shkurtaj’s score is heavily experimental in its shrill rhythms, lending this traditional horror story a more modern, terrifyingly discordant feel. Poleszak’s score is more of a hybrid of the two, incorporating period instrumentation, experimental electronica, and even diegetic sound-effects.
Special Features
- Audio Commentary by film historian Tim Lucas. Lucas deftly explores The Golem’s mythological and cinematic context, revealing how much influence (and liberty) was taken from Yiddish myth to create a film whose legacy reverberates through future horror cinema.
- Restoration Comparison which not only shows the results of restoring The Golem, but also the key differences between the German and US release versions.
- US Release Version, which runs a truncated 15 minutes shorter than the German version, as well as rearranges and retitles much of the film. Score by Cordula Heath. Also presented in 1080p from a 2018 preservation negative by the George Eastman Museum. While this version of The Golem isn’t as restored as its German counterpart, it remains an interesting variation on the same material, especially in how German and American audiences approached a story so inspired by Yiddish tradition.
The Golem is now available on Blu-ray and DVD courtesy of Kino Lorber.
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The Golem — [Blu-ray] [DVD] -
Catching Up with the Classics — THE GODFATHER: PART III (1990)
After decades of denial, Julian finally watches the black sheep finale of an iconic trilogy
Film 60 of 115: THE GODFATHER: PART III (1990)
Walking out of the Paramount Theater last year after their annual double feature of The Godfather: Parts I & II, I was adamant I was going to write a piece someday about how I’ll never see The Godfather: Part III. Together, those two films tell such a rich, complete story, one that brings a family tree to fruition and rot over the course of generations. Each character and sequence is so memorable, so immediately affecting. To insist on a further continuation of the story does a disservice to “superfluous.”
But it’s not like I had the option to pretend Coppola’s third film didn’t exist. Reading up on the film, even though it was made in the most dire of straits and in the most rushed of circumstances, it was still an exhausting and determined effort for all involved. I hoped that to spend any effort at all on a film like Godfather: Part III would mean there’s still something to the Corleone saga left to tell. It’s a bit of cinematic curiosity that gnawed at me in the creation of all my film catch-up lists, but one that I kept pushing further and further down the list because of how much I love the two preceding Godfathers. So when it came to this project, I had to include Part III and finally rip off the band-aid.
It’s 1979: Michael Corleone is in his twilight years, honored by the Vatican for his humanitarian efforts, and the figurehead of wholly legitimate businesses. He’s spent his years since the emotional inferno of Part II wholly distancing himself from his own family’s bloody legacy — most of all his own irredeemable actions. For the most part, his actions are inwardly in vain, as Michael tortures himself for all the lives and relationships he’s cast aside in seizing and maintaining power. Now that he’s got little else to show for his efforts, Michael obsesses over his potential legacy, and what better way to seal that for his children than to partner up with the holiest of institutions — the Vatican?
It’s hard not to read further into Michael’s weary declaration of “just when I was out, they pull me back in.” Part III is a film that spends much of its time ruminating on the previous films, as Michael struggles to forge himself into a good person despite everyone and everything reminding him he’s anything but. Likewise, Part III itself feels like a film that wants to be its own rumination on modern-day power, in a world that’s traded Gangland street killings for high-rise boardroom mergers. The dregs of the past are still hung about the proceedings, though — thugs still break into apartments at night, brutal murders take place in bloody streets. The violence of the past two films feels inescapable, despite how modern things have gotten. Both the world of the film and the film itself feel plagued with the inability to escape their own reputations and legacies.
But what caught me off guard was how much Coppola leaned into this same anxious feeling of extraneousness throughout Part III, right from the opening frames of the ruined Corleone mansion. It goes into a handful of deep cuts from the lore of Parts I and II, down to making Andy Garcia’s Vincent’s mother a blink-and-you’ll-miss-her character from the opening of Part I. It revisits classic locations from the first two films, and is unafraid to show how ruinous they’ve become — down to the Sicilian town where Vito was born. Throughout, Coppola is eager to show the ravages of time take effect on his world and characters — as well as the specter of death they’re all barreling towards.
Like Coppola, everyone involved is certainly trying their best given what they have. Pacino still knocks it out of the park as Michael, now fully living the moments he briefly aged up for at the end of Part II. Andy Garcia is the standout of our new cast, painting Vincent very much as Michael’s shadow, someone who is certainly heading down the same path as our lead with Michael doing everything in his power to fend off Vincent from facing the same consequences he once did. And for the decades of venom Sofia Coppola’s gotten from critics and audiences alike for her performance as Mary Corleone (albeit not wholly undeserved), she’s not that bad. It’s hard to believe there was such a pre-production fight over such a weak character, but in light of it all, Coppola does what she can with a paper-thin character.
And Mary isn’t the worst out of some of Part III’s many, many lows. One of the best things about Parts I and II are how they treat their villains — while they’re sprawling sagas, there are concentrated main conflicts, ones with clearly-delineated antagonists that have emotional weight to their actions. With Part III, we have one mid-tier villain who’s dispatched early on, a puppet master who lurks too far in the shadows to feel as connected as everyone makes him out to be, and a litany of corrupt religious figureheads that link the film to a compelling real-world context that…well, still feel like they don’t amount to much. As such, Part III feels like it constantly stops and starts, and by the time the film’s finally gotten moving, we’re moving towards the climax.
It’s symptomatic of Part III’s biggest issue in having a plot that flits to and fro between what it finds most interesting without wholly committing to anything meaningful. The monetization of the church is a compelling story — and it tracks in a delicious way that Michael turns to the largest of public institutions in his attempts both to go legitimate and to assuage his guilt. But then we’re pulled away by the infighting caused by the power vacuum of Michael’s abandonment of the mob, which, Eli Wallach notwithstanding, we got plenty of in Part II. And we haven’t even gotten to Michael’s naturally torrential family life…Part III suffers in its attempts to catch up with every single character before we even have a chance to justify why we’re starting here in the first place.
What’s most disappointing to me about Part III is how it treats Diane Keaton’s Kay. Don’t get me wrong — like the others, Keaton does what she can with her material, and she nails how Kay should be after her dynamic, fierce performances in earlier installments. But it’s frustrating how Kay goes from someone who’s finally had the gumption to stand up to Michael and flee with her family’s real interests in mind, and begins this film determined to protect her family from Michael’s influence…to someone slowly coming back to someone she believed was a monster. It’s hard not to feel betrayed by this direction for one of my favorite characters in the trilogy.
Talia Shire, on the other hand — man, I love how she got to let loose in this. From someone who was subject to the violent whims of the men in her life in the last few parts, Connie fully seizes control of who she is throughout Part III. She acts as a Devil on both Michael and Vincent’s shoulders, slowly diverting them back onto the path of mob justice — but she’s still not someone who’s turned evil out of convenience. She’s learned from her family’s actions, and enacts a far more effective slow burn of wrath more akin to her father’s modus operandi than any of her brothers could attempt.
And, for all its flaws, it’s hard to deny just how effective most of Godfather: Part III actually is. Michael’s guilt-ridden compulsion to be better at all costs works well throughout the film, especially as he resorts to his aged manipulative tactics to keep those he loves safe. His confession scene is wrought with appropriate guilt and malice, and it’s so satisfying to hear a man of God tell Michael not just that he’s irredeemable, but that he couldn’t recognize just how to redeem himself if he tried. It’s a blindness that looms throughout this final chapter, a willful ignorance towards what’s inevitably coming that even colors how we see the past two films. Part III has many, many callbacks to its predecessors, from its split-second usage of past scenes in their old locations, to the staging and reverse-role blocking of certain scenes (read: Michael in the hospital). If the Godfather: Part III falls under the weight of its past iterations, one can’t help but admire how Coppola surrenders to their legacy, relying completely on one’s knowledge of the past in order to pack the biggest emotional wallop he can.
The Godfather: Part III’s climactic performance of Cavalleria Rusticana is by far one of the best across the three films, bringing the cross-cutting style of Part I’s “Renounce Satan” montage to fittingly operatic heights. It’s the curtain call one would want the most out of this final part, a distillation of everyone’s wicked flaws to one expected, inevitable, yet horribly tragic moment of pathos.
The closing scene, itself a reflection and rumination on what’s lost and what could’ve been, is a further mirror between Vito and Michael, father and son. If Part II was the close of a circle, the end of Part III is the moment when an Ouroboros finally swallows itself whole. It’s a moment where no possible reflection or redemption seems possible. We’ve twisted ourselves into a knot that can’t be untied unless a sword cuts us down.
It’s a fantastic close to a trilogy that’s immortal by this point — and one that quashes any doubt that The Godfather: Part III was a film that at least deserved to be explored, no matter how much the film’s quality may support its detractors.
The Godfather: Part III is available on Blu-ray and DVD, and is rentable on most streaming platforms.
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Two Cents Cheers “Cowabunga!” Alongside 1990's TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES
Two Cents is an original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team will program films and contribute our best, most insightful, or most creative thoughts on each film using a maximum of 200 words each. Guest writers and fan comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future entries to the column. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion.
The Pick
The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have been such a steadfast part of pop culture for so long that it can be easy to forget just how weird it is that some turtles who are also teenage ninja mutants are a steadfast part of pop culture.
Created by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird in 1984, the TMNT originated as a straight-faced riff of the kind of grim, tech-noir style that Frank Miller had popularized with his Daredevil run.
But it was the cartoon series, in conjunction with a mega-popular line of action figures, that took the turtles into the stratosphere. The 1987 series embraced and amplified the wackiness of the concept, differentiated Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Raphael via their colored masks, and in general turned the TMNT into a goofy, kid-friendly commercial juggernaut.
The turtles have occupied pretty much every form of media ever since. There was the first NES game that permanently traumatized a generation, ongoing comic runs, a revolving door of animated series, and even a live action series that have waxed and waned on the sliding scale between Eastman and Laird’s original darkness and the more popularly accepted wacky shenanigans of the 1987 toon.
And oh yes, there have been movies.
First and still probably most-beloved is the one we are here to talk about today: 1990’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Directed by Steve Barron (the legendary music video director behind A-ha’s “Take on Me”) and featuring make-up and creature effects by Jim Henson (it would be his final completed work before his untimely passing), the first Turtles movie was a giant hit that solidified the TMNT as phenomenon with long legs.
Series co-creator Kevin Eastman recently celebrated the movie’s 30th Anniversary with a terrific “from quarantine” at-home commentary of the film, which you can check out here.
As for the films, two direct sequels followed, though those films followed the franchise’s pivot to kid-friendlier silliness and diminishing returns. The film series went dormant until 2007 with the underrated TMNT. More time passed, and then we got another stab at a live action series, this time courtesy of Michael Bay and his production company. Those ‘roided out monstrosities scared audiences off (which is too bad because the sequel, Out of the Shadows, is actually pretty rad).
So the TMNT are resting from the big screen at the moment, but we know it’s only a matter of time before they come out of their shells once again to remind us what heroes on the half-shell really look like.
Next Week’s Pick
It is our sincere hope that movie theaters will be open and functioning again in the near future. Until then, we suppose we might as well take advantage of the weird circumstances to watch a film that by all rights still be exclusively on the big screen.
So let’s go Onward together. Currently streaming on Disney+.
Would you like to be a guest in next week’s Two Cents column? Simply watch and send your under-200-word review to twocents(at)cinapse.co anytime before midnight on Thursday!
Our Guests
Austin Wilden:
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, from its title to everything else about its dozens of incarnations across all variety of media, likely needs some level of base acceptance of the premise before being able to engage with it on any other level. For Eastman and Laird’s original comics, the acceptance would come from comic fans understanding the works of Frank Miller on Daredevil the pair were satirizing. With the 1987 cartoon, still airing new episodes at the time of the 1990 film’s release, being aimed at a younger audience could expect a similar suspension of disbelief from the target demographic. Accepting that absurdity or not probably accounts for the 1990 version of TMNT receiving a negative critical reception at the time while going on to be a well-regarded classic by people that grew up in the pop culture landscape Leo, Donnie, Raph, and Mikey helped create.
The fact the movie rules helps too.
What struck me most on this viewing is how much effort the movie places on making the Turtles feel like living people, even beyond the fantastic work of Jim Henson and his team on the title characters. Plenty of scenes are about the four of them, either as individuals or a group, hanging out being themselves. Whether its sharing pizza at April’s apartment or the extended farm sequence, the part where the movie’s heart gets laid bare, the way they act makes these cartoony beings work on screen to this day. Furthered by occasionally stylized but mostly grounded cinematography. Between the facial puppeteers and the stunt performers in the heroes’ half-shells, they can easily stand side by side with the best suitmation from Japanese tokusatsu like Godzilla or another famous turtle, Gamera.
Speaking of, it probably wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the live action martial arts and creature work here helped pave the way for Saban’s Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers to bring tokusatsu to kids in America. (Though the less said about Saban’s later attempt to turn TMNT into a live action TV series, the better.)
None of this praise is to say TMNT 1990 is perfect by any stretch. A decent portion of the wisecracks rely on now-dated pop culture references, and others are just plain bad, like April snarking about Sony around the Foot Ninjas and Casey’s “I never even looked at another guy” response to being called claustrophobic. Casey himself is the ultimate mixed bag of a character among the main cast. For every genuinely solid action or comedy beat he’s given, there’s stuff like his attitude towards April early on. Elias Koteas’s performance is good enough overall that I’m still willing to put Casey in the list of things in the movie that work. Not on that list, though: Danny coming across more as a screenwriting tool than a fully fleshed out person, with him stumbling across or into the exact situation to move the plot along multiple times.
Back on what does work, the farm sequence stands out. While it’s taken from a storyline in Eastman and Laird’s comics, this movie cemented the Turtles’ retreating to April’s old farm to recover as iconic to the point where multiple future versions felt the need to do their own twist on it. It’s where the Turtles feel the most united and gives us the best look into how they feel about each other and their father/son relationship with Splinter. Plus the match cuts between April’s drawings of the four to their current situations stand out among the filmmaking choices and serve as a remnant of the original scripted ending where she’d create an in-universe version of the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comics.
Warts and all, TMNT 1990 stands as one of the classics of comic book to screen adaptations. I’d even say it stands above the contemporary 1989 Batman with a more solid story structure and better action sequences. There’s a reason Turtles fans still cite this as one of the 35-year-old franchise’s absolute pinnacles. (@WC_Wit)
The Team
The TMNT were a non-entity for me growing up, so it’s only been in adult life that I’ve learned to appreciate turtle power. Even so, I never bothered with this movie before now. Surprise, surprise, it’s a totally enjoyable romp, bolstered by Henson’s remarkable work in costumes and puppetry and a performance by Elias Koteas so ferociously committed that he lends the film quadruple doses of legitimacy (even if he’s stuck with all the homophobic/racist cracks that date the film worse than any wardrobe).
If I can play a minor party-pooper to this procession, this movie does reflect the degree to which comic book movies post Burton’s Batman still struggled with translating those narratives to the screen. The Turtles don’t actually do much in the movie besides go from one location to the next. The Foot Clan bear an intense grudge against the boys for no real reason besides Raph interrupting a mugging. The Turtles take no proactive action throughout, and they don’t even know about the existence of Shredder until he appears before them looking for a final battle. By the time you get to that, there’s no actual enmity between the good guys and the bad, so what should be the epic clash is just guys in cool costumes flailing around.
Even so, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles holds up shockingly well thirty years later. (@TheTrueBrendanF)
At 38 years old, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have been a part of my life from an early age, and I’ve had the honor of passing them down to the next generation. While the cartoons of my generation and subsequent iterations have been generally solid, it’s the film series that’s the holy grail for me… with the original classic being the shining star. Thankfully, my kids have embraced it, and my wife is probably even a bigger die-hard fan than I.
I love this film, and it honestly can do no wrong. Every scene is iconic, and every character my friend. There is no such thing as honest film criticism from me when it comes to this classic of my youth. I continue to watch it just about yearly and will likely do so for years to come…in the hope that I can get my grandkids hooked on it one day.
If I must choose one iconic moment, it would be Raphael yelling “Damn!” early in the film. I was young enough when I first saw this to gasp at the fact my beloved turtle warrior would say a would I knew not to be okay for me to say, but in that moment I knew he was a total badass and I loved him the more for it. For that reason, he’s probably been my favorite member of the team ever since. (@thepaintedman)
Talk about a movie with a lot to give. Over the years I’ve come around to some new understandings about one of my all-time favorite films, for example coming to the realization that the Turtles, while cool and fun to spend time with, are not the ultimate heroes of their own movie — Casey Jones is the Samwise to their Frodo. It’s he who saves Splinter, and that pairing that ultimately defeat the Shredder. That doesn’t make me like the film any less, it’s just another layer to appreciate, and a new favorite character (especially considering how Casey was sidelined to a third-tier character in the 87 toon). Expanding on that thought, as a kid my favorite turtles in the movie were probably Mikey and Raph, while now it’s flipped to Donnie and Leo.
As a fan of the comics, I’ve also come to appreciate that it does a really incredible job at translating the run of the series up to that point (and even beyond, as elements of the film found their way into the comics narrative as well).
Along with being an all-time favorite, it’s also one of the ultimate comfort movies. It’s also maybe the primary movie of my childhood, and the one I can most vividly remember begging and anticipating to see on the big screen and absolutely loving. It’s a film that I can watch and enjoy anytime, and now as a parent, pull in my own kids (who have inherited Daddy’s Turtle fandom) and enjoy it with them too. (@VforVashaw)
Further reading:
https://cinapse.co/highlights-from-kevin-eastmans-tmnt-1990-movie-commentary-live-in-kc-ece84a41871c
https://cinapse.co/highlights-from-kevin-eastmans-tmnt-1990-movie-commentary-live-in-kc-ece84a41871c
Next week’s pick:
https://cinapse.co/highlights-from-kevin-eastmans-tmnt-1990-movie-commentary-live-in-kc-ece84a41871c
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SPINEMA Issue 37: The Coup’s SORRY TO BOTHER YOU Soundtrack LP Arrives on Mondo Vinyl
Lend an ear to SPINEMA: a column exploring all movie music, music related to movies, and movies related to music. Be they film scores on vinyl, documentaries on legendary musicians, or albums of original songs by horror directors, all shall be reviewed here. Batten down your headphones, because shit’s about to sound cinematic.
Mondo, in partnership with Interscope Records, is proud to present the premiere physical release of The Coup’s brilliant original soundtrack album to the film SORRY TO BOTHER YOU.
Available in one of two different, random sleeves, both designed by famed Oakland artist J. Otto Seibold (who also designed the film’s iconic logo) re-mastered for vinyl. Both versions pressed on 180 Gram white vinyl.
Sorry to Bother You is one of the most brilliant films in recent history: a surreal, outrageously surprising, immensely stylish, wildly inventive, work of blistering satire.
It’s almost unbelievably the debut of director Boots Riley, whose double duty as a musician absolutely informs both the style and marketing of the picture, and further cements it as the work of a visionary auteur. The hip-hop/funk musician and founding member of The Coup is known for his political activism, and sense of purpose drives the film even as its funky presence lands on euphoric eyes and ears.
The Package:
Mondo’s vinyl LP release of the soundtrack, available now, marks its physical media debut, with two cover designs, both of which feature a milky white LP. Purchasers who buy online get a random pull.
I received the brown version, which I’ll detail here.
The album’s design by artist J. Otto Seibold stays on brand with the established look of the movie, complementing, for example, the film’s Blu-ray release.
Blu-ray not included, obvs. Sleeve:
The sleeve features spot-gloss accents on the front cover lettering and back cover ribbon. It’s a nice detail — here are a few shots that demonstrate.
Insert:
An LP-sized inset features the detailed track list and some liner notes.
LP Record:
Both versions of the sleeve art are actually represented on the record — here’s a closer look at the labels.
The Music:
The cover album cover uses the term “band” which is an unusual one in association with the hip-hop genre, but it applies. The Coup is indeed a band in the full “they play instruments” sense of the term. The band’s funk-infused brand of rap defies genre conventions, and their impeccable musicianship crafts some memorable and groovy songs.
OYAHYTT — Right off the bat, the opening track is the rock-and-roll infused party that basically sold the movie to everyone who watched its incredible trailer and immediately put it on their watch list. The acronym abbreviates the super-catchy shouted refrain of “Oh Yeah, Alright! Hell Yeah, That’s Tight!”
The immensely enjoyable Hey Saturday Night keeps up the party rhythm with funky horns and a jaunty piano, featuring Tune-Yards.
The pace steps down for with Anitra’s Basement Tapes, a nostalgic and romantic hangout track. The title references Riley’s mother, whose collection of music serves as the background for a comfortable night in. This one didn’t grab me at first but after spending some time with the album, the earnest lyrics have pulled me in the more I listen. The outro in particular is just tremendous songwriting.
Janelle Monae jumps in for Whathegirlmuthafuckinwannadoo, a funk-frontal track about womanly independence.
Side B opens with Monsoon, with a harder-edged rap sound with salty lyrics over a dizzying electronic rhythm. Featuring Killer Mike! Next, Level It Up! picks up that harder musical vibe and carries it forward, one of the album’s heavier hitters; then Janelle returns for Out and Over / Sticky Sunrise, a slower and more melodic song.
We Need An Eruption cranks up the funk again bigtime. With the danceable jamming you might almost miss that it’s accompanied by some the album’s most socially-conscious/critical lyrics. That consciousness carries through to the closer, the Crawl Out of the Water, which has inventive rhymes that comparatively reference evolution against the larger backdrop of society.
The album’s content matches that of the already released digital release, including the sequence.
Full track list:
Side A.
1. OYAHYTT [feat. LaKeith Stanfield] (4:13)
2. Hey Saturday Night [feat. tUnE-yArDs] (4:14)
3. Anitra’s Basement Tapes (5:49)
4. Whathegirlmuthafuckinwannadoo [feat. Janelle Monáe] (3:43)
Side B.
5. Monsoon [feat. Killer Mike] (3:57)
6. Level It Up (3:55)
7. Out And Over/Sticky Sunrise [feat. Janelle Monáe] (3:20)
8. We Need An Eruption (2:49)
9. Crawl Out The Water [feat. E-40] (3:45)
Verdict:
I’m really enjoying this album. Smart, easy to listen to, beautifully packaged, and of course intrinsically tied to one of the best movies of the last couple years. Currently priced at $20, it’s also notably not as costly as most enthusiast-market oriented vinyl soundtracks. Highly recommended!
A/V Out.
Get it at Mondo:
Sorry To Bother You – Originial Motion Picture Soundtrack LP
Except where noted, all 16:9 screen images in this review are direct captures from the disc(s) in question with no editing applied, but may have compression or resizing inherent to file formats and Medium’s image system. All package photography was taken by the reviewer.
Sorry To Bother You – Originial Motion Picture Soundtrack LP
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Two Cents Film Club Loves the Craft of DAGON (and Stuart Gordon)
Two Cents is an original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team will program films and contribute our best, most insightful, or most creative thoughts on each film using a maximum of 200 words each. Guest writers and fan comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future entries to the column. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion.
The Pick
H. P. Lovecraft is experiencing something of a revival of late. For years, “Lovecraftian” was an easy shorthand for people to bandy about in relation to their own horror tales, with no deeper meaning beyond that at some point our hapless heroes would run afoul of something slimy with tentacles. Possibly from space.
But in recent years we have seen a new wave of artists in film, literature, and even video games, who are not just slapping Cthulhu into their work and calling it a day but are actually wrestling with the implications and deeper meanings behind Lovecraft’s work, including the virulent racism at the heart of much of Lovecraft’s conception of cosmic horror. Richard Stanley recently returned to feature filmmaking with the highly regarded adaptation Color Out of Space, and just this past month popular fantasy author N. K. Jemison dropped The City We Became, an original novel that updates and re-contextualizes some of Lovecraft’s pet themes for the modern era.
Stuart Gordon was ahead of this curve, as he so often was. From his origins in the Chicago theater scene where his company was the first to put on David Mamet’s Sexual Perversity in Chicago, to the stunningly high-quality effects and carnage in his low-budget first Lovecraft adaptation, the cultishly adored Re-Animator, Stuart Gordon operated by his own rules, at his own pace, making movies that sometimes took years for audiences and culture to catch up to.
Gordon revisited Lovecraft multiple times throughout his career, often working with a combination of the same collaborators. Dagon saw him re-teaming with Dennis Paoli, who co-wrote all of Gordon’s Lovecraft adaptations, with a movie that sits at the axis of his career. Shortly after Dagon, Gordon would largely abandon traditional horror in favor of off-beat, often grisly crime thrillers and dramas.
Dagon (actually more inspired by “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” than the story “Dagon”) follows hapless yuppie scum Paul (Ezra Godden) as his vacation goes awry and he finds himself stranded in the nightmarish town of Imboca, pursued by the relentless mutant locals. Seems that long ago, the townspeople swore fealty to the titular fish-god and now they have truly gruesome plans for anyone foolish enough to stumble into town.
We lost Stuart Gordon this past week, but he leaves behind a truly unique filmography. Not all of his experiments worked, and some worked better than others, but there are no other movies like Stuart Gordon movies, and there was no other filmmaker like Stuart Gordon. And there never will be again.
Next Week’s Pick
You know what the world needs now, more than ever?
TURTLE POWER.Join us as we celebrate the 30th anniversary of the original (and best) live-action Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, available on Netflix!
Would you like to be a guest in next week’s Two Cents column? Simply watch and send your under-200-word review to twocents(at)cinapse.co anytime before midnight on Thursday!
Our Guests
Brendan Agnew (The Norman Nerd):
It’s a shame that Ezra Godden is no Jeffrey Combs. There’s a lot about Dagon that works — the structure is solid, Stuart Gordon ramps up the tension and the grotesque nicely, there’s some really cool makeup design work, and the music/audio is delightfully creepy. But between the “not quite there” CGI of low-budget early-00s movies and the main character being something of a cold fish (sorry), it never realizes its full potential.
Luckily, even fulfilling part of that works out pretty damn. The “oh no, town of creepy cult people” setup plays breezily through the stuff that would be the most dull navigate, in order to move quickly on to the red meat of conspiracies, nasty monsters, and ritual sacrifices. There’s a nuts and bolts function to the script, and a playfulness to the directing that keeps the nastiest material from becoming too sickening.
Dagon may be “No Re-Animator,” but it uses Gordon’s signature stamp to make something a little different with a lot of tentacles. (@BLCAgnew)
The Team
This tale of a town that worships a deep sea god really took a while to hook me. It picked up with some well done gore and clever flashes of violence, but I found myself clock watching far too much, feeling as if watching the film was a bit of a chore. The bursts of intrigue weren’t enough to grab me fully and, ultimately, the experience of this film was less spectacular than I’d hoped.
That said, there are certainly things to appreciate. Some of the practical effects are exceptional. The more exploitive elements of horror and sexuality were used well and helped the film’s pacing, punching up the less exciting moments with something titillating. The film has a good look overall, as well.
However, I never found myself engulfed by Dagon. Be it the often clunky writing or my own personal hang ups of some sort, it just didn’t reel me in. Cool effects and creature design still made it worth watching, though… that I surely can’t deny! (@thepaintedman)
There’s just something about this fucking movie.
There are better horror movies than this. Hell, there are multiple Stuart Gordon-Lovecraft movies better than this. As Agnew pointed out above, any time the movie dips into CGI it face-plants completely, and Ezra Godden as the lead is a near total dud, even taking into account that Lovecraft protagonists (including in the other Gordon movies) are always ineffectual dweebs who affect nothing as they fail their way through a particular tale.
But even so, there’s just something about this goddamn movie that makes it wildly effective on me in a way that most other horror movies simply are not. This one shakes me, in a way that I don’t find especially entertaining. It’s like this movie is a strain of chickenpox that I never developed an immunity to, so even as it bounces harmlessly off others I’m stuck lying in bed with cold sweats and fever.
Dagon has to keep halting its momentum to ladel on exposition, but during the long stretches that play out with little-to-no dialogue, where the focus is instead on sustaining a suffocating mood of dread and doom, on the astonishing practical designs and make-up, and on the truly nauseating outbursts of gore and violence, it achieves a ferocity and terror that still stuns me.
I watched Dagon years ago and always remembered it being earth-shatteringly scary and upsetting. Many years, and many, many horror movies later, it has lost almost none of that initial impact. (@TheTrueBrendanF)
I definitely count myself a fan (though not an expert) of Stuart Gordon, and Dagon, which I finally watched for the first time, prompted by the director’s passing, is my new favorite.
While Gordon has done a lot of Lovecraft material, most of it is very much his updated, modern spin on things, often focused more on science fiction trappings than Lovecraft’s themes of isolation, madness, and ancient abominable horrors too great and terrible to comprehend or describe. Where his other films dip their toes into Lovecraft’s world, Dagon jumps into the deep end of the pool — a decaying seaside town consumed by evil, cursed fish-people, an eldritch sea god, the works.
My favorite video game is Resident Evil 4 (2005), and in retrospect I realize that Dagon, a new movie at the time, was a very heavy influence on its both style and setting. If you love either one, be sure to check out the other. (@VforVashaw)
Further reading:
https://cinapse.co/streaming-picks-in-memoriam-of-stuart-gordon-1947-2020-7acec053675b
Next week’s pick:
https://cinapse.co/streaming-picks-in-memoriam-of-stuart-gordon-1947-2020-7acec053675b
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Catching Up with the Classics: GANGS OF NEW YORK (2002)
Martin Scorsese reckons with power and legacy in this deliberately gruesome, self-destructive historical epic
Film 59 of 115: GANGS OF NEW YORK (2002)
My favorite thing about Martin Scorsese’s historical epics is how “present” they are. It isn’t that they feel like modern stories (though they are) or that they have a timeless quality (which they do). Films like The Irishman, The Aviator, The Age of Innocence, and Kundun are filled with lavish production design, with stellar casts in insanely-accurate costumes. They’re joys to watch — and often brutal ones. But for as long as we spend time in these elaborately-constructed worlds, Scorsese just as quickly casts these worlds away. There’s an undercurrent, be it human progress or the inevitable path to the grave, that never ceases to remind us that nothing good or bad can stay here for long. These epics, as such, feel like intricate mandalas that are cast aside into the sands of history as they reach their climax.
Gangs of New York is Scorsese’s mandala of a turning point in New York history, as warring factions of American “Natives” and both established and fresh-off-the-boat Irish immigrants fight for control of the city. Towering above them all is Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis), an American who revels in the control he has over the people beneath him by way of immense bloodshed, infectious racism, and rampant vice. But his control is tenuous, as more boatloads arrive of people searching for opportunity in America are welcomed with open arms by Tammany Hall’s William Tweed (Jim Broadbent). And above them all, the looming death machine of the Civil War siphons off both established and immigrant American alike.
Unknown to Bill, his greatest threat lies in plain sight. Ages ago, Bill struck down Priest Vallon, leader of the Irish gang The Dead Rabbits; now, Vallon’s grown son Amsterdam (Leonardo DiCaprio) has returned to New York seeking vengeance. Through the help of his father’s old acquaintances, Amsterdam works his way into Bill’s inner circle, inching closer to his dream of vengeance. But as allegiances are made and broken, hopes dashed and restored, Amsterdam’s Shakespearean saga becomes one thread among many as the future of New York City comes into bloody focus.
As with Scorsese’s other period efforts, the attention to detail in Gangs of New York allows for nothing short of a spectacle. Lit with withering candles and grimy gas lamps, production designer Dante Ferretti and cinematographer Michael Ballhaus capture 1860s New York City as if it were truly a viral microcosm of the chaotic world outside its borders, bursting at the seams with all sorts of life, self-interest, opportunity, and morality, each aspect of which causes feverish sparks of mayhem like the most volatile atoms. It’s a city you can’t wait to leave, one that feels like a prison for all inside it, which feeds into our characters’ diverse motivations for razing this world and remaking it in their own image.
And boasting a script by Jay Cocks, Steven Zaillian, and Kenneth Lonergan, Gangs of New York affords us the time to invest in each of our characters’ placement on this spectrum of ideals and self-interest. The natural standout of our cast is Day-Lewis’ Bill the Butcher, a populist in the most vile and provocative of ways. He’s a man who revels in the filth of the city, turning others’ misfortune into his own advantage, one who sees others’ lack of progress as evidence of his own upward trajectory. He’s a monster wholly terrified by the idea of social progress and equality, as such things would cause his power to slip through his fingers like blood from a stone. This evil within him concentrates into a stunning Scorsese symbol — an American Eagle as the iris of a false eye, a blinding badge of misplaced honor and glory.
While Gangs of New York doesn’t intend to be Bill’s picture, Day-Lewis’ performance wholly overshadows the rest of the players, and each character can’t help but feel like a reflection of the Butcher than the other way round. DiCaprio’s Amsterdam possesses the same capacity for violence but with a patience and empathy towards lifting up his fellow sufferers that Bill would see as comical. Brendan Gleeson’s McGinn shares the same opportunistic reverence for chaos, but sees how it could be used for a greater good. He very nearly gets the chance to change things — if it weren’t for Bill’s skill at throwing carving knives. On this same lonely end of good intentions is Broadbent’s Boss Tweed, who plays the game as pragmatically and indifferently as he can, understanding that if things become marginally less terrible for those beneath him, he can reap future rewards. It totally jives that he rolls with someone like P.T. Barnum, as Tweed creates a rollicking circus out of New York politics.
Then there’s those without power, like Cameron Diaz’s Jenny. Coming into Gangs of New York, I’d heard that she was one of the film’s weaker qualities, or that she’d been notably miscast. Coming out of the film, it feels like this is another example of Diaz being given the short end of the stick. While an arc like Jenny’s takes a regrettable backseat to the other characters’ penchants for violent revenge, Diaz still plays Jenny with a distant, fierce practicality akin to The Counselor’s Malkina, albeit with much more of a soul. Much like other women of the time, she’s forced into a world where she must do what she can to survive, though she refuses to let circumstances interfere with her own moral compass. What unifies these characters, and makes Gangs of New York such a compelling watch, is this fight for survival, to come out of all of this bloodshed with their values intact.
It’s a brutal fight for ideals throughout Gangs of New York, set amidst one of the most gruesome wars in history. It was fascinating seeing how Gangs of New York aligned its politics, as Scorsese and company don’t downplay how unapologetically racist this period of history was, even pulling from historical woodcuts as a stand-in for some of the film’s more repugnant acts of terror. Dealing with the cultural misgivings of the past is a hurdle that any filmmaker must deal with; to do otherwise risks whitewashing history and enabling those attitudes to further on unchecked. One of the things I appreciated about Gangs of New York is how these socially backward views played into the film at large. Many of the characters in turn downplay the likelihood that they’ll be affected by the War at all, that the battle over Slavery is a larger distraction amidst this smaller-scale battle for New York territory. It’s a belief that everyone, no matter their affiliation, ends up viscerally reckoning with in a fiery blaze at the film’s close, and brings an incendiary coda to Gangs of New York’s themes of the ever-turbulent winds of History.
Throughout Gangs of New York, the only thing that feels constant about power is how fleeting it is. Alliances change based on how much personal or financial sway one possesses at any given moment. Even the most towering of figures like Bill the Butcher can have their influence cut away in the counting of a ballot box, and a long fought-after territory can be reduced to rubble with the blast of a cannon. In either situation, those watching events play out like carrion pick through the rubble of what remains, hoping to garner some advantage out of the madness. As a result, the stakes of Gangs of New York feel petty and insignificant by the film’s close — that the good or evil men do end up as footnotes in the ledgers of history, and their larger-than-life battles are farcical in light of the fact that whoever wins will be cut down by the next challenger.
At the same time, though, Gangs of New York’s power comes from how much Scorsese and company manage to make you give a damn about these squabbles. Just because these events end up as footnotes in history doesn’t reduce how much those involved cared about their outcome. As such, Scorsese treats the forgotten past with the visceral vitality it deserves, feverishly replicating this gritty bloody world in spite of the fact that it gets flushed away in a heartbeat. Like the historical epics that succeed it, Gangs of New York vivifies the past in all of its brutal, misguided glory in the hopes we might glean some better understanding of our forebears’ foibles. It’s a film that suggests that violent, vain power grabs may define our history, but shows that they can fall away just as easily as our attempts to better the lives of those around us. That as much as we like to think that history bears no consequence to us, it very well does, and a cannon shot can prove that in a heartbeat.
Regardless of the paths we choose, whether it’s the self-interested one of Bill the Butcher, the pragmatic and populist ones of Boss Tweed and McGinn, or the simple, honor-bound one of Amsterdam, each one carries its own lasting effect throughout history, one that outlives however long people remember your name. That even though the world we create may be a mandala swept aside in time, that doesn’t invalidate the fact that it once existed, and caused as much harm and beauty as we allowed it. It’s a potent well that Scorsese has often returned to, and one well worth returning to as anyone approaches the point where lives end and legacies begin.
Gangs of New York is available on Blu-ray and DVD, and is currently available to stream on HBONow/Go.
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A HIDDEN LIFE: A Tribute to the Courage of Conscientious Objection
Terrence Malick’s timely latest explores the patient power of non-violent protest
I count Terrence Malick among my holy trinity of directors, alongside Paul Thomas Anderson and Stanley Kubrick. If Kubrick’s my Father, someone who explores the inner workings of human nature, exposing our flaws and weaknesses, and PTA’s my Son, someone who’s learned from those weaknesses and believes that we can find an ultimate redemption in them, then Malick is my Holy Spirit. He’s a director whose films explore those underlying mysteries — there’s a fascination with why we take the paths we choose, the unseen hands that guide us down them, and how our life’s journeys relate to the Universe at large. While the other two focus heavily on the trappings we create for ourselves, be it Vice or some other corruptibility, Malick’s films are urged on by a more spiritual hunger, more crises of conscience.
Whether it’s attempting to satisfy that hunger between those we love as in To the Wonder, Knight of Cups, or Song to Song, or in the faith in a higher power with The Tree of Life, Malick’s recent characters find themselves searching for deliverance or comfort in something beyond the material world, often to the confusion or anger of those around them. I love these films because they acknowledge the pain of uncertainty and doubt, and how tempting it can be to bury ourselves in distractible things — but also Malick’s films believe that there will come a time where, if we search hard enough, and surrender ourselves to what the Universe reveals to us, that beautiful sense of purpose and fulfillment will emerge.
His latest, A Hidden Life, follows a father compelled by his own crisis at a time of widespread moral corruption. Franz Jägerstätter (August Diehl), an Austrian farmer, is drafted by the Nazis at the dread-soaked beginning of World War II. Franz has spent his life trying to build “a life above the clouds” for his family — an idyllic life, free of the troubles of the world. Over the course of the film’s first half, Franz reckons with how naive and wrong this belief is as his fellow townspeople fall under the sway of Nazi dogma. The townspeople’s hatred fractures their community into those eager to please their new rulers, and those fearful of incurring their wrath. Franz turns to his spiritual leaders, hoping for some higher guidance, but even they have fallen under the boot of Hitler, acknowledging one’s sense of duty and subjugation even as their church bells are melted for bullets. Franz goes through with Army training, but his biggest test comes when all soldiers are required to swear an oath of loyalty to Hitler. Faced with isolation, imprisonment, and potentially execution the longer he holds onto his conscientious objection, Franz struggles to hold true to what he believes is right in a world that’s lost its way.
While Franz’s choice may seem easy to an audience with nearly eighty years of hindsight, A Hidden Life refuses to make Franz’s choice free from grueling consequence. Franz is gripped with indecision before he chooses to refuse Hitler’s oath as much as when he’s being coerced to recant it. His family, especially his wife Fani (Valerie Pachner), has accepted and champion Franz’s decision to maintain the moral high ground — still, Franz must reckon with what might happen to them in his absence. Franz’s repugnance at Nazi war crimes quickly makes enemies of his fellow community, and the Jägerstätters find themselves quickly ostracized. The Church, Franz’s last refuge and moral compass, urges him to keep his treasonous thoughts to himself, and to obey his leaders.
Malick illustrates this widespread alienation through the use of language. At the film’s beginning, Franz and Fani speak German with their fellow townspeople. As A Hidden Life progresses, there seems to be a deliberate divide between English and unsubtitled German — as if Fascism has created a Tower of Babel-like situation that’s split a once-unified people among those who believe in the idea of Volk and those who don’t. There’s a systemic resistance towards Franz’s actions, one that’s suffocating in its pervasiveness. What makes Franz such a memorable character, though, is his decision to follow through with this choice to act, to not give into fear and hatred.
Franz’s choice is clear; but again, A Hidden Life refuses to give this clarity an easy path to travel. When Franz refuses to surrender his loyalty to Hitler, few understand his willingness to accept the magnitude of consequence he’s bringing upon himself. Even more doubt the efficacy of his actions against such unified oppression. Franz’s court appointed lawyers suggest that the Oath is something others don’t take seriously, that his troubles are thus self-inflicted moral indulgence. Others, like his tribunal judge (a moving final performance by Bruno Ganz), take Franz’s passionate, resolute suffering as an indictment of his own choices, and reply with the belief that Franz’s actions are too small to amount to any major change. Franz is made to suffer as a reaction to his stoic determination, from physical brutality at the hands of prison guards, to more psychological torture as Fani undergoes the grueling journey between Austria and Berlin, Germany to appeal for her husband’s safety, only to be undercut by indifferent bureaucracy. Both Franz, and Fani by extension, are subject to the reactionary blows and dangers of this system, all because they refuse to comply.
But what unifies the anger and indifference they face is a uniform refusal to acknowledge what validity Franz may have in his beliefs. The world Franz lives in is one that’s so buried and equally resolute in its ideology that to acknowledge its shortcomings is to acknowledge the evils committed in its name. Which makes Franz’s refusal to comply not only so alien, but so dangerous. It’s why his lawyer is so puzzled by Franz’s refusal to sign a piece of paper to go free. His response, “But I am free,” is so contradictory to someone who has already sold off what morality they may possess. But even though he doesn’t intend to hold up a mirror to his oppressors’ actions — “I don’t say, ‘he’s wicked, I’m right’” — Franz does force those who interact with him to reckon with their actions, and their place in this world of cruelty.
Because to Franz, his words and actions mean everything in the world.
“A man may do wrong, and he can’t get out of it to make his life clear. Maybe he’d like to go back, but he can’t. I have this feeling inside me…that I can’t do what I believe is wrong.”
This interaction forces his judge to literally sit in the throne of the judged. And even though he passes the death sentence on Franz, effectively silencing him in the eyes of the State, he cannot deny the effect the encounter with Franz has on him.
A Hidden Life explores familiar ground for Malick — the question of the efficacy of our actions lingers through The Thin Red Line (“What can a single man do in all this madness?”) — but Franz Jägerstätter’s story further deepens this crisis by connecting it to the same ephemerality explored through his recent autobiographical trilogy that began with The Tree of Life. A Hidden Life doesn’t just explore whether or not there’s a God that allows evil to happen, but also reckons with how much evil we are willing to let happen before we choose to act. There is both a consciousness of a higher morality, but also a moving sense of individual responsibility and action. We cannot wait for judgment to be passed, to let ill be done and wait for a larger reckoning. To let that be the case is to abdicate any sense of individual conscience. Rather, Malick encourages us to hold fast to our beliefs of truth and justice in times of hatred, to cast down our swords and practice non-violence in the wake of cruelty. A Hidden Life is a refusal to accept violence and depravity as man’s natural state. That in the larger scheme of things, this steadfast dedication to one’s moral causes, unwavering in their fortitude, will outlast any temporary evil.
A Hidden Life is now available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Digital from Searchlight Pictures.
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KINETTA: Yorgos’ Lanthimos Debut is Both Frustrating and Fascinating
The first solo film from the Greek Weird Wave director finally hits US shelves courtesy of Kino Lorber
In writing about Dogtooth and Alps for Cinapse earlier last year, I noted how Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos’ films often focus on the trivialities people use both to define themselves and relate to others around them. It’s a recurring theme throughout his career, often to wildly hilarious and violent ends as his characters’ attempts to literalize the world around them fail to give them deeper understanding of their increasingly chaotic inner lives.
Kinetta, Lanthimos’ first solo film as a writer-director, is just as chaotic and (something I didn’t think possible) even more frustratingly opaque than his other films. Largely dialogue-free and intentionally meandering, Kinetta follows a trio of unnamed inhabitants of a Greek resort town in its deserted off-season. The Maid (Evangelia Randou) turns down uninhabited rooms and spies on what little inhabitants there are, while miming struggles with invisible assailants. The Clerk (Aris Servetalis) has a fascination with driving and control. The Detective (Costas Xikominos) loves BMWs and instructing the actions of Russian escorts he visits. The trio’s fascinations coalesce in their bizarre beat-for-beat recreations of true crime murders — the Maid is the victim of the Clerk, as the Detective films on. The act of recreating these murders both gives illumination into and an outlet for the opaque desires of their actors, but it’s clear that as their role-play increases in intensity that something else threatens to come to the surface.
Suffice to say, Kinetta is truly a bizarre film. All of the notes of Lanthimos’ filmography are there below the surface, from the mannequin-esque characters to the rippling effect their violent actions have on the world around them. However, Kinetta is also a film that resists clear and easy viewing. Lanthimos might as well be implementing the cinematic equivalent of social distancing, as he keeps his audience at far more than an arm’s length away from fully gleaning insight into the characters and world of his film.
What keeps us engaged, though, is how Lanthimos does paradoxically invite us to figure out the goings-on of Kinetta, to read as much into these three misfits as we can. It could be read that this is Kinetta’s overall goal: to get its audience to try and penetrate the inner lives of these characters in the same way that they feel compelled to recreate these disturbing events.
Initially released in 2005, Kino Lorber has now given Kinetta a stateside debut on Blu-ray and DVD. Kinetta’s a beguiling yet equally repulsive film that definitely isn’t for everyone — I’m not 100% sure it was for me. But, alongside Dogtooth and Alps, Kinetta provides an intriguing look into the formative stages of one of today’s best directors.
Video/Audio:
Kino Lorber presents Kinetta in a 1.78:1 1080p HD transfer with a 2.0 Greek Stereo track, with an accompanying English subtitle track for the feature. Detail is as well-preserved as it can be for Kinetta’s intentionally color-drained, muted color palette, with a healthy amount of film grain and overexposure that reflects the film’s low-budget, shot-on-the-run production style.
Special Features:
- Commentary by Amy Simmons provides a much-welcome guide through Lanthimos’ enigmatic film. Simmons acknowledges Kinetta’s deliberately opaque story and structure, and draws much from the experience of watching the film–notably the seeds of disturbingly playful deadpan humor and blunt, claustrophobic violence that would flourish throughout the rest of Lanthimos’ filmography.
- Trailers for fellow Kino Lorber releases.
Kinetta is now available on Blu-ray and DVD courtesy of Kino Lorber.
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Criterion Review: LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN
A beautiful digital restoration of the technicolor noir is now on Blu-ray
Two of Gene Tierney’s best-known film roles involve deep obsession. In Laura, a detective investigating her disappearance becomes infatuated with Tierney’s Laura as he learns more about her (it doesn’t hurt that the decorations in her apartment include a huge portrait of her). In the less witty Leave Her to Heaven, Tierney herself plays the infatuated one. Ellen (Tierney) has a meet-cute with an author, Richard (Cornel Wilde), on a train. In Teirney’s capable hands, Ellen enchants both Richard and the audience. Of course, the audience gets to see both the glittery facade of an ideal she presents for him as well as the cruelty of her true self.
“Ellen always wins.”
Richard might seem a better fit for Ellen’s adopted sister, the more pragmatic Ruth (Jeanne Crain). Yet he’s enamored of Ellen’s ethereal beauty and air of mystery, and when she proposes marriage — after an accidental run-in with her ex (Vincent Price, also in Laura) — he can’t fight the temptation. Ellen’s skill for manipulation is clear from the start.
She has learned to play a role when men are involved; the women in her life are keenly familiar with this aspect of her personality. Her mother (Mary Philips) regrets the extremely close relationship Ellen shared with her father. Ruth is wary of Ellen’s machinations, while at the same time wishing their sisterhood was deeper and truer.
Ellen’s sinister tendencies are emphasized by Leon Shamroy’s cinematography, with interior scenes shot from a low angle as patterns of light and shadow paint the ceiling. The set design, along with Shamroy’s shooting style, adds a claustrophobic feel to the technicolor noir. Even the verdant exterior shots are tinged with menace, especially if Tierney is involved. In a pivotal death scene at a calm Maine lake, Tierney’s face is cold and expressionless behind a pair of sunglasses.
Tierney is vicious as Ellen, desperate to keep her man yet aware that he will someday come to realize what kind of person she really is. She appears luminous in the digital restoration of Leave Her to Heaven, now out on Blu-ray from Criterion. But the 1945 film from director John M. Stahl proves that appearances can be quite deceiving.
The new Criterion BluRay package includes:
- a half-hour long interview with critic Imogen Sara Smith about Stahl, the director’s previous “womens’ pictures,” his visual signatures, how film noir connects to melodrama, and an analysis of Tierney’s performance in Leave Her to Heaven, as well as the cinematography and production design
- trailer
- booklet essay from Dare Me author and producer Megan Abbott
