It happened again, dammit! My car got broken into for the third time in the past nine months - and this is the second car stereo I've had stolen since Memorial Day weekend. Crikey! I guess my 10-year old banged-up hatchback must have some sort of raw auto magnetism. Or something.
Perhaps a new approach? Maybe I should hang a sign on the door that says, "Come on in! Take whatever you like!"
Hey, you know, I was making a very silent commute home from work today and I started thinking how nice it would be to have Morgan Freeman narrating my commute. I think that would be really awesome.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Documentoriffic Ranting
Late summer has made me lazier than ever. I'm tired of air conditioning and I long for chilly breezes and long sleeves. My appetite for nonfiction has been way up. I've gone to see new documentaries the past three weeks at the movies. I've not been disappointed. My thoughts:
Grizzly Man
An astonishing piece of filmmaking, I think. For certain, the subject is compelling: Timothy Treadwell, a man who lived "among" the grizzly bears of Alaska for 13 seasons before being killed and eaten by one in 2003. The circumstances of Treadwell's death are ripe for exploitation and tabloid-type treatment, and I thank the heavens that Werner Herzog made this documentary. Not just because he creates such a balanced treatment of Treadwell (some people adored him and believed that he was genuinely protecting the bears, others felt that he was a nuisance and "got what he deserved," and everyone agreed that he was deeply troubled) because that's what any good documentary filmmaker does. But Herzog engages Treadwell as a filmmaker, and takes care to highlight Treadwell's complex relationship with his camera during his time in Alaska, which is as fraught and revealing as Treadwell's relationship with his bear "friends." We watch as Treadwell captures some staggering footage of the animals and landscape around him (there's an amazing moment wherein Treadwell films a baby fox from the inside of his tent) and as he creates a heroic adventure with himself as a star. This is a fascinating portrait of a mind coming unhinged from reality.
Thankfully, Herzog spares us gratuitous photos of the site of Treadwell's death and makes no use of the videotape that captured the sounds of the bear attack. (Treadwell's camera was turned on, but the lens cap was not taken off, so only the sounds of the attack were recorded.) It occured to me while watching the movie that the if any mainstream media news outlets had access to the tape, it would have become the centerpiece of their story. However, Herzog is able to convey the horror of the moment through an interview with the coroner who conducted the autopsy. Through a discussion of the forensic evidence and the tape, the coroner actually recreates the scene in such a passionate, detailed way that it's almost cinematic. It's truly one of the most gripping things I've seen on screen in a long time. And it points directly to Herzog, who almost seems to be directing the real-life subjects of his film at times. There's a pointed moment in the film where we see Herzog listening to the tape of Treadwell's death on headphones and then telling Treadwell's ex-girlfriend that she should never listen to it and that she should destroy it. It's a peculiar moment, really, and it made me feel kind of ambivalent about Herzog: all at once I appreciate him for his compassion but I also feel like he's acting just as Treadwell has in a delusional attempt to "protect" his subjects.
But I admire his honesty and his forthrightness about his construction of the film. We fool ourselves when we believe that documentaries give us a "true" story, because the narrative has been constructed for us by the filmmakers just as any fiction would be. The footage chosen, interviews, even the camera work has been designed to tell some sort of story. And I really enjoyed Herzog's own commentary on his creation - this is not "the" story of Timothy Treadwell. It's really Herzog's meditation on such a complex character - and it's well worth your meditation. Really - go see it. It'll stick with you.
Murderball
How could I not go see a documentary about quad rugby? It's great. Just damn great. And while you're thanking the heavens for giving us Herzog to direct the documentary on Treadwell, go ahead and say another thank you about the fact that the Today show or ESPN has not produced a piece on Murderball. It would be an all soft-touch lens, John Tesh narrated, "triumph of the human spirit," human interest segmentoid. Instead, we get a rash, unsentimentalized documentary about a bunch of macho jock rugby players - in wheelchairs. How refreshing to see our conceptions of bodies and abilities turned upside down. How awesome to see a film that's not afraid to break taboos and make able-bodied people admit that they've always wondered how people with disabilities have sex. How great to see footage of a young kid asking a man with no arms how he can eat pizza with his elbows because at least he's going to ask the question rather than just stare and get all wierd and uncomfortable. We live in a world where anything other than "normal" pushes us right out of our comfort zones. We don't even know how to talk about people with disabilities (much less talk to them), other than to speak about them in some tokenized, transcendental way. Which is not to say that you won't be inspired by Murderball, because these guys really have tackled some huge obstacles, but the film doesn't shy away from showing the good, the bad, and the ugly of this group of athletes. Their stories are compelling, and the sports footage is exciting - tough, reinforced Road Warrior-esque wheelchairs colliding into each other at fast speeds and players talking tough as they slam into each other and pass the ball to teammates. I'd like to see it played live. This is my kind of sport.
March of the Penguins
Pretty much everyone has seen, read, or talked about everything one needs to know about this film. It's chock full of amazing penguin footage, and the facts of how penguins mate, breed, and raise their young is dumbfounding. You think you've got problems? Try standing on an egg for three months in the Antarctic winter, starving to death, while your penguin mate treks 70 miles (on very short penguin legs, I might add) just to freakin' eat. And all of this standing around and waddling 70 miles happens over and over and over again. It's a jaw-dropping look at nature, featuring the scariest seal I've ever seen. My only complaint is that the film goes overboard on presenting this as a penguin "love" story. It seems to me that survival is a far more compelling narrative for all this waddling and starving than a sappy love story, but maybe that's just me.
I should also note that Morgan Freeman narrates March of the Penguins. Wow, do I love Morgan Freeman. And his voice. In fact, I think that Morgan Freeman's narration is largely responsible for most people believing - quite erroneously - that Million Dollar Baby is a good film. Let's face it: I'd plunk down $8 to hear Morgan Freeman read a pancake recipe. And I'd believe that there is something meaningful and insightful in that pancake recipe, so accomplished and wise is that voice.
So, okay, I guess I could go ahead and rant about Million Dollar Baby, seeing as how I just saw it on DVD a few weeks ago. And there's lots of words I could use to describe it (over-rated, heavy-handed, badly written, completely underlit, melodramatic) but oscar-worthy is not one of them. I mean, how far up Clint Eastwood's ass was the academy when they handed him that prize? C'mon. The only thing that could have made this film worse is if Steven Spielberg had directed it. The only true pleasures to be had in this film are listening to Morgan Freeman's narration (duh) and watching him and Clint Eastwood try to out-geezer each other. But I guess there is something to thank the heavens for: thank you, thank you, thank you for not having Hilary Swank's character (and yes, she really does try hard to do something with a terribly written part) sleep with Clint Eastwood's geriatric manager. Because, really, she is only a few years shy of the median age for Clint's lovers in films as of late and that's just ick. Really ick. He's old, people! And he's a mediocre director at best! And we have to stand up and say, "Clint, stop pushing this drivel on us! We believed in you after Bird and Unforgiven, but stop pushing hack jobs like Blood Work, Space Cowboys, True Crime, and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil on us! And don't think that we don't know that the ONLY good thing you did with Mystic River was pull enough strings to put together a cast that would have made an enjoyable film out of a pancake recipe - almost, but not quite as enjoyable as Morgan Freeman reading it!"
Okay, that's all I've got for today.
Grizzly Man
An astonishing piece of filmmaking, I think. For certain, the subject is compelling: Timothy Treadwell, a man who lived "among" the grizzly bears of Alaska for 13 seasons before being killed and eaten by one in 2003. The circumstances of Treadwell's death are ripe for exploitation and tabloid-type treatment, and I thank the heavens that Werner Herzog made this documentary. Not just because he creates such a balanced treatment of Treadwell (some people adored him and believed that he was genuinely protecting the bears, others felt that he was a nuisance and "got what he deserved," and everyone agreed that he was deeply troubled) because that's what any good documentary filmmaker does. But Herzog engages Treadwell as a filmmaker, and takes care to highlight Treadwell's complex relationship with his camera during his time in Alaska, which is as fraught and revealing as Treadwell's relationship with his bear "friends." We watch as Treadwell captures some staggering footage of the animals and landscape around him (there's an amazing moment wherein Treadwell films a baby fox from the inside of his tent) and as he creates a heroic adventure with himself as a star. This is a fascinating portrait of a mind coming unhinged from reality.
Thankfully, Herzog spares us gratuitous photos of the site of Treadwell's death and makes no use of the videotape that captured the sounds of the bear attack. (Treadwell's camera was turned on, but the lens cap was not taken off, so only the sounds of the attack were recorded.) It occured to me while watching the movie that the if any mainstream media news outlets had access to the tape, it would have become the centerpiece of their story. However, Herzog is able to convey the horror of the moment through an interview with the coroner who conducted the autopsy. Through a discussion of the forensic evidence and the tape, the coroner actually recreates the scene in such a passionate, detailed way that it's almost cinematic. It's truly one of the most gripping things I've seen on screen in a long time. And it points directly to Herzog, who almost seems to be directing the real-life subjects of his film at times. There's a pointed moment in the film where we see Herzog listening to the tape of Treadwell's death on headphones and then telling Treadwell's ex-girlfriend that she should never listen to it and that she should destroy it. It's a peculiar moment, really, and it made me feel kind of ambivalent about Herzog: all at once I appreciate him for his compassion but I also feel like he's acting just as Treadwell has in a delusional attempt to "protect" his subjects.
But I admire his honesty and his forthrightness about his construction of the film. We fool ourselves when we believe that documentaries give us a "true" story, because the narrative has been constructed for us by the filmmakers just as any fiction would be. The footage chosen, interviews, even the camera work has been designed to tell some sort of story. And I really enjoyed Herzog's own commentary on his creation - this is not "the" story of Timothy Treadwell. It's really Herzog's meditation on such a complex character - and it's well worth your meditation. Really - go see it. It'll stick with you.
Murderball
How could I not go see a documentary about quad rugby? It's great. Just damn great. And while you're thanking the heavens for giving us Herzog to direct the documentary on Treadwell, go ahead and say another thank you about the fact that the Today show or ESPN has not produced a piece on Murderball. It would be an all soft-touch lens, John Tesh narrated, "triumph of the human spirit," human interest segmentoid. Instead, we get a rash, unsentimentalized documentary about a bunch of macho jock rugby players - in wheelchairs. How refreshing to see our conceptions of bodies and abilities turned upside down. How awesome to see a film that's not afraid to break taboos and make able-bodied people admit that they've always wondered how people with disabilities have sex. How great to see footage of a young kid asking a man with no arms how he can eat pizza with his elbows because at least he's going to ask the question rather than just stare and get all wierd and uncomfortable. We live in a world where anything other than "normal" pushes us right out of our comfort zones. We don't even know how to talk about people with disabilities (much less talk to them), other than to speak about them in some tokenized, transcendental way. Which is not to say that you won't be inspired by Murderball, because these guys really have tackled some huge obstacles, but the film doesn't shy away from showing the good, the bad, and the ugly of this group of athletes. Their stories are compelling, and the sports footage is exciting - tough, reinforced Road Warrior-esque wheelchairs colliding into each other at fast speeds and players talking tough as they slam into each other and pass the ball to teammates. I'd like to see it played live. This is my kind of sport.
March of the Penguins
Pretty much everyone has seen, read, or talked about everything one needs to know about this film. It's chock full of amazing penguin footage, and the facts of how penguins mate, breed, and raise their young is dumbfounding. You think you've got problems? Try standing on an egg for three months in the Antarctic winter, starving to death, while your penguin mate treks 70 miles (on very short penguin legs, I might add) just to freakin' eat. And all of this standing around and waddling 70 miles happens over and over and over again. It's a jaw-dropping look at nature, featuring the scariest seal I've ever seen. My only complaint is that the film goes overboard on presenting this as a penguin "love" story. It seems to me that survival is a far more compelling narrative for all this waddling and starving than a sappy love story, but maybe that's just me.
I should also note that Morgan Freeman narrates March of the Penguins. Wow, do I love Morgan Freeman. And his voice. In fact, I think that Morgan Freeman's narration is largely responsible for most people believing - quite erroneously - that Million Dollar Baby is a good film. Let's face it: I'd plunk down $8 to hear Morgan Freeman read a pancake recipe. And I'd believe that there is something meaningful and insightful in that pancake recipe, so accomplished and wise is that voice.
So, okay, I guess I could go ahead and rant about Million Dollar Baby, seeing as how I just saw it on DVD a few weeks ago. And there's lots of words I could use to describe it (over-rated, heavy-handed, badly written, completely underlit, melodramatic) but oscar-worthy is not one of them. I mean, how far up Clint Eastwood's ass was the academy when they handed him that prize? C'mon. The only thing that could have made this film worse is if Steven Spielberg had directed it. The only true pleasures to be had in this film are listening to Morgan Freeman's narration (duh) and watching him and Clint Eastwood try to out-geezer each other. But I guess there is something to thank the heavens for: thank you, thank you, thank you for not having Hilary Swank's character (and yes, she really does try hard to do something with a terribly written part) sleep with Clint Eastwood's geriatric manager. Because, really, she is only a few years shy of the median age for Clint's lovers in films as of late and that's just ick. Really ick. He's old, people! And he's a mediocre director at best! And we have to stand up and say, "Clint, stop pushing this drivel on us! We believed in you after Bird and Unforgiven, but stop pushing hack jobs like Blood Work, Space Cowboys, True Crime, and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil on us! And don't think that we don't know that the ONLY good thing you did with Mystic River was pull enough strings to put together a cast that would have made an enjoyable film out of a pancake recipe - almost, but not quite as enjoyable as Morgan Freeman reading it!"
Okay, that's all I've got for today.
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