Wednesday, July 30, 2008

The Dark Knight


Let’s talk Batman. There’s something that sets him apart from so many other superheroes in the movies. It’s not just a lack of superpowers, however. One of Batman’s strongest singularities is his intentional moral ambiguity. Sure, a lot of superheroes are misunderstood, but Batman seems to depend on people being not sure whether or not he’s really on their side. This ethical question comprises one of the most powerful themes of the latest (and greatest) Batman movie, The Dark Knight.

            You’ve probably already seen it. You may have seen in twice, like I did (in the same weekend). If not, you have friends who have told you it’s good, heard or read critics tell you it’s great. All true, and all things you can hear everywhere else, so let’s focus on something more substantial then how well done of a film this is— let’s focus on heroes.

            There’s something I’ve noticed about a lot of hero movies, and I’m sure you’ve caught it too. They depend on sacrifice from the main character; any hero has to be sacrificial to fight for other people. Here, I suppose, is an easy comparison to Christ. But superheroes aren’t Christ, and Batman makes this idea real: not only is he not Christ, but also he reminds us that he’s only a man, no superpowers, just a single person working for a better world.

            When Batman faces The Joker, (“a better class of criminal” in The Joker’s own words, and “[a] man who just wants to watch the world burn,” in the words of trusty butler Alfred) the hope for a better world seems to come crashing down. The Joker is dedicated to breaking Gotham apart, pulling its heroes into the gutter for the public to see, stealing their faith in a better world. Batman puts everything on the line to fight for the people’s hope, to show The Joker that the people of Gotham are capable, to show how much “they believe in good.” It’s rather beautiful. Here we see Batman’s moral ambiguity: when one of Gotham’s greatest public servants (no spoilers!) is dragged into the gutter by The Joker, he decides to take the blame, because he “can be whatever Gotham needs him to be.” Batman not only saves lives but also restores hope in other people at the expense of his own reputation.

            Again, it’s easy for us to say Batman took on another’s sins, Batman plays Christ in this movie, but I propose a different school of thought: Batman is, instead of Christ, Christ-like, which is our highest goal as humans. Commissioner Gordon thanks Batman earnestly, to which he replies: “You don’t have to thank me.” Gordon then muses how Batman is a silent watchman, a guardian almost out of view. Something we should strive for, and here’s how. We, being Christ-like, do not need to be thanked for fighting for justice. We simply need to turn heads toward justice, toward God’s justice, towards God himself. We are to do our deeds without being seen, we are to act with our right hand, not letting our left know what we are doing (Matt. 6:3). What people to need to see is the effects of our actions, the change for a better world, a hope in God’s goodness and justice. 

Akira Kurosawa (An Academic work of length)

I decided to watch two films by Akira Kurosawa primarily because I was already a bit familiar with his work in Seven Samurai, and wanted an excuse to watch another of his movies. In the end, I settled on watching Seven Samurai and Rashomon. I’ve been familiar with the Auteur Theory for a while now, having looked at it in several different classes, but I never really put too much thought into it. “Yeah, okay, this is an Akira Kurosawa movie, cool.”  That was always my kind of thought process. I never stopped to think about how there would be a question between who the real author was, between the screenwriter and the director. But when I read the chapter in the textbook, it came into focus for me, and allowed me to think about these two films with a bit of a different filter.

            Could I saw that the Auteur Theory helped me better understand Akira Kurosawa’s work? I don’t feel that I can honestly say yes or no without seeing all of his films. It did, however, allow me to notice things in both films. Both films that I saw were “jidai-geki”, or historical films. I felt fortunate having knowledge of Japanese culture (I was able to go to Japan in seventh grade, spent about three years studying the language, and have studied a good deal of Japanese cinema in various courses and personal interest) and history when watching both movies. With the background I was fortunate to have, I was able to see these historical stories as a strong embrace of Japanese history and culture. This was really my first foray into the idea of what Kurosawa was as an Auteur. To me, he seemed to be a man who loved his culture. Now there is a counter argument that some of his stories were based off of western culture and western stories from Shakespeare, etc., and that his films were perhaps some of the most “un-Asian” of cinema at the time, but I feel that that can all be ignored and it can be agreed upon that these films showed a great deal of interest and respect for the nation’s history, mostly the Feudal age. In the end, I thought of the idea of an Auteur being one who simply makes one movie over and over again, and couldn’t help but notice the love affair with this specific time period.

            There was more in common between these two movies than just the time period, however. I was watching Rashomon after I had seen Seven Samurai and every once in a while I had to stop and say: “now that was familiar.” Now both of these two films focused on a samurai or several samurai, or the people around samurai (An important note: these aren’t just “samurai”, these films – extending beyond the ones talked about here – focus on ronin, samurai without a master, wanderers. Now Rashomon does not say that our murdered samurai is a ronin, but he is wandering around with his wife. This idea of an expert in something without a real place in his world could say a lot, but I’m not skilled or knowledgeable enough in either Kurosawa’s life or the lives of ronin to give any kind of viable comparison.) But there were other subtle touches. Both films had a strong scene in a seemingly populated area, the city in which villagers try to find samurai in Seven Samurai or the court in Rashomon, but for both, the real meat of the story takes place in some small, remote area. For Seven Samurai, the bulk of the tale takes place in a small, far-off, flanked by mountains farming town. Rashomon takes place mostly on an abandoned, half destroyed city gate and in a small grove in the mountains. So in both films we not only have a similar looking environment, a natural wooded environment in the mountains, but we also have a feeling of isolation, or at least remote location. You get the feeling that these settings are not being used in either case to give a large psychological reading of solitude or the like, but really serve the story. Seven Samurai needs the small town to be where it is so that the bandits can get away with constantly robbing a small town, and later for the villagers to give a believable defense utilizing their surroundings and geography. In Rashomon, the story requires a small hidden grove so that there would be no witnesses outside of who was involved, so that the characters could all give conflicting accounts. Sure, there are other things to be said about this choice of isolated areas in both films, but I was surprised how neither of the films would have worked on a simple plot level if it weren’t for these locations. But what does this kind of thing say about Kurosawa as an Auteur? In my opinion, it shows that he has a strong interest in making sure that the plot itself is cohesive, that it makes sense, that it is believable. He gives care and attention to the plot, which is something that many directors might not care so much about. It’s interesting to think about how detailed attention to the story would set a director apart form others, but in my experience in this time period, making sure the plot made complete sense in just about every fashion didn’t necessarily seem to be first on the “to-do” list of directors.

            Many directors of the time seemed to ask, “What is my film saying?” “How can I show this,” or “How can I evolve the form?” Kurosawa seems to ask these same questions as well, but within a frame of, “ How can this all make sense within the story itself?” But what else made Kurosawa a real penman with his camera? How did he “write” with his films?

            Well first, we can have an almost literal analysis. I remembered back to when I saw Seven Samurai for the first time in my high school Japanese class, about five years ago. At that time, I was starting to do a lot of “video production” so as I watched this old black-and-white film from 1954; I was surprised at how impressed I was with many of the fluid camera movements. I saw the same thing recently as I watched Rashomon, and was once again impressed with how artistically the camera slid around the trees and in and out of the characters interactions with each other. It reminded me of a calligraphy brush. How funny it is that camera movements can be literally related to a form of writing, that Kurosawa can be a literal caméra-stylo. This definitely helped me see him as a true Auteur; that his style and touch extended to theme, story, and even camera movement.

            Allow me to return to a previous thought and expand on it. As was mentioned, both of these films reflect a certain respect and understanding of the Japanese culture. That being said, I found that another topic, or theme for Kurosawa was one of honor, especially honor in death. Rashomon fascinated me so much in how each person that testified in the death of the samurai, even the ghost himself through medium, took credit for the murder. It is only in the final account, the one of the woodcutter/perhaps thief that we see what (possibly) really happened. Each character involved showed to be a sniveling coward, selfish and embarrassed of what they had done and demanding the death of another to release themselves from the shame of the situation. The samurai himself claims to have committed suicide to avoid them embarrassment of crying out: “I don’t want to die!” right before being run through by the bandit Tajomaru.

Seven Samurai has a strong focus on the frustration of the samurai with the villagers that have hired them, so many acting as cowards, willing to sacrifice each other for their own safety, unwilling to fight. After all is said and done, the three remaining samurai look at each other in the rain, tired and saddened. Kambei Shimada, our lead character, looks at his long time companion and says with great disappointment: “Again, we’ve survived.” Now of course this can be looked at as standard Japanese culture, but this is obviously a recurring theme in the work of Kurosawa, and it not only shows cowardice, but also heroism, and glorifies those willing to sacrifice themselves for others, or for honor.

            Now the question of actors must be addressed. Rashomon and Seven Samurai share a great deal of the same actors. Most of the main characters in one are main characters in the other, and many actors were used in several other Kurosawa films. I had to consider the question; does this discredit my growing feeling that Kurosawa was a true Auteur? Does this lend itself to the idea that his works were more of a recurring collaboration? I came to the conclusion that no, it did not. The use of these actors, in my opinion, showed trust on Kurosawa’s part, which these actors could adhere to his vision, that they were more like essential tools that could be depended on. There is probably an argument against this, but in the end, I only saw it as more proof of Kurosawa’s penmanship.

            In the end, I must conclude that the Auteur theory did in fact help me knot only understand these movies as Kurosawa films, but to appreciate and enjoy them more, almost like noticing the recurring traits of an old friend, little nods to each other that those who were familiar with the artist could really appreciate, even if they were put in rather subconsciously.  

Atonement

So this year being my first as a real film critic, I decided that I should probably try and see all five films nominated for best picture at the Oscars. I have done rather well so far this year. I saw No Country for Old Men rather early, was one of six people in the world to go see Michael Clayton when it came out, thoroughly enjoyed Juno and just tonight took an opportunity to see Atonement.

            Let me start by saying all are quality films, but there was something a little more important to me about Atonement than the other three. It is a complicated story that I will not do the injustice of trying to explain, so I will just give you the bare bone facts so that you have the groundwork for what I want to talk about here. The story revolves around a young couple (Cecilia and Robbie) realizing that they are completely in love with each other. Cecilia (played by Keira Knightly, who impresses me more each time I see her) has a little sister with a crush on Robbie. In an act of mischief and jealousy, Briony, the younger sister, accuses Robbie (James McAvoy) of a terrible crime. The rest of the story follows.

            The rest of it shows the consequences. Robbie is given the choice to join the army and fight in WWII, or stay in prison. Cecilia disowns her family for believing such a charge and becomes a nurse. But the real power the film holds is in watching what has happened to Briony. She starts growing up, and realizes the devastation she has caused. She desperately wishes to reconcile with her sister, show that she has learned how wrong she was, and truly apologize. My heart ached as I watched her pleas for understanding refused, her wishes for forgiveness ignored. The colors and textures on the screen allow you to almost physically feel the terrible war-torn, love-lost lives these characters live as a result of a selfish mistake. The music and sound push and drive the passion and strength the characters carry. The film is, in a single word, beautiful.

            But it also makes us think. The title is no fluke. Briony wishes to atone for her crimes to the people she cares for. It forces you to think how devastating your personal sin can be on not only yourself, but for all those around you. I was forced to wonder- what have I demanded for myself that changed others for the worst? But perhaps more important than that was the fact that Atonement made me ache for the characters and the forgiveness they needed from each other so much, that I could not help but feel so thankful that we have a Lord so willing to forgive us despite our most terrible of sins and the lives our bad choices might damage. Hopefully, with His guidance, none of us will need forgiveness for ruining a life- but we should always feel thankful that our sins have already been atoned for.

No Country for Old Men

     It has taken me a couple of days to write this. As soon as No Country for Old Men finished I knew that I could not form an honest opinion of it right then and there. To be honest, as a reviewer I have found that it is beneficial to give some space between the viewing and the writing, but this time I knew it was essential. This film needed some thinking over.

            So I thought. I realized that this was a movie that will be taught in classrooms, talked about in parties, raved about in magazines, and all of your cinema snob friends will tell you why it’s so great and how most people just don’t understand. In other words, this was a great film, but it might take you (as it did me) and most people a while to really catch that.

What clued me in was the dialogue. Carefully crafted words were delivered impeccably by the parade of fascinating characters. I felt the motivation for each of their words, I understood the double meanings behind them, I wanted to sit and ponder what I may have missed. I still want to see it again. This is a thinking person’s movie, designed to churn your mind in wonder of what it all really meant – and I think that the beautiful thing is that its layers are so complex, its dialogue so well written and delivered, its moralistic questions so elaborate that it will take you and your friends several satisfying hours to only scratch No Country For Old Men’s surface. 

There Will Be Blood


Some films I’ve walked away from simply loving them, others hating every moment of them. Sometimes I know I like something (or hate it), but need a few moments to figure out why. And then sometimes – a very powerful kind of film comes along that pulls me out of my head and makes me sit on my thoughts for several hours before I can even begin to try to gather an opinion. There Will Be Blood is a perfect example.

            For those of you who don’t know, this film follows an early 20th century oil tycoon on his journey toward great wealth. Along the way he adopts a killed worker’s infant son and raises him on his own, using his “sweet face” to butter up people selling land. He also comes across the influential Reverend Eli Sunday. Here is where I want to spend most of my little time.

            You see, Daniel, our main character, is good at getting oil. At one point, he strikes it big in this little town, but during the opening of the well, his adopted son goes deaf. The frustration of raising a boy with such a disability causes Daniel to abandon his son on a train headed to a boarding school. In perhaps the most moving scene, Daniel – who recognizes that he will never get the town’s full trust and respect unless he joins “The Church of the Third Revelation” – comes to the front to ask forgiveness of his sins. Eli demands that he shouts to the people that he abandoned his child, and what started out at first as a step to getting what he wants quickly becomes a strong, quick moment of vulnerability from our greedy and powerful Daniel. “I’ve abandoned my child!” he cries, “I’ve abandoned my boy!” He quickly catches himself and “says whatever he needs to say to get out of there”. But we know – we’ve seen it, even for that brief moment. He meant it, and he was stripped bare before God.

            There is so much in this movie to talk about, but I simply don’t have the space. I’ll say this though – the scene described is so powerful, not because we see a glimmer of Salvation, no – Reverend Eli is an abuser of his power, and Daniel refuses God through the end of the film (The final scene finds him demanding Eli to cry out: “I am a false prophet, God is a superstition. Eli does it, and we truly see how week his faith is.) – but because even though we are nestled in this world of greed, this would of skewed ambition, careless deaths and murder, broken families and the abusing of Christianity, we see it – one speck of truth from our character. One morsel, however brief and faint, was there to let us know that we are all vulnerable in the eyes of God; he can strip the mightiest of men to nothing.

            This movie is far too complex to even try to discuss in this tiny space. Just think of the point mentioned, and know that this movie is strong, powerful, loud, quiet, peaceful, intense, and recommended for viewers who believe themselves strong enough to handle the heavy content. 

Welcome!

Hey, everyone. It's Kyle here! I watch a lot of movies and have to write about them for papers, articles, and sometimes just to get my thoughts down on paper. Film can be so much more than entertainment! And so here we are. The following is a collection of articles that I've written, some published others not. Some with a religious bend, others without. I just had a bunch of articles that were not chosen for the paper I work for, so I figured I could smack them up here for the curious! Enjoy, disagree, wonder how in the world I came to these conclusions, s'all good. 

Peace out, cats.