Review: Cedar Rapids

I just wanted to offer a few words on this new comedy from Office funnyman Ed Helms.  Comedy is difficult for me, I suppose it's difficult for most.  To try and predict if a movie will make me laugh is virtually impossible.  My feelings toward new comedy are apprehensive at best, same with new horror films.  And so I pretty much avoid new comedies unless I'm explicitly told by a tried and true source that I must see such-and-such.  This is how I avoided seeing The Hangover for so long.  A movie that I wrote off as another man-child adventure and this time in that most cliched of movie cities, Las Vegas.  However, one day on a trip to the supermarket, I stopped at the Redbox looking for new fare only to find nothing.  My girlfriend is always in favor of a comedy.  (I, always foreign art-house, which I guess can become tiresome.)  So I figured I'd give it a go with The Hangover, as it was the only comedy I thought might not be completely terrible.  Well, that or G-Force.  The movie was pleasant surprise that had me laughing out loud from the first paging of Dr. Faggot. 

Zach Galifianakis was the anchor of the movie with Helms and Bradley Cooper playing the straight men.  In Cedar Rapids, Helms plays the straight man again, but this time as the protagonist.  He has to play it straight for us to care about him at all and he does it well.  I don't think it's ever difficult to sympathize with him, even as the often irritating Andy Bernard.  In Rapids Helms plays a Midwestern insurance salesman, Tim Lippe,  sent to an insurance convention in the eponymous city and it is immediately apparent that this is a case of a little fish in a...er slightly bigger pond.  Hell, he's probably never been out of his one-stoplight valley town.  He's a good guide and easy to root for, but ultimately not that funny.  His best lines are ones that implicitly express his ignorance of the world around him.  Isaiah Whitlock Jr.  plays a fellow insurance salesman who plays it straight throughout.  (Except for the much talked about Omar Little dialogue.)  Not surprisingly it's John C. Reilly who gives the movie real comedy credibility.  He's irreverant and loud and just profane, but still somehow likeable.  He represents the truth underneath all the Midwestern Bible thumping.  People are fucked up and he's not scared to show it.  To put it plainly, John C. Reilly is the reason to see this movie.  There is a fairly interesting story about man who comes to terms with the darkness of world around him.  Like Blue Velvet, but with less Dennis Hopper and less disembodied ears.  There were moments that dragged, when I found myself looking at the velvet curtains in the theater.  Overall pretty good, and not a waste of time, thanks to John C. Reilly.

 

A Few Words on the Importance of Sound

This is in response to an article from The New York Times entitled, 'The Sound and Feel of Oscar-Worthiness' by Melena Ryzik.

As a layperson or a simple admirer of film, it can be easy to overlook the scope of technicality that goes into costume design, makeup, visual effects, sound effects, visual and sound editing, or even cinematography. In some movies the accomplishments in these fields are more easily seen: the costumes in a period drama such as Memoirs of a Geisha (2005), or visual effects in a grand scale action piece like Transformers (2007), or the iconic make up from Frankenstein (1931).But in straight ahead, non-genre pieces that take place in present day, the effects and editing may go overlooked simply because it looks right. But it takes as much work, if not more, to truly capture a character in the present. And so through the perfection of their craft, these artists make themselves invisible and underappreciated to the general viewing public and even to the Academy members who know little to nothing of these crafts.

Sound design and sound editing are probably the most overlooked of these crafts. (I should say now that I have no technical knowledgeof sound editing or sound design. I only have what I like and believe to be important, which I suppose doesn't amount to much in this crazy world.) The cadence of footsteps matching a character's gait as they walk, the slamming of a car door, the sound that enters before the cut and thus leads us to it, these are all common effects in movies ones that we expect to be right on, because when they're not we know instinctively. Sound cues are a part of life that we don't think about much. They are a rule, like gravity, that just is and never will be any other way. The recreating of these audible cues that form the backdrop of living can be is of paramount importance to the filmmaker. Gareth Edwards, the director of the film Monsters (2010), said in an interview, (and I'm paraphrasing here) that a convincing sound and a poor image is a more convincing combination than a poor sound and even the best image. Sounds have the ability to impart information just as effectively as images. An so, in movies, sounds can tell us what's happening as opposed to showing us. Michael Haneke, director of the Palme D'or winner, The White Ribbon (2009) and Funny Games (1997) tends to have violence in his movies be obscured, as with Benny's Video (1992), or have it occur offscreen, as is Funny Games. He allows the sound impart to the viewer, or listener in this case, what's happening. And much like with reading, enables the viewer to create the image in their mind's eye: a much more effective messenger. This use of sound as a primary messenger forces the viewer to be an active participant in the story, as opposed just a consumer of it.

Sound can be used to fill narrative gaps, but it can also be used to enhance mood or setting. In the aforementioned New York Times article, the sound designer for Inception (2010), Richard King, says in regards to the multiple dream levels that dirctor Christopher Nolan "wanted there to be some kind of connection, and sound seemed to be the way to do it." The song, "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" that is used to signal the 'kick' for the dreamers is slowed down as we delve into deeper levels of dreaming, into a siren-like bellowing of horns, altering the mood of the scenes and creating distinctions between the various dream levels. These are more overt uses for sound design but are interwoven with the content of the story and thereby make them organic to the context of the story, which is the same as clicking footsteps and slamming doors.

I can't say much more as I am not even a novice on the logistics of sound design. I just want to point out the importance of it and encourage everyone to keep these integral but overlooked aspects of filmmaking in mind.

Well I tried to add this video to the blog but either I'm too stupid or just am not able to. Regardless, check out this video for good examples of sound editing.

Sound Design for 3 Movies

"There are eight million stories in the naked city. This is one of them."


I recently wrote up an idea I called the Film Of The Week. Unfortunately, I didn't find myself ready to write about about any of the films I saw last week. Not that I didn't have anything to say. I just couldn't muster the energy and words. So instead of painting myself into a corner with the movie of the week idea, I've decided to write whatever the hell I want. Maybe there will be movies of the week, and maybe not. How many people will actually read this anyway?

So let's talk about a neverending film and television template: the police procedural. While at one time the police procedural was fresh and gritty, a no-holds barred look at the truth of crime and criminal investigation, it is now a trite and tired concept that has been beaten into the ground. I won't say it's dead, because when done right, the police procedural can be a great story framework. The Wire, for example, used the police procedural framework to tell the story of urban life, of infrastructural collapse, of what it is to be impoverished, of ambitious politicians, and the tragedy of how chance and personal choice are friendly bedmates. The Wire was a show that required an investment of time and a reliance on the writers, that they were going to take you somewhere you'd never been before, or perhaps had been to often. It was the story of the human condition, as a is most great literature, posing as a cops-n-robbers story. Then take Law & Order, a show that is the same as breakfast on the go: it fills you up for a short while, but is ultimately forgettable. It hardly resonates beyond the credits. My favorite part of Law & Order is that unforgettable theme song. Oh, and Jerry Orbach. Probably the thing I hate most about it, and most other television-not just police procedurals, is its tidiness. This is what other people love about it, its tidiness. It follows the same beats time and time again: murder, investigation, a twist or two, arrest, courtroom, a twist or two, verdict, feeling of justice fulfilled or justice deferred, pseudo-social/moral message, Dick Wolf. This is what people want from Law & Order, little thinking, in and out in an hour flat, vicarious living.

And so the police procedural has followed in line with Law & Order. Like a travelling musician it has birthed many children, whether it knows it or not: Law & Order: Criminal Intent, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, CSI, CSI: Miami, CSI: NY, NCIS, Numbers, NYPD Blue, Bones. And so these bastard children, no matter how seemingly different, bare resemblance to one another. There were shows prior to Law & Order that propelled the police procedural into the omnipresent genre it is today. Shows like Hill Street Blues and Miami Vice were considered fresh and different television. Steven Bochco and Michael Mann were bringing a realism to television not commonly seen: things were not always black and white and they were often dangerous, and sometimes men where pink shirts and white blazers with their sleeves rolled up. Then came Homicide: Life on the Street, a show that, in its first season, threatened to shake the viewing public out of their comfort zone. These cops smoked and were miserable, and where Miami Vice was slick and colorful and fast, Homicide was slow and brown and concerned with the how of criminal investigation, not the why. (That's another thing that gets to me: why is everyone concerned with the "why" of the crime? Investigation is driven by "how" and evidence. Everything can't be a Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie mystery. More stories that end tidily.) But, as the seasons of Homicide came and went the show grew tepid, conforming to network standards that would lead to better ratings. And so it just proves that we are the lifeblood of television, us and the bogus Nielsen ratings. We're to blame for the glut of these Law & Order doppelgangers. We turn it on and we turn it off. And especially now, in this The Age Of Interconnectivity, we can reach producers and directors immediately. They may listen if there's a profit margin at the end of the message.

Now that I've rambled on for too long, I'll get back to the task at hand. To review, the police procedural has had some good manifestations, but due to its overwhelming popularity has spawned a myriad of bastard children. The police procedural is on my mind because I recently watched The Naked City, the original police procedural. I was surprised at how well it held up after so many years and after having seen so many movies and television shows about cops and the legal system. It was smarter than most shows cop shows today, it actually deserves the moniker 'gritty'. It has a twisty, seedy plot filled with unsavory characters. And Barry Fitzgerald as the no-nonesense, Irish investigator. How did he not get a franchise?

I don't know exactly what all this rambling is about. I suppose just to air out some ideas.

Film Of The Week

In an effort to maintain a steady pace of writing, I am imposing on myself a column known as Film Of The Week. In this column I will write about the movie I loved most or felt was most important of that week. Since it is Tuesday I will be starting with a movie from last week and then I'll post a new one this Friday and every Friday thereafter. I doubt anyone will ever read this but, what the hell?

In this, the maiden voyage of this new column, I'll be talking about the Spike Lee film Bamboozled (2000). Years ago, before my love for film blossomed and became an obsession, I knew little of Spike Lee. I knew his reputation: a racially oriented filmmaker, adored by many, hated by just as many. A mainstay at Knicks games. It wasn't until I bought a Spike Lee movie collection for only $15. After watching these films, I really liked Spike. He's not afraid of being personal. His films are recognizable as 'Spike Lee' films, using rarely seen camera angles and a love for color. My only problem was that I always felt that he was yelling at me. He's never willing to compromise: these movies don't meet you halfway. This is cinema at gunpoint. I took offense to this; I'm here for a conversation, not a lecture. All this until Bamboozled.

Bamboozled's strength is in its subtlety. The movie is about a television writer, Damon Wayans, who creates a minstrel show for his network. After years of writing shows that don't pander to the negative stereotypes of race, Wayans' producer pushes him to writing something stereotypically black. In an effort to stick it to his boss and also get himself fired, he creates a minstrel show for the new millenium. The show takes place on a plantation and is hosted by tap dancing Man-tan (played by Savion Glover) and the joke cracking Sleep-n-eat (played by Tommy Davidson). Unfortunately, the show is not only loved by the wanna-be-black producer (played by Michael Rappaport) but is a huge success. Blackface becomes the new trend, in line with beanie babies and Pokemon. There are those who don't approve, such as Al Sharpton and Johnny Cochran and an underground group concerned with the state of blacks in America headed by none other than the Mighty Mos Def.

I'd also like to note that the movie was filmed with digital camcorders as opposed to film. At first it is jarring and uncomfortable, but as the movie progressed the style grew on me. The choice of camcorders allowed for Lee to have many cameras which lead to many angles that most movies are not shot from. The camcorders also brought a dramatized style to the story, like those dramatizations on Unsolved Mysteries. The dramatized cinematography adds to the satire in its seeming separation from reality. The film doesn't seem real in its own context, but rather a series of exaggerated events meant to provoke the viewer.

If perhaps my analysis of the film is poor, I say to you, Go See It! This is a great movie that says more about race and race relations and what the legacy of racism is in this country than any documentary you're likely to see. The best part of the movie: not knowing whether I should laugh at the minstrel show, because it was funny.

Awards are for Winners?

In response to "Festival Films Have Minimalist Themes" by Michael Cieply, from the New York Times; "A Golden Age of Foreign Films, Mostly Unseen" by A.O. Scott; an interview with TCM host Robert Osborne at AVClub.com.

Awards season has set upon us again with the usual fervor. There are top ten lists. There are anti-top ten list essays. There are insults and compliments. There are tuxedos, golden men, best dressed lists and occasionally, movies. There's Sundance kicking off another year of seemingly countless movie festivals. There is anger and fury and love and pining of epic proportions. But I constantly come back to questioning the point of it all.

Perhaps the point is the award or the accolade, or what they really represent: acceptance, impression, a figurative pat on the back. Maybe people don't create art to win, but they certainly don't want to lose. No one wants there work to be deemed irrelevant. A Razzie might be better than the ever filling, bottomless chasm of mediocrity. Robert Osborne certainly believes in the power of the Golden Statue. In a recent interview with The A.V. Club, Robert Osborne responds to a question about the appeal of the Oscars to him by saying, "It's the great endorsement of the work being done in the movies. Not that we have that many great movies, but I believe we wouldn't have as many as we do if there wasn't an Oscar to shoot for." I never expected such cringe-worthy talk from Mr. Osborne. The man is a veritable living encyclopedia of the history of cinema, a harbinger of the power and importance of film and its everlasting resonance. Yet he thinks that the Oscar is the goal, is the bar by which standards are set. Any artist, in any medium is not setting out to win awards. It's the journey, not the destination. And anyway, the destination is not an award; it's a finished piece of art. It's a living extension of the artist. Osborne then goes on to say that the Academy Award is "the real goal" after a director gone on to "be successful and make some money." An Oscar is certainly the highest credential that a filmmaker could have on their resume. It can afford the filmmaker chance to work with people they couldn't have otherwise. It can be the cushion between a once praised filmmaker and their now crappy films. (I'm looking at you Mr. Coppola.) It opens doors. But is this really the goal?

Furthermore, let's talk about whose giving out the awards. The Academy? The Hollywood Foreign Press Association? These are the bodies that filmmakers and actors and editors and writers and all collaborators trust their work with? How many articles and general knowledge must be passed around about the dubious nature of these bodies and their decisions before we stop taking them seriously. It's the Pro Bowl, the All Star Game. It's a fucking formality. While the recognition is greeted with appreciation, consider the source. These organizations are so out of touch with the growing number of films being produced around the world. How do the Oscars only have five spots for the Best Foreign Film category? Why only one film per country? Why the language restrictions? A.O. Scott writes in a recent article from the New York Times entitled, A Golden Age of Foreign Films, Mostly Unseen, about the "peculiar and growing irrelevance of world cinema in American movie culture, which the Academy Awards help to perpetuate." I find this to be generally true. The average American moviegoer knows little of world cinema. They may know some of the Academy's choices for Best Foreign Film or they may know some older foreign films from the French New Wave or maybe a Kurosawa picture. But beyond that there is no knowledge, or interest for that matter. However, I diverge from Mr. Scott, in that, I think that with programs like Netflix, Video On Demand, and the internet in general, there has never been a greater connection to world cinema. There is a fringe element of fanboys and cinephiles and art enthusiasts around the world who are interested, who want to talk about it, and write about it, and view it. World cinema that is. It's not slowing down and films are coming from everywhere, places never expected: Romania for example. So when the potential for exposure to new types of cinema and new stories we haven't heard arises, where are we? Well, most have their heads in the sand, while some peer into the distant brightness trying to see what they can see. That much cannot be said for the illustrious institutions which set the standards for what we call great cinema, or award worthy.

Michael Cieply's article from the New York Times about the minimalist trend in films submitted to the South by Southwest festival touches on another trend in cinema. One which is in direct correlation with the economic state of things. Janet Pierson, a producer for the festival is quoted saying, "There is an economy of means at play. With the slightest of means they can grip you." Films are being made by those with the know-how but not necessarily the means. They're stripping it down, bringing it back to the core elements of story, characterization. In many cases using setting to tell a great story with little cost. Buried for instance, stars Ryan Reynolds in a coffin. It doesn't get more minimal. This is what we used to go to the movies for. Now we go for robots that turn into camaros and Pocahontas in space. All the CGI and 3D streaming digitally pales in comparison to genuine human conflict and competent storytelling. And now, with the internet, we have the information, the know-how. We can make it work because we want to. For the film's sake, for the story. Not for the trophy. In craft and especially in art, we are not competition, but conversation.