Indiana Jones and the something about a Crystal Skull

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008). Dir. Steven Spielberg.

So, this is going to be a critical discussion of the film. You might want to interpret that as an indicator that I didn’t like the film very much. And in that, you would be correct. However, before I start enumerating all of the aspects of the film that I didn’t like, I might as well mention that the film succeeds in its major purpose, i.e. keeping you in a seat until the end of the film, and taking your money.

It’s hard for me to choose a starting point, a point of purchase amongst the talus slope of the movie’s failings compared to what I expect from an adventure film. There’s a lot of lack here. The major problem that I have might be properly laid at the feet of the script, an utterly soulless piece of fluff if there ever was one. Although, knowing that awful scripts have been made into amazing films (or even just amazingly entertaining films) leads me to the conclusion that there were a number of factors contributing to the feeling that nagged me during most of the film’s runtime. That is, that every obvious part of the original series returns, but in trappings only. Whatever concatenation of pulp action-adventure, swashbuckling serial, and historical blender that made the earlier films so appealing (and unabashedly fun) to audiences is missing in Crystal Skull. In aping the earlier films this one has managed to lose the heart of the film, the humanly appealing aspects have been eclipsed by mediocre CG effects, ridiculous casting choices, and stupid plot-twists.

I am most offended, amongst these, with the casting. From Shia LeBouef, whose smug face and smarmy uninflected acting are a blight on good taste, to Cate Blanchett, accomplished but wrong for the part, at least half of the cast seems aggressively cast for their name. It’s always been sad that names and gimmicks have eclipsed good filmmaking, at this point it’s almost not worth mentioning, so common has it become.

Just briefly, I’d like to also point out how rushed the last part of the movie feels. The choice made to fill the first act with an extended contexting of the late 50s and the Cold War just feels tedious. And, the unintended consequence is that none of the rest of the film seems earned, just cribbed from the earlier movies without any regard as to why the ‘formula’ worked so well the first few times.

All this from someone who idolizes the insanity of Italian genre filmmakers, Hollywood you’re going to have to start trying harder. And not trying harder to get my money, but just make a good film and I’ll see it as many times as I can afford to, and then I’ll buy the DVD, and the 10th anniversary DVD, etc. I’m an easy mark, I just happen to have taste. Maybe some industry head will get bored and read this. Here’s to hoping.

Bird with the Crystal Plumage

The Bird With the Crystal Plumage aka L’Uccello Dalle Piume De Cristallo (1970). Dir. Dario Argento. While certainly not the first Giallo picture, Argento’s Bird With the Crystal Plumage is one of the most famous entries into the genre. By the by Mario Bava’s La Regazza Che Sapeva Troppo aka The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963) is generally considered to be the first Giallo film, if you’re interested in checking out the genre’s origins.

This film serves as a brilliant introduction to anyone who is interested in Italian genre filmmaking, or more specifically in Italian crime/mystery films. To give a quick run-down of the origin of the term Giallo, originally referring to the yellow covers of cheap mystery and detective fiction in Italy (Agatha Christie’s novels are almost always mentioned as some of the most popular Giallo titles). During the ’60s Italian filmmakers were looking for ways to mimic and recreate the tension felt in films like Hitchcock’s acclaimed thrillers with, at times, baroque violence and set design.

Bird was Argento’s first film and is considered one of the best examples of Giallo filmmaking, although fans of the genre sometimes note that it is not nearly as violent or gory as later Gialli. The film is beautifully shot and includes one of the best set-piece scenes ever filmed.

The film follows hapless American writer Sam Dalmas (played by Tony Musante) as he is drawn deeply into the circumstances surrounding a series of murders in Rome. The film begins with the aforementioned set-piece, in which Dalmas sees a woman struggling with a man in dark clothes on the balcony of an art gallery. As he is entering the building the woman is stabbed and Dalmas becomes trapped between two walls of glass as he watches the woman crawl towards him asking for help. She survives the attack, but due to his status as a witness to the crime the police inspector (the oddly laconic Enrico Salerno) in charge of the case confiscates Dalmas’ Passport and requires him to stay in Rome.

I won’t go any further with the synopsis, I’d hate to ruin the twist ending (although it’s not all THAT shocking once one has seen a few Gialli, but for newcomers it might still be a little bit of a shock).

In any case, Argento also set the stage for his Animal Trilogy (Cat O’ Nine Tails (1971) and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1972) are the second and third movies respectively). The naming conventions of Gialli is worth a whole article in and of itself, maybe I’ll sit down and do that someday.

While there are a number of flaws with the film like its slightly off pacing and the wooden performances of some of the main characters, and its telegraphed twists, it still stands out as a highly engaging and well-constructed thriller. Highly suggested as a starting point for a prospective Gialli enthusiast, and if you’ve already seen a few Gialli and haven’t seen Bird yet then you’re missing out

Jodorowsky’s Holy Mountain

The Holy Mountain (1973). Dir. Alejandro Jodorowsky.

I will make no attempt to dissemble, I absolutely love this film.

“Every stone has a soul…”

There is something about The Holy Mountain that is instantly engaging. No matter to whom I show this film, there is always a reaction akin to fascination. Even when at the climax there is laughter, or where the ridiculous peeks from under the skirts of the beautiful photography there is never any sense that anything was left to chance. There is something very reassuring about seeing such a distinct alchemical vision, such as Jodorowsky’s.

The film itself concerns mystic transmutation, not merely of matter, but of soul, heart, mind. As with any ritual the film opens with a purification ritual led by the Alchemist (Jodorowsky himself). And already the strongest aspects of the film are obvious: Visually beguiling, and aurally disintegrating we, with various levels of mystification, are party to the ritual in a way that doesn’t speak down to the viewer. In fact, I would argue that Jodorowsky is explicitly inviting the viewer to enter into the dialogue of enlightenment with the film. As the Alchemist later explains, “there are many roads to enlightenment.” And just as the intense colors and symbolic juxtapositions force the eye to follow complex patterns, so too does this invitation scoff at the usual conceit of a passive audience.

The film portrays crypto-personae that represent aspects of human experience in a modern age. Jodorowsky seems to be making the claim that much of modern life, eschewing open pursuit of enlightenment, is obfuscating at least one of the true aims of life, the pursuit of spiritual growth and change. Unlike El Topo, The Holy Mountain, actively engages with conceptions of mass-life and alienation from the spirit that are ubiquitous themes in modernist works. I would make the further claim that the film should not be taken as a ‘return’ to anything, there is no attempt at fundamentalist/primordialist spirituality. Jodorowsky is attempting to iterate brand new syncretism of body and spirit.

However, and I know that the film will not resonate for all in the ways that it does for me, I know that even if the film is to be taken purely on visual merits then there is a great film here. Sometimes, particularly in works that have such intense ideological messages, it is better to ignore the message to enjoy the art.

For your viewing pleasure a clip from the film, be warned this is probably NSFW and thereby not appropriate for children, either:

La Dolce Vita

La Dolce Vita (1960). Dir. Federico Fellini.

Brace yourselves, I am about to write a review that I’m sure will put me in a minority position with regards to one of Fellini’s most highly regarded films.

I will admit, I didn’t enjoy this film the first time that I watched it, I am not what one could call a fan of other of Fellini’s films that I’ve seen, either. However, to give myself a chance to review my earlier assumptions and conclusions regarding his work I have tried in recent months to revisit his work in order to achieve some kind of balance. It’s not that I had trouble disliking something that is highly regarded, it’s that I wanted to have a well-reasoned position regarding the film. In lieu of some kind of viewing manifesto, I do attempt to justify my position regarding any film I see, whether positive or negative. And, I hope that that is apparent from the other reviews that I have written.

I want to be both a fan and a critic. I want to sit down to a film and enjoy the experience, as well as come out on the other side with some articulate reasons for my feelings regarding the film. Even films that I haven’t enjoyed for the experience of watching deserve to be given credit for what was done well, just as much as any faults deserve to be delineated.

Well, after that long-winded introduction, my thoughts on <i>La Dolce Vita</i>.

Marcello Mastroianni (playing Marcello Rubini, a dissolute writer for paparrazi tabloids) is an excellent actor, whose distinctive face and mannerisms have rightly earned him a place in a pantheon of iconic actors. In fact, each member of the cast could be singled out for their nuanced performances both as ensemble members as well as on their own singular merits. Of special note, I think, is the performance of Alain Cuny as the mentor/father figure Steiner. His melancholic intensity lends a certain credence and believability to the almost melodramatic turning point in Rubini’s life.

Of note is also the sum total of the cinematography and photography, Fellini’s films always have a visual intensity, stark with a trembling life-like vibrancy. It is this visual intensity that, in part, lends gravity to scenes of emotional intensity (as in the final party scene), as well as a confused levity to scenes such as the one where Anita Ekberg’s Sylvia dances shoe-less to the combined dismay, desire, and disdain of the various observers.

Now, here’s the part that could conceivably ruffle someone’s proverbial feathers (or whatnot).

In spite of recognizing the beauty of the photography I have two major problems with the film. First, pacing. I think that the film would have benefited immensely from some judicious cuts in the middle and on into the final third of the film. And I don’t think that these cuts would have detracted from any of the sub-text or from the thematic power of the narrative as a whole. It’s not that these scenes do not provide a further of certain ideological goals and artistic statements by Fellini; however, I think that the same effects could be had by a much tighter juxtaposition of key/pivotal scenes.

Secondly, for all of the art in this film, it feels a tad soulless and tightly wound. I kept trying to find some sympathy in the portrayal of Rubini, his dilettante friends, or with any of the major characters. But, apart from the brief time that Steiner is on screen, I was viscerally disgusted with the portrayal of every major character. Even in exploitation films, horror films, and slashers, there is generally some sense (at least in the successful exemplars of genre) that someone on-screen is worth rooting for. And even if these sympathetic presences are eliminated, as is often the case, at least for a brief moment you are rooting for someone. Even if it has to be the bad-guy/monster/etc., as is the case in the latter films in noted horror franchises. But, I found myself globally repulsed by the characters, I wanted to take Steiner’s way out, just about the time that off-screen he was committing his final passage from the clutches of Fellini’s ideology. I too wanted that same escape. After roughly the first third of the film I kept hoping for it to end, I knew that Rubini couldn’t choose the stable futures that Fellini dangles in front of his hapless ‘protagonist’. There was never any question in my mind that this was a tragedy. And what’s worse? I didn’t care. If Fellini had structured his narrative around someone worth caring about, then it might be different. And I disagree with the proposition that it is his neorealism that necessitates putting all the flaws on screen to see. These characters do not ring true enough, their is still the weight of symbolism that blots out any ability to bring hints of positive characteristics to the screen.

The unrelenting negativity, I never found there to be much else even in the face of the supposedly unrestrained youthful vigor, is enough cause for me to suggest this film only as an exercise in art without joy.

Worth watching, as is the case with any well-made film, but not worth enjoying.

Planet of the Vampires

Terrore Nello Spazio aka Planet of the Vampires aka Terror in Space, et al. (1965) Dir. Mario Bava.

Planet is a great example of the ways that genreic conventions can be used to create a memorable and ultimately engaging film. Centering on two space crews who end up stranded on a strange planet, the film plays like a gushing fan letter to science fiction’s silver age. And yet, compared to much of the similar fare that was being peddled from Hollywood, Bava’s amazingly beautiful cinematography, memorable set designs, and masterful use of slow motion and color, place this film head and shoulders above a number of its contemporaries.

Basically, I have always held this film’s sets and costumes up as the reason why the real ‘future’ can never be as beautiful as the future that the ’60s imagined for us. Black leather jump suits with high standing collars, black leather skull caps. Banks of lights under hemispherical view screens.

The film is very distinct in its melding of atmospheric fright effects, fog and slow-motion footage of the dead spacemen rising from hastily dug graves, along with a derivative, but well conceived science fiction text.

Bava is a master, no doubt about it. No matter what the subject matter and no matter how low the budget he always finds a way to be innovative and entertaining.

Charlton Heston

In honor of the passing of the inimitable Mr. Heston I have decided to review a couple of my favorite of his films. While I, at times, found myself virulently opposed to Mr. Heston’s public stances on various issues, there is no question that he is one of my favorite actors. I’ve always tried to resist the urge to conflate the output of various actors and their political positions, it’s almost too easy to dismiss Mel Gibson’s work based on him as a person, for example. But, even if the work is ultimately found lacking it’s not based on public stances taken by the actor, director, or what-have-you.

Touch of Evil (1958). Dir. Orson Welles. While I doubt that I can add anything to the voluminous critical pieces written on this classic of Noir cinema, I’ll take a stab at describing why I find the film so engaging and so upsettingly dark. It’s not merely the subject matter here that juxtaposes honor/uprightness and moral rigidity and the slippery slope of expedient pragmatism; these themes are held trapped, barely confined, within the frame. The stark streets and dingy rooms that the cagey Ramon Miguel Vargas (Heston) stalks purposefully through are the same areas that Quinlan sleazes through. And, best of all, the expected dichotomies are not held in sharp tensions, there is a fluidity of identification, at least in my mind, and even the menacing presence of Hank Quinlan (played by the perfectly appropriate Orson Welles himself) is not without his sympathetic moments.

In some ways the film is as much about the expectations of those members of society who surround the powerful as it is about those with authority themselves. One might see this in the way that Quinlan’s colleagues and subordinates seem to draw him further and further along his spiraling path. And, if Quinlan’s path is greased by the obsequiousness of others, Vargas’ path is seemingly made all the more difficult based on his liminality/marginality. That is to say, his position vis-a-vis his American counterparts is that of the outsider, somewhere between having authority and having none. His ability to navigate an increasingly murky world is shatteringly dark at times.

Of note also is Janet Leigh’s portrayal of Vargas’ wife, she reveals a depth of emotion and the delicacy of her position through her subtle performance that could very well have been overshadowed by the excellence of her costars.

There is no other way to categorize this film except as among the best of the best in terms of acting, directing, cinematography, script, and pacing. This film is unrelentingly amazing and is well-deserving of the critical praise it has received since somewhat muted praise it garnered at the time of its release.

Soylent Green (1973). Dir. Richard Fleischer. A film not so highly regarded amongst critics, which is typical of genre film-making in general, but one that I absolutely love. From the dated techniques of split screen, to the very distinct feeling of the ’70s projected wholesale into the future, to the heart-wrenching last performance of the legendary Edward G. Robinson as Sol Roth, this film is a favorite of mine. Detailing a (still scary!) future of intense over-crowding, poverty, and ecological instability, the film follows Det. Robert Thorn (Charlton Heston) in his dedication to solving a crime that it might have been better to ignore. I will resist all urges to discuss the ending, or really any further plot-points as I think it better to not contribute to ‘giving away’ the ending. That is, just in case there is a single human who has avoided the constant references to the final scene of the film. Undoubtedly, there has to be one person who might read this review and not already know the line that I’m dancing around, right? Right?

While some of the general tone along with the costume design of the film is quite dated, there are still scenes with great power. Especially electrifying are the scenes where Sol (Robinson) acts opposite macho Thorn (Heston). I also am particularly fond of the early scene of the hoodlum assassinating former Soylent executive William R. Simonson (Joseph Cotten). The exchange between the two is a great encapsulation of the major thematic concerns of the film. Right and Truth vs. Necessary and Pragmatic.

I must restrain myself or I’ll end up merely recounting all of my favorite scenes. I’ll just leave it at this: whether you know the twist or not, this film is definitely one of the best and most influential dystopic science fiction films ever made. I urge you to see it, and do me and Mr. Heston a favor: cut the film just a little slack and enjoy it for what it is, don’t try to criticize it for what it couldn’t ever have been.

Juno, Paranoid Park

Juno (2007). Dir. Jason Reitman. Alright. I’ll admit it, publicly even. I walked into this movie expecting to be totally turned off by it, but, apart from some cringe-inducing moments I found the film forgettably likable. The actors generally delivered their dialogue believably, I say generally because I doubt anyone could give “This is one doodle that can’t be undid home-skillet” without me having visions of burning buildings flash in front of my eyes. Ellen Page, as the eponymous Juno, succeeds in her job of tying all of the varied ensemble together. She particularly carries scenes opposite Michael Cera (Paulie Bleeker) who I found to be too understated of a presence, I understand that he is intended to be the too-passive wallflower that somehow succeeds in drawing the attention of ’sassy’ Juno. However, even when he begins to show how and why he is so engaging it is not enough fire and far too late for his significant lack of screen-time.

Musically I thought that the film chose its last-season indie-pop fairly well, and only old fogeys or those unfamiliar with the last 5 or 10 years of non-mainstream pop will find it grating (or overly clever, or anything other than moderately well chosen thematic fare). To sum up my position: better than most, but not in any way groundbreaking or intensely hip, and don’t believe any opinions to the contrary.

Other than that, I liked the shifts in tone and palette that accompanied the seasonal changes, not over the top use of color, but enough to emphasize the tonal shifts in emotional weight. All in all this is a cute and fun film.

Paranoid Park (2007) Dir. Gus Van Sant. Van Sant’s newest film Paranoid Park takes on similar themes from his earlier works. Themes like disaffected youth, responsibility, and alienation, amongst others continue to be at issue. The story is incredibly simple, Alex (Gabe Nevins) is a student coping with everyday issues until an accident forces him to deal with a load of guilt almost more than he can handle.

Structurally speaking the film uses overlapping sound, repeated footage, and dreamy slow-motion and camcorder footage of skateboarders to layer meaning and thought throughout the story. Major narrative sequences tend to be shown twice, particularly leading up to and following the crisis that is the impetus for the narrative. Sounds from memory, disjointed from visual remembrances, bleed over into the narrative areas that surround the painful memories of the night that everything changed for Alex. The film itself cannot quite bring itself to show the viewer what actually happened for most of the film. But, like a whirlpool, the viewer, along with Alex, is drawn deeper and deeper into needing to know, record, and remember the events. Until eventually, we see the painful reason for Alex’s withdrawal. It also becomes painfully clear why he himself could not bear to iterate what happened, and particularly his own place within that fracturing moment.

I don’t always find myself defending Van Sant, but here I think his obvious technical skill is put to great use in capturing the sense of separation that the character of Alex is attempting to cope with. Along with searingly beautiful cityscapes and a series of scenes that take place with Alex alone overlooking the beach, the film continually finds ways to juxtapose the intense ugliness of the events, the world that Alex inhabits, and the pounding insistent guilt that Alex paints across those in a position to call attention to his evasions and half-truths. All of this is incredibly well-integrated into a cohesive film that is highly recommended for those who are fans of Van Sant’s oeuvre, as well as anyone with an interest in psychological film-making.

Battlefield Baseball, Woman in the Dunes

Jigoku Kôshien aka Battlefield Baseball (2003). Dir. Yudai Yamaguchi. So, you looked at the name of the film. You thought to yourself how amazing Stephen Chow’s Shaolin Soccer is to watch. That is a mistake. A mistake that is further compounded by pressing play on your remote in order to start the film.

Maybe I’m making a big deal of my shattered expectations. This film, if it isn’t clear, is in no way comparable to Shaolin Soccer, except by virtue of the title and the amount of plot description that you can fit on the back of a display case. You might, naively, expect there to be some attempt to show a baseball game, and during this game there might be some ‘battling’ on the field. You would be wrong. This film is far talkier than most relationship dramas and, I must reiterate this fact, there is not a single second of on-air Baseball. Oh sure, there are some scenes where baseballs are thrown, and some of these are integral to the plot. But, they only occur in regards to playing catch and once to superfluously throw a flaming baseball at a building. Not what I would call direly necessary in the context of the nominal plot.

This film would be better characterized as a quirky adaptation of Manga and Anime cliches in the genre of high school sports drama, and a half-hearted attempt at a martial arts film. On almost every single level I felt disappointed by this movie. Which is odd considering I have spent hundreds of hours savoring every ridiculous second of incompetently produced Italian genre filmmaking, but there it is.

To sum up in a few words my advice concerning this one: Do Not Watch.

Suna No Onna aka Woman in the Dunes (1964). Dir. Hiroshi Teshigahara. Another Japanese film, Woman in the Dunes is (watch out for falling cliches) a very tight and utterly claustrophobic film. This film concerns an itinerant amateur entomologist, Niki Jumpei (played expertly by Eiji Okada) on holiday in an unspecified rural/coastal part of Japan. He is trapped by a woman who lives amongst the beach’s dunes in an insidious but not solely malicious fashion. There’s really not much more to say concerning the plot, what is foremost in my mind is the sheer intensity of the camera work, technically speaking this film is an example of using the camera’s movements, framing, and the set design to intensify every second of footage. I found the experience to be unrelentingly tense, with moments of gasping catharsis, where my own feelings felt closely mirroring that of Okada’s character.

With my faith shaken by Battlefield Baseball, I found myself rejuvenated and exhausted by Woman in the Dunes. Teshigahara is also well-known for the visually stunning The Face of Another, which also comes highly recommended.

Yi Yi, Low and Behold

Yi Yi (2000). Dir. Edward Yang. A potent well-written meditation on love. One family encounters the progression of unrequited loves from the first stirrings to an almost rekindled former love. Visually, this film is subtle and engaging. Some scenes are shot solely in window reflections, reminding us of the distance and alienation between the characters. This is an incredibly intelligent film. At turns humorous and heart-wrenching, the long run-time shouldn’t be too daunting the film doesn’t feel that long. Although, at times I felt that certain sequences were too long when I wanted to return to various other sub-plots. That is, however, my only complaint with the film.

Low and Behold (2007). Dir. Zack Godshall. An excellent and well-directed and edited entry into the Mumblecore genre. Integrating documentary-style footage of Katrina survivors this film focuses on the personal growth of Turner Stull (Barlow Jacobs). There is a real sympathy for the sometimes unlikable characters. And even though the narrative reaches a predictable climax, that doesn’t seem to detract from the emotional release. Both Eddie Rouse as Nixon and Barlow Jacobs give realistic performances that highlight their ambiguous friendship. Coupled with some beautiful photography the various elements of the film come together very well.

Survive Style 5+, The Man Who Laughs, King of the Ants

Survive Style 5+ (2004). Dir. Gen Sekiguchi. This film defies genreic classification. It almost appears as if the plot elements are chosen by thematic similarities, and not by coherent narrative concerns. But, don’t let that sound like a critique.

There are several reasons why this will become one of your favorite films:

1) Tadanobu Asano - Absolutely my favorite Japanese actor, he’s appeared in everything from Ichi the Killer (2001) to the even more bizarre Funky Forest aka Naisu no Mori: The First Contact (2005) to period samurai drama Taboo aka Gohatto (1999). Great range and incredibly expressive with what is almost a stone-face. Like Kitano “Beat” Takeshi or even the great Toshiro Mifune, there is an obvious elegance to his acting that lends gravity to his on-screen presence.

2) The color palette, set design, and costumes. This film looks like the crew had a Ouija Board on set and called up the Ghost of Mario Bava and forced him to possess Dario Argento. And then they were introduced to a warehouse full of brightly colored bric-a-brac and told to design sets. One way to describe the visuals in the film is gaudy. Resist the temptation to say that, the word you’re actually looking for is ‘Lush’. I doubt that I could do this any justice, but just take my word for it, this movie is filled with the most daring use of color.

3) The use of comedy to create meaningful drama. This is harder to describe without spoiling the plot, which I urge you not to do on your own. Don’t read any plot synopses, and don’t talk to anyone who’s seen this movie before you see it. The final third of the film is a well orchestrated tying up of the earlier comic elements into a whole that is greater than the sum of the humor.

The Man Who Laughs (1928). Dir. Paul Leni. I cannot recommend this film enough. Following the life of the son of a nobleman disfigured by the comprachicos (whose name literally implies the purchase of children). The eponymous man who laughs has had his face cut by a chirurgeon to give the impression that he is always smiling.

The amazing Conrad Veidt (the great german actor in such films as Hands of Orlac) stars as Gwynplaine the disfigured nobleman who is in love with the blind foundling raised by the traveling philosopher Ursus. Following a number of political and personal manuevers for power the film finds its melodramatic stride and draws the viewer deeper and deeper into the experience of tragic necessity.

King of the Ants (2003). Dir. Stuart Gordon.

Another Stuart Gordon let-down. I think that this is a director who would benefit from collaboration with someone who was a cold eye to script pacing, or a magnificent cinematographer. It is obvious that he knows how to highlight the breakdown of reality, places where the normal rules of cause and effect are not applicable.

As is the case in all of his greatest work, anytime that reality’s rules are suspended and the physical nature of humanity begins to degrade, that is the point at which the visual and artistic skills of Stuart Gordon dominate and override any and all faults that the film has. That is not the case in King of the Ants. I found about 20 minutes of the film to be riveting, and those were the same sequences that almost all the criticism cited, they neglected to mention the 80 or so minutes of unbelievable tying together that was ‘necessary’. I would have killed for a dream-like Lynchian approach to narrative that incorporated all of the surreal and unrealistic aspects of the story as it lay. But, ever the slave to beginning-middle-end structure Gordon cuckolds his strengths by needing his basic set-pieces to necessarily contribute to a greater story structure.

The problem here is that the greater story structure isn’t groundbreaking, I could care less about the ’statement’ of the film. I watch films for their substance, a re-hashed statement on violence need not apply for my fandom.