10/10/14 (Part One): What a Drag It Is Not Getting Older

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31 Days of Halloween, Adam and Eve, Anton Yelchin, art films, auteur theory, Bill Laswell, Christopher Marlowe, cinema, Dead Man, Detroit, drama, ennui, eternal life, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, Ghost Dog, hipsters, horror movies, husband-wife team, independent film, Jeffrey Wright, Jim Jarmusch, John Hurt, Mia Wasikowska, Movies, Only Lovers Left Alive, romance, romantic films, Tangiers, Tilda Swinton, Tom Hiddleston, Vampire Code of Conduct, vampires, vampires vs humans, writer-director, youth vs old age

In certain ways, the classical notion of vampires is equitable with the current phenomena known as “hipsters”: vampires are intelligent, urbane individuals who look down on the dregs of “normal” society, take pleasure in obscure, archaic entertainments, consider themselves to be more sophisticated than those around them and lament the tawdriness of the modern age in contrast to purer, more interesting “times gone by.” Minus the blood-sucking bit and aversion to sunlight (well, perhaps not completely forgetting the aversion to sunlight bit…), that description sounds an awful lot like the current conception of hipsters. At the very least, both groups appear to share a common attribute: a completely world-weary and jaded viewpoint that makes snark and sarcasm more natural go-to responses than honest simplicity. For bored, ageless vampires, the business of “living” appears to be as much of a burden as “regular folks” are to the modern hipster. The whole thing is just so…gauche.

Auteur Jim Jarmusch’s newest film, Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), takes the above parallel between vampires and hipsters to its logical extreme, positing Tom Hiddleston and Tilda Swinton as the bored, ageless vampires Adam and Eve, doomed to cast a disparaging eye on the wreck that is humanity for more centuries than they care to recall. Or, at least, that’s definitely Adam’s take on the whole mess of existence. In fact, he’s so agitated with the inanity of the “zombies” (the vamps favorite descriptor for humanity) that he’s commissioned a wooden bullet and plans to commit the ultimate act of bored defiance: if this world won’t cease its tedium, he’ll just have to cease his existing.

Eve, on the other hand, views things just a little differently. In fact, it’s probably easiest to view Eve as a Gothic variation on the whole “manic pixie girl” ideal: unlike Adam, she hasn’t lost her sense of joy at being alive. As she sees it, living for hundreds of years can get tedious and humdrum, of course, but it also allows for more experiences and wonder than any “regular” person could ever have. After all, she’s best friends with the one and only Christopher Marlowe (John Hurt)…how many “regular” people can say that?

This contrast between Adam and Eve forms the foundation of Jarmusch’s film, his rather belated follow-up to The Limits of Control (2009). As befits someone who tackles genre films in the most unconventional ways possible (Dead Man (1995) is a trippy art-film masquerading as a Western, while Ghost Dog (1999) is a treatise on Eastern philosophy filtered through a gonzo Mafia framework), Only Lovers Left Alive is a highly unconventional film. For one thing, there isn’t a whole lot of narrative thrust to be found here: much of the film’s running time is taken up with the relationship between Adam and Eve and what happens when she leaves her home in Tangiers to come see him in Detroit (despite being married for, apparently, hundreds of years, the couple live across the world from each other, which has to one of the handiest metaphors for long-distance relationships in some time). Plot points do raise their heads from time to time, of course: the couple is visited by Eve’s young, out-of-control sister, Ava (Mia Wasikowska), and must figure out how to replenish their exhausted blood supply. On the whole, however, Jarmusch is largely uninterested in the vagaries of a traditional plot: this is all about atmosphere and vibe, two fronts which Only Lovers Left Alive really takes to the bank.

More than anything, Jarmusch’s newest film is an art film: the emphasis is most definitely on mood, with evocative shots, exquisite slo-mo and deliberate framing taking precedence over any traditional narrative devices. To that end, events sometimes come and go with a sense of arbitrary randomness: Adam’s best friend, the human Ian (Anton Yelchin), is dispatched early on but it so much as cause a ripple in the narrative. Ava seems poised to serve as some sort of villainous character (she’s so selfish, obnoxious and derisive towards humans that she feels cut from a much more traditional “vamps vs humans” film) until she’s pretty much written out of the story without so much as a second thought. Adam appears to be a rock star, of some sort, and much is made in the film about him constantly hearing his music in surprising places (a restaurant, for example) but this ends up having no bearing on the story whatsoever. Like much in the story, these various plot ends aren’t meant to be tied up neatly: they’re used for seasoning, like salt on a steak.

Lacking any sort of driving narrative, the responsibility for the success (or failure) of the film rests solely on its considerable craft: as with anything else in his catalogue, Jarmusch is more than capable of not only making this work but making it work spectacularly well. For one thing, Only Lovers Left Alive looks fantastic: the well-lit daytime scenes may seem a little blown-out but the night-time scenes are exquisite and highly evocative. The score, all hyperbole aside, is a true thing of beauty: not only does it manage to elevate the film, as a whole, but Jarmusch’s musical choices are just a ton of fun, all on their own. The scene where Adam plays his music is pitch-perfect (apparently, vampire music sounds like droning, Eastern-tinged shoegaze, which makes complete sense), as is the truly nice moment where Adam and Eve dance to a Motown tune. The Bill Laswell instrumental that closes the credits totally rips and this was the first art film I’ve seen in sometime that practically demands I check out the soundtrack.

As with all of his films, Jarmusch assembles a first-class ensemble and puts them through some pretty excellent paces. Hiddleston and Swinton are absolutely magnificent as the ageless lovers: not only is their relationship genuinely romantic but the pair make a truly unearthly couple…they not only look but act and sound like age-old creatures living in an era not of their construction. Wasikowska turns in another great performance as the childish, casually evil Ava and is quickly proving to be one of this generation’s most capable genre actors. It’s always good to see John Hurt in a film and he tears into the character of Christopher Marlowe with gusto, although I wish he got a little more screen-time. Likewise, Yelchin and Wright turn in great supporting performances as Ian and Dr. Watson, respectively: Hiddleston’s scenes with Wright are definitely a highlight of the film.

As a huge fan of Jarmusch’s work (Dead Man is one of my all-time favorite films), I went into this expecting nothing short of greatness and, for the most part, my expectations were met. Only Lover’s Left Alive is definitely an extraordinary film, from the peerless performances to the gorgeous cinematography and back to the picaresque locations (the dilapidated, ramshackle setting of the once-might Detroit makes a pretty awesome, if obvious, metaphor for a vampire film, since the city seems as undead as the vampires). That being said, I still found myself slightly letdown by the film: there’s nothing inherently wrong with the picture – truth be told, there’s a lot about it that’s very, very right – but it still manages to feel somehow slight, at least when stacked up against his previous work. Whether this due to my perception or Jarmusch’s intention, there definitely seems to be a disconnect (at least for me), a disconnect that I rarely noticed in his earlier films.

Ultimately, however, my slight dissatisfaction ends up being a pretty moot point: Only Lovers Left Alive is a pretty great film and certainly one of the more interesting vampire films to emerge in some time. The main idea, that ageless individuals with access to all of the music, art, history and time in the world, can still manage to be bored and listless is an extremely relevant one in this day and age of the Internet: after all, humanity now has access to just about everything that Jarmusch’s vampires do and we’re not content, either. It’s an interesting notion, is this idea that having it all really means we get nothing. It’s certainly not the kind of idea that’s par for the course in most vampire films. When you’re dealing with Jarmusch, however, “usual” and “par for the course” are pretty meaningless terms: he’s been doing it his own way for over 30 years, now, and I’m imagining he won’t be stopping anytime soon.

2/13/14: Just a Couple of Easy Riders

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A Martinez, Amanda Wyss, based on a book, Bonnie Red Bow, buddy films, Buddy Red Bow, cinema, David Seals, Dead Man, discrimination, film reviews, films, Gary Farmer, Graham Greene, independent films, jail-break, Jonathan Wacks, magical-realism, Movies, Native Americans, Northern Cheyenne, Philbert Bono, Powwow Highway, racism, reservations, road movie, road trips, self-discovery, vision quests, Wayne Waterman, Wes Studi

Finding one’s own identity and sense of self can be a daunting task under the best of circumstances. Some people may spend their entire lives “discovering” themselves, while others seem to know just who they are from a relatively young age. To make matters even more complicated, notions of self and personal identity also come not only from our internal communities but from the larger global communities around them. It can be hard enough to know who you are without the media and entertainment organizations constantly tossing in their own ten cents.

If finding one’s own place in the world can be difficult enough under the best scenarios, how much more difficult must it be when one has been marginalized, made to be an outsider in one’s own home? What if the surrounding culture, the “dominant culture,” as it were, was not only radically different from yours but, in some cases, diametrically opposite? In the case of the United States’ Native American population, this has often been the case. Jonathan Wack’s buddy pic, Powwow Highway, examines this concept of the search for personal identity while wrapping it within an easy-going, often meandering but ultimately entertaining road-trip framework. Powwow Highway isn’t a perfect film but it is an incredibly likable one and a surprisingly wry one, at that.

Philbert (Gary Farmer), a sweet-natured but naive member of the Northern Cheyenne, lives on a reservation in Montana. One day, he sees a blatantly racist TV commercial for a local car dealership and decides to head over and “pick out his pony.” When he gets there, the dealership is a bit less impressive than the commercial made it seem (read: filthier than the repo-shop in Repo Man) but Philbert is still able to trade some weed, a little whiskey and five bucks for his very own “pony”: a beat-to-shit, rusted-out junker that looks like a contemporary to the Edsel. Despite looking like it will require foot-power, ala the Flintstones, Philbert is ecstatic and sets out on his very own vision quest, in pursuit of becoming a warrior. As luck would have it, he finds a road-partner in Buddy Red Bow (A Martinez), a hot-headed local activist who’s involved in a bitter dispute with a local mining company. They want in, Red Bow wants them out and he’s just passionate and fiery enough to rally the residents.

The mining company, however, plays dirty pool and they’ve figured out a pretty sure-fire way to get rid of the pesky activist: plant drugs on his estranged sister, Bonnie (Joanelle Nadine Romero), get her arrested in New Mexico and wait for Red Bow to go bail her out. In the meantime, they’ll be free to work their magic minus his less-than-passive resistance.  Red Bow meets up with Philbert and, together, the two set off on their respective missions. Red Bow doesn’t have a lot of respect (or patience) for the patently old-fashioned Philbert, finding his stories about the old days and desire to be a warrior to be pretty silly delusions. Philbert, for his part, thinks that Red Bow has lost his way and needs to be reminded of his ancestry. Together, the two meet a collection of colorful characters on the road, including Bonnie’s kooky best friend, Rabbit (Amanda Wyss), another Native American activist named Wolf Tooth (Wayne Waterman), a stoic but frightening Vietnam vet (Graham Greene, in a very early role) and a hunky, girl-crazy stud named Buff (Wes Studi, in one of his first roles, before his breakout in the following year’s Dances With Wolves). Together, this motley crew helps get Red Bow closer to freeing his sister and Philbert closer to becoming a warrior.

At its heart, Powwow highway is anchored by Gary Farmer’s massively impressive performance as Philbert. Without a doubt, Farmer is the true heart and soul of the film, imbuing Philbert with a completely intoxicating mix of childlike enthusiasm, righteous indignation, pride, fear and anger. There are a million ways that a character like Philbert could be portrayed: wounded, silly, self-righteous, a martyr, a savior, an idiot savant. It’s to Farmer’s great credit that he plays Philbert as, quite simply, a complex and completely real human being. At no point does Philbert ever come across as merely a symbol or a stand-in for the film’s message. Even when the magical-realist element of the film is at its highest, such as when Philbert repeatedly sees the Native American warrior in traditional tribal garb, Farmer always makes sure that Philbert’s feet remain firmly on the ground. Despite his constant sunny nature and optimism, Philbert is no Pollyanna: the scene where he grabs and shakes Red Bow is sobering because it’s exactly what we want to do, in that situation.

A Martinez’s Red Bow, while hitting a few more stereotypical character notes then Farmer does, also turns in a great performance. With any other co-star, Martinez’s gruff, passionate activist would be the one that the audience can’t take their eyes off of. Despite his central status in the storyline, however, this is definitely Philbert’s story: Red Bow is, effectively, riding shotgun throughout the film. The rest of the performances are equally assured: Studi is a hoot as the perpetually horny Buff and Greene is quietly powerful as the shattered Vietnam vet. If anything, his scant screen time is the film’s biggest disappointment, since it leaves you wanting more: he says more with a look and a downcast stare than most actors do with a monologue. Wyss (Judge Reinhold’s girlfriend in the seminal Fast Times at Ridgemont High) is fun as Bonnie’s nutty friend but the character ends up being pretty superfluous to the action and doesn’t seem to serve much point.

Idea-wise, Powwow Highway gives plenty to think about. From a filmmaking standpoint, however, things are a bit murkier. For one thing, the film’s soundtrack is pretty awful: it may be 1989 but the synthy keyboard dreck on display reminds of the cheesiest excesses on the beginning of that historically cheesy era. Even the U2 song that runs over the closing credits is schlocky and under-whelming, continuing the unfortunate musical trend.

The film also seems to be fairly low-stakes: despite any of the situations that the characters find themselves in, there never seems to be a genuine sense of danger to anything. The effect is similar to watching weekly episodes of MacGyver: regardless of the size of the bomb, you know Mac’ll be there next week. Similarly, it’s hard to get too invested in situations like Philbert busting Bonnie out of jail (ropes tied to the window-bars, just like in an old Western) or the group being pursued by the entire Sante Fe police department, since everything seems so low-key. Even a potentially tear-jerking finale is ultimately rendered into a happy ending: despite its refusal to pull punches, Powwow Highway seems inordinately determined to please its audience, at all costs.

Ultimately, Powwow Highway ends up being a fun, energetic but slightly weightless film. While there’s an awful lot to like here (Farmer’s performance, the quirky situations, the authentic setting) and only a few real missteps (the awful score. the occasionally dingy cinematography), the film doesn’t seem to have a ton of substance. Perhaps less reliance on Red Bow’s story and more emphasis on Philbert’s quest to become a warrior would have helped: even the film doesn’t seem particularly interested in the resolution of the stale mining subplot, since it never even bothers to actually resolve it within the framework of the film. The real drawing point here is Farmer’s fearless performance. He may have played Nobody in Dead Man, but Farmer proves that he’s the big somebody at the heart of this little world.