3/19/15 (Part Two) Love, Pink Bees and Inverse Matter

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amnesia, Benoît Charest, Blu Mankuma, Brazil, cinema, class systems, dystopian future, evil corporations, film reviews, films, fish-out-of-water, foreign films, French-Canadian films, Gravity, haves vs have-nots, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Jim Sturgess, Juan Solanas, Kate Trotter, Kirsten Dunst, matter and inverse matter, Movies, Nicholas Rose, parallel worlds, Pierre Gill, romances, Romeo and Juliet, sci-fi, star-crossed lovers, stylish films, Terry Gilliam, Timothy Spall, upper vs lower class, Upside Down, voice-over narration, writer-director

Blame it on the Bard: ever since Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” first inflamed the sensibilities and emotions of its frilled sleeve and pantaloons-sporting audiences, it’s been pretty much the gold-standard of ill-fated pop culture romances. The tale of star-crossed lovers, doomed to be in thrall to each other, yet forbidden to be together thanks to a bitter cross-family feud, has formed the basis for an almost uncountable number of films, books, plays, TV shows, comic books, cartoons and stick-figure flip books. Every writer, filmmaker, content producer and artist brings their own spin to the story: the tale has transcended eras, notions of class, gender, race, sexuality, nationality and religious upbringing. Each and every generation finds something new with the story because, let’s face it: there have been star-crossed lovers since humanity emerged from the primordial ooze and there’ll be star-crossed lovers until our sun finally blinks out of existence.

Argentinian writer-director Juan Solanas’ Upside Down (2012), despite its fanciful sci-fi trappings, is yet another in a long line of films that look to Shakespeare’s iconic play for inspiration. In this case, the intent appears to be to dress up the age-old story of ill-fated lovers with the giddy fantasy elements of Jean-Pierre Jeunet and the grimy, dystopic worldview of Terry Gilliam. Rather than coming up with a fresh, new spin on the old chestnut, however, Solanas’ film ends up being trite, unapologetically dewy-eyed and overly sentimental: it’s basically a happy, multiplex take on Gilliam’s far superior Brazil (1985). As the old saying goes, if that’s what you’re looking for, look no further.

A star-struck, expository voice-over fills us in on the basics of the world from the jump. Essentially, Upside Down is focused on two planets, each with their own individual gravities, societies, social systems and matter (both “regular” and “inverse”). The planets are so close to each other that the metropolitan lights of the “top” world serve as the “stars” of the bottom world: a stark, industrial tower connects both worlds, allowing the privileged “top worlders” to co-exist (in a manner of speaking) with the lowly “bottom worlders.” That’s right, folks: the people in the gleaming, modern “top world” are the haves and the folks dwelling in the run-down, dystopic “bottom world” are the have-nots, condemned to suck up all the waste, pollution and detritus of their well-to-do “Northern” neighbors.

Our surrogate Romeo and Juliet, in this case, are Adam (Jim Sturgess) and Eden (Kirsten Dunst). She’s a privileged “up worlder,” he’s a lowly “down worlder” and they first meet as children, at a point where the two worlds almost touch. This begins a decades-long romance that is harshly curtailed when an “up world” hunting party takes a shot at Adam (“up worlders” and “down worlders” are forbidden to have social contact, you see) and ends up causing Eden to fall and lose her memory. He thinks she’s dead, she can’t remember anything before the accident and they each go about their separate lives.

An inventor, by trade, Adam comes up with a miraculous face-lifting cream that gains him access to the vaunted Trans World tower and the much-envied lives of the “up worlders.” While there, he makes a friend and ally in “up worlder” Bob (Timothy Spall), along with the more shocking discovery that Eden is still alive and well. Fighting against the restrictions and conventions of their individual societies, as well as their individual bodies (“up worlders” and “down worlders” are bound by the conventions of their respective gravities, even when “visiting” the opposing world…this, of course, makes the title a physical reality, while making personal interaction more than a little difficult), Adam struggles to make Eden remember the love they once shared, all while trying to carve out his own slice of the “up world” pie. As Trans World executives pursue the pair, however, they’ll come to realize that every great love involves sacrifice: sometimes, you have to lose everything you have in order to gain the things you really want.

From the get-go, Upside Down makes its intentions quite clear: this is a sappy, traditional, “boy meets/loses/gets back girl” story and any focus on other aspects of the narrative are, for lack of a better term, simply smoke and mirrors. Unlike Gilliam’s films, which take sharp, cynical jabs at the futility of modern life, or Jeunet’s films, which often point out the inherent absurdity of human interactions, Solanas’ Upside Down is really all about the trials and travails of this particular couple. Sure, there are pretensions to more, especially once we get to the giddy finale that seems to indicate that Adam and Eden’s love will, miraculously, transform their uncaring world(s) (as the ridiculously serious voice over tells us, “that’s a story for another time”…oy…).

As a traditional romance, Upside Down hits all of the required beats but never really catches fire: Sturgess and Dunst have decent enough chemistry, for the most part, but there’s never anything especially passionate about them. They seem like the kind of couple that have a good time in high school and then break up the summer before moving away to college: pretty far afield from lovers who would “die” without their partner. There are some clever attempts to make the notion of risking yourself for the one you love a more physical reality (Adam’s special rig, which is the only way he’s able to move around in “up world,” has a tendency to burst into flame when he overstays his welcome, meaning that he really is “burning” for Eden) but, for the most part, this is another example of “tell, don’t show.” The one good counter-example to this is also one of the film’s silliest scenes, as the two lovers hold each other and kiss as they gently spin in mid-air, caught between both of their opposing gravities. It’s the kind of silly, swooning moment that makes Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet (1996) seem like Bergman’s Cries and Whispers (1972).

Many of the film’s critical issues can actually be linked back to its frequently silly, nonsensical plot developments. The central idea concerning the opposing worlds is actually pretty great and would have made a really interesting, serious sci-fi film, ala Gattaca (1997), or even something inherently “artier” like von Trier’s Melancholia (2011). Here, though, the notion is squandered and given short shrift in favor of the much more mundane romantic angle: we’ve seen hundreds (thousands?) of takes on Romeo and Juliet over the years…how many films about parallel worlds with opposing gravities do you remember seeing? If you answered “more than one,” you’re doing a lot better than me, let me tell ya.

When the film actually takes the time to focus on world-building and puts the romance on the back-burner, there’s plenty of interesting, eye-catching stuff going on. Our first sight of the massive office room, with the upside-down matching floor right above, is pretty amazing and there’s a really cool sequence involving an extendable chair that managed to trigger my vertigo like gangbusters. A ballroom scene involving a mass of dancing couples, both upside-down and right-side-up, is instantly memorable, as is the Trans World tower, itself, that looks like it was pulled, wholesale, from one of King’s Dark Tower books. Visually, Upside Down has a lot to offer, even if the images are often murky and kind of ugly, alternately under-lit and over-blown.

At the end of the day, however, the film is really too obvious and ham-fisted to make much of an impact. There’s a strong central story, here, and plenty of good acting (Spall is typically excellent as Adam’s friendly “desk mate” and partner-in-crime) but it’s all in service of so much “more of the same” that the film ends up feeling rather generic, despite its wholly original central concept. I really wanted to be all-in here, but the film is just too dewy-eyed to ever take seriously. While I’ll admit that traditional romances aren’t necessarily my cup of tea, I’m more than willing to give a shout-out to any film that knocks it out of the park, regardless of style, content or genre: after all, films don’t get much better than True Romance (1993) and what’s that but a traditional “boy meets girl” story dragged through the gutter? Upside Down, unfortunately, never rises above the level of well-made, pedestrian entertainment: it’s a pleasant enough film, no doubt, but never more than that, despite how high it aims.

 

4/26/14: To Project and Swerve

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absurdist, Arden Myrin, auteur theory, bad cops, Best of 2013, black comedies, cinema, comedies, cops, cops behaving badly, dark comedies, Eric Judor, Eric Roberts, Eric Wareheim, favorite films, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, French cinema, French films, Grace Zabriskie, Harmony Korine, Marilyn Manson, Mark Burnham, Movies, Mr. Oizo, Officer de Luca, Officer Duke, Officer Holmes, Officer Rough, Quentin Dupieux, Ray Wise, Rubber, Steve Little, surreal, Terry Gilliam, Tim & Eric, Wes Anderson, Wrong, Wrong Cops

Quentin Dupieux gets me. He really does. If any filmmaker operating in our modern age can really be tuned in to my bizarre little wave-length, Dupieux is definitely it. While I may hold Refn and Wheatley in the highest regard, never having seen one of their films that I haven’t adored, Dupieux is the crackpot auteur who seems to view the world with my eyes. Beginning with Rubber (2010), the French writer/director/musician (he’s also Mr. Oizo, the French electro artist) has seen fit to depict a world that’s one part Lynchian suburb, one part dystopic wasteland and one part absurdist stage play. While 2012’s brain-melting Wrong serves to set-up the bizarre wonderland that’s finally unleashed in Wrong Cops, Dupieux’s newest is a completely stand-alone triumph, an absurdist nightmare that manages to be both hilarious and disturbing. Basically, Dupieux is up to his old tricks.

Whereas Wrong told a more linear, complex but, essentially, traditional (or as traditional as Dupieux can get) narrative, Wrong Cops functions more as a bat-shit crazy Pulp Fiction, wherein we are introduced to a disparate collection of characters who we then follow about as their stories eventually intertwine. In the case of Wrong Cops, we’re introduced to the titular characters, a ragtag collection of “law enforcement” personnel that are sort of like Police Academy filtered through It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, by way of Harmony Korine. We have Officer Duke (Mark Burnham), who has sex with transsexual prostitutes, delivers the pot he sells to locals by stuffing it in dead rats, carts around a “75% dead” body in his trunk and needlessly hassles a poor teen nerd who just wants to listen to his headphones (Marilyn Manson, in a role that must, literally, be seen to be believed…and yes…he is playing a teenage boy). We get Officer de Luca (Eric Wareheim), who holds yoga students at gunpoint in order to get their phone numbers and his partner, Officer Holmes (Arden Myrin), who uses her young son as bag-man in a money-drop involving the blackmail of a fellow cop. Said fellow cop, Officer Sunshine (Steve Little), has an active side-career in law enforcement-themed gay porn, a business venture which he’s managed to successfully hide from his adoring wife and daughter. Meanwhile, Officer Rough (Eric Judor), is just trying to make the best damn dance track that he can. There’s something missing, however, and Rough just can’t quite put his finger on it. Good thing that the “75% dead” guy (Daniel Quinn) has a thing for beats, though: with a little luck, he may just be able to give the cut the extra oomph it needs to secure Officer Rough a meeting with a top record exec. That is, of course, if he doesn’t bleed to death first. Throw in Eric Roberts as Duke’s drug supplier and Ray Wise as the group “who gives a shit” Captain and you got yahtzee, folks!

Like all of Dupieux’s films, Wrong Cops is easier (and better) experienced then explained. He has a particular skill with enveloping viewers completely within the reality of his films, something that Wes Anderson and Harmony Korine are both experts at. There’s never a point in the film, regardless of how strange, random or absurd, where the viewer is taken out of Dupieux’s reality: for my money, it’s one of the most impressive displays of world-building I’ve seen this year. The film has a sun-bleached, washed-out color palette and tone that recalls not only Rubber but, almost subliminally, Alex Cox’s outsider classic Repo Man (1984). I actually see several parallels with Repo Man in this film, not least of which is the almost mundane way in which the characters all deal with the strangeness massed around them. There was definitely this feel in Dupieux’s previous film, Wrong, but that movie was also a much more explicitly fantasy/sci-fi oriented project, as was Rubber. Wrong Cops, by contrast, is set wholly within a world that could, technically, be ours, albeit one in which everything was tweaked a few degrees…a world in which everything was just a little wrong, as it were.

Part of the joy with Wrong Cops, similar to watching exploitation films or anything by Lloyd Kaufman, is seeing just how bad things will get. As with everything else, Wrong Cops doesn’t disappoint on this count: things start bad and get steadily worse until the whole thing becomes a roaring tsunami of bad taste, bad choices, bad behavior and bad, bad people. Truth be told, there isn’t a single character in the film that you can truly “root” for, not one person who passes the sniff test as a “hero.” We spend the most time with Duke but he’s the furthest thing we’d want from a protector. Ditto Officers de Luca and Holmes, a potential sexual assailant, on the one hand, and a cop so dirty that she even “feeds” on her own peers, on the other. The closest we get to an “innocent” cop in the film is Rough who wins by default: he doesn’t really do anything terrible (outside of some hanky-panky with his neighbor’s married wife, that is) but he also doesn’t lift a finger to help anyone, least of all the poor dying guy sitting in his living room.

Films like Wrong Cops walk a very fine line: on one hand, they only work spectacularly well if they push the envelope as far as it will go. On the other hand, however, there a definite difference between crudity with a point (see Blazing Saddles) and crude-for-its-own-sake (see pretty much any Troma film). Earlier this year, I lambasted The Comedy, a hateful hipster-skewering/lauding film that also featured Eric Wareheim in a prominent role. In that case, I was never sure which side of the issue the filmmakers were actually on: more often than not, The Comedy seemed to be celebrating their terrible behavior, while also trying to half-heartedly tsk tsk it. There’s no such hemming and hawing in Dupieux’s film, however: he’s all-in on the various officers terrible behavior but he makes no bones about what unrepentant assholes these people are. There’s nothing to look up to, here, no sense of cool cats thumbing their noses at a square world: these people are part of the problem, not any part of the solution, and Dupieux knows it. He also, however, knows that they are a seriously funny bunch of misanthropes (similar to that lovable bunch of apes in It’s Always Sunny) and gives them plenty of room to work their funny magic.

And the film is funny. Very funny. Unlike the ultra-dry, high-concept Rubber or the wry, tricky Wrong, Wrong Cops is all loud, belching, farting id, the Sam Kinison to the previous films George Carlin. Perhaps this speaks more to my sense of humor than anything else (remember…Dupieux gets me) but I laughed my way through the entire film. Hard. There are so many great scenes in the film that picking out favorites is a little hard but there’s stuff that still makes me crack up, even as I type it now: Eric Wareheim’s hair getting blown back by a tornado of pepper spray from a decidedly bored wannabe “victim”; Mark Burnham tossing a drug-filled rat onto a diner counter like it was no big deal; Officers de Luca and Holmes walking into a murder scene and proceeding to raid the fridge, featuring the priceless exchange, “Aren’t you going to ask any questions?” “I do have a question: how old is this mozzarella?”; the record executive dismissing Officer Rough’s efforts with the revelation that he doesn’t think “anyone’s going to want to listen to music from a black, one-eyed, slightly monstrous DJ.” Wrong Cops is like a bottomless treasure chest, constantly spewing forth glittering new comedic jewels at frequent intervals.

The acting, across the board, is dead on. All of the cops are pretty much perfect but there isn’t a single actor/character in the film that feels off, regardless of how much/little screen time they get. Marilyn Manson, in particular, is utterly fantastic: he plays the part of David Dolores Frank with absolutely zero hint of his more famous day job and the result is a pretty realistic portrait of a hassled teen. It’s a brilliant, metaphysical move that should have been nothing more than silly sight gag (oh look: the Antichrist Superstar is wearing jeans and a t-shirt) but plays like an honest-to-god directorial choice. This, in a nutshell, seems to sum up the Dupieux method: treat everything, regardless of how absurd or meaningless, with the utmost respect. Dupieux may be a court jester but he’s a smart one, perhaps as smart as Terry Gilliam, in his own way.

As previously mentioned, the film looks great and the sparse, dry electro score compliments everything perfectly. Truth be told, I just can’t find anything to really dun the film for: if this was a baseball game, this would have been a home run, no questions about it. As such, I’m pretty much left with just deciding where the film fits into Dupieux’s existing oeuvre. I actually like it quite a bit more than Rubber, which is easily the most “difficult” film in Dupieux’s catalog, but not quite as much as Wrong. While Wrong Cops is a much funnier film than its predecessor, I also think it’s a slightly smaller film: Wrong was working with some truly mind-blowing concepts and metaphysics, whereas Wrong Cops is a peek into an insane world. By the time Ray Wise showed up in a role that couldn’t help but remind me of his turn as Satan in Reaper, I had begun to wonder whether Dupieux’s whole point was to plop us down into a kind of purgatory while his various characters continued their slow shuffle into Hell.

A sentient tire…a talking dog…a collection of the worst police officers in history…if there’s a method to Quentin Dupieux’s exquisite madness, I’ve yet to see it. This, of course, is what makes waiting for his next film so excruciating. At this rate, the next movie could, literally, be absolutely anything under the sun. That’s kind of terrifying, if you think about it, but that’s also pretty damn exhilarating. It’s what creativity should always be. It’s what the movies should always be. It’s why I’m still here…and it’s why you should be, too.

4/23/14: When Fear is Good

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A Fantastic Fear of Everything, Alex de la Iglesia, Amara Karan, based on a short story, British comedies, British films, Bruce Robinson, Bunny and the Bull, Burke & Hare, childhood fears, Chris Hopewell, cinema, Clare Higgins, comedies, crime novelists, Crispian Mills, Decades of Death, Dr. Friedkin, eyeballs, fear, film reviews, films, Guy Ritchie, Hanoi Handshake Killer, Harold the Hedgehog, Hayley Mills, horror-comedies, I Sell the Dead, Kerry Shale, Kula Shaker, laundromats, Movies, paranoia, Paul Freeman, Quentin Tarantino, serial killers, SImon Pegg, Terry Gilliam, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, The Final Countdown, The Hendon Ogre, Time Bandits, voice-over narration, Wes Anderson, Withnail and I

There’s something about an “everything including the kitchen sink” approach to filmmaking that’s always appealed to me. Perhaps it was because Time Bandits (1981) and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988) were two of my favorite films growing up and neither of those films understood the words “restraint” or “over-indulgence.” Perhaps it’s because I developed an early love for Tarantino and Ritchie’s hyperkinetic, restless bullet-ballets: the former contorted his traditional narratives into fantastic new balloon animals while the latter never met a camera-angle, editing trick or musical cue that he didn’t love. When a filmmaker throws everything at the screen, and it sticks, the results can be some of the most thrilling, eye-popping cinema I’ve ever seen. I never tire of Wes Anderson’s immaculate miniatures-writ-large and if Alex de la Iglesia can sometimes be the model of restraint, he’s more often the device for delivering machine-gun-armed circus clowns and silver-bodypaint-adorned Jesus bankrobbers. I love small, quiet, subtle films, especially horror films, but it’s no coincidence that three of my favorite films of the past decade have been I Sell the Dead (2008), Bunny and the Bull (2009) and Burke and Hare (2010), all three of which throw so much material/effects/multi-media/razzle-dazzle at the audience that they’re almost endurance matches. While Crispian Mills debut film A Fantastic Fear of Everything (2012) may not be quite as perfect as the aforementioned classics, it’s just close enough to deserve a place with the pack.

After a truly dynamic animated opening sequence, we’re introduced to our hero, Jack (Simon Pegg), a children’s author who has decided to expand his horizons with a book about serial killers. Unfortunately for poor Jack, he has a tendency to be…well…afraid of everything and he quickly begins to obsesses about the various Victorian slashers, such as The Hendon Ogre and Crippen, that he researches. Even worse, he begins to think that insidious killers are actually after him, leading him to superglue a large kitchen knife to his hand. After his long-suffering agent gets Jack a meeting with the mysterious Harvey Humphries (Kerry Shale), a film producer interested in turning his research on serial killers into a movie, Jack must get over his intense agoraphobia and prepare to actually leave his house. After his usual laundry method (washing in the sink, drying in the oven) goes horribly awry, Jack must venture out to that most dreaded of public places: the laundromat. Not only have laundromats always been at the secret center of Jack’s endless phobias but there’s also a new killer nicknamed The Hanoi Handshake Killer running around. As Jack leaves his home, knife glued to hand, he must come to grips with the source of his childhood trauma, solve a local mystery and figure out whether he wants to stick with the hedgehog that made him famous or follow his dreams into the true-crime stories that haunt his dreams. Along the way, he might just find love. He also might get into an argument with a serial killer about the validity of The Final Countdown and hair metal vs gangsta rap, of course, but he definitely might find love.

Although it may seem overly reductive, perhaps the best “easy” descriptor of A Fantastic Fear of Everything would be Wes Anderson directing a Terry Gilliam film as envisioned by Guy Ritchie.   From the opening credit sequence to the closing one, AFFOE never sits still, spinning endlessly like a perpetual motion machine. Director/writer Mills (the son of actress Hayley Mills and member of Brit-rock band Kula Shaker), along with cinematographer Simon Chaudoir, have managed to craft a film that both visually and aurally inventive, hyperkinetic and fast-paced, yet inherently human and character-driven. This is no mean feat when there’s this much stuff flying around. At various points, we get super-stylized camera shots (the opening close-up of Pegg’s eye, which rotates out to make it seem as if he’s on the floor, yet is finally revealed to him by the wall, is nothing short of genius), nifty animated sequences (the paper-doll murder explanation is super cool and the claymation Harold the Hedgehog sequence is good enough to be its own short) and inventive use of sound (there’s a great moment where the sound begins loud and non-diagetic before becoming cracked and tinny as Jack walks into the launderette). The colors are all gorgeous and vibrant, looking like nothing so much as one of the aforementioned Anderson’s candy-colored epics.

In the pivotal role of Jack, Pegg is as reliably solid as ever. He manages to bring just the right amount of nice-guy restraint to balance out the bottomless ocean of neuroses that is Jack: too much in either direction and the character would be either insufferable or as bland as milquetoast. As such, however, we get some truly great Pegg moments, including the scene where he gives change to begging children, via used sock, through his mail slot or the aforementioned bit where he argues with his potential killer about whether hair metal or gangster rap was the more valid cultural entertainment. The rest of the cast, particularly Alan Drake as the daffy “community support police officer” Tony, are all excellent but this is truly Pegg’s show: he gets the most screen-time, by a yard, and relishes it.

There are a laundry-list of reasons this film shouldn’t have worked. For one thing, this kind of hyper-kinetic storytelling can easily dissolve into mush when done wrong: just look at Ritchie’s post-Snatch filmography (including Sherlock Holmes, please and thank you) or the brain-dead Shoot ‘Em Up (2007) for proof. Mills is a new, untested director coming from not only a famous family but a famous rock band: there’s no reason this shouldn’t have smelled and tasted like a vanity project. The actual plot (guy is afraid of everything, must get to meeting) is pretty thin and the final twist wraps things up in such a stereotypically happy, upbeat ending that it threatens to make everything before it seem like subtle parody, like a Jack Handey aphorism taken too far.

Against all odds, however, A Fantastic Fear of Everything works. And it works spectacularly well, if I might add. The script is sharp and clever, full of laugh-out-loud scenes, dialogue and ingeniously clever plot details. The animated sequences are all fresh and fit in perfectly with the rest of the film, as well as contributing to the overall themes of the film (how one’s imagination can imprison one, if not careful). The acting is uniformly top-notch and the cinematography and sound design are exemplary. Truth be told, short of a truly embarrassing scene where Pegg mugs along to a rap song (this is almost as nerve-gratingly mortifying as the worst moments of The Office) and some minor issues with structure, there really isn’t much wrong with the film. If you can handle a little silliness and some self-referential moments, A Fantastic Fear of Everything is actually a pretty smart peek into the issues that make us all the stupid little humans that we are. For my money, I’m more than willing to give Jack a place on Simon Pegg’s Character Wall of Fame and I’m more than eager to find out what Crispian Mills comes up with next.

1/20/14: Farewell to Your Future Self

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12 Monkeys, action films, Blade Runner, Boreno, Brick, Bruce Willis, chase films, cinema, closing the loop, Conan the Barbarian, drama, dystopian future, Farewell to the King, Film auteurs, films, grim future, headhunter tribes, historical dramas, hitmen, island paradises, Japanese fleet in the Pacific, John Milius, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, jungle combat, kings, Looper, Movies, Nick Nolte, Rian Johnson, romance, sci-fi, telekinesis, Terry Gilliam, The Big Lebowski, The Brothers Bloom, The Rainmaker, time travel, war films, World War II

After beginning the day with a couple of Oscar-nominated documentaries, I figured that I’d end it with a film where Nick Nolte becomes king of Borneo and Bruce Willis and Joseph Gordon-Levitt share the same face. Welcome to the world I live in, ladies and gentlemen: it’s a strange one.

First of all, take a moment (or two) to marvel at the glory that is the above poster for Farewell the King. Nolte giving his best Blue Steel…burning huts…lots of buff dudes with machine guns…that, my friends, is what we commonly call one kickass film poster. Doesn’t matter what the film is about: a peep at that one-sheet and I’d hightail it to the theater post-haste!

Now that your eyes have been bathed in badassery, let’s take a look at the fella that wrote and directed Farewell to the King: John Milius. You might know him as the guy that wrote and directed Conan the Barbarian (ie: the awesome one) and the original Red Dawn. You might also know him as the guy who wrote the screenplays for Dirty Harry, Magnum Force, Apocalypse Now, Jeremiah Johnson and A Clear and Present Danger. Or perhaps you know him as the creator of the cable show Rome. Barring that, you may know him (peripherally) as the inspiration for John Goodman’s Walter in The Big Lebowski. Now…taking a look at all of these disparate pieces that make up John Milius, can you take a wild guess at what awaits within Farewell to the King? Yes, friends and neighbors: we’re about to enter the mystical kingdom of Testosteronia.

Due to my father, I was a huge fan of Milius before I ever knew it. Growing up, the Dirty Harry series was just about the closest thing we got to the gospels: I’d already seen the entire series by the time I was a pre-teen and I pretty much had the first two, Dirty Harry and Magnum Force, memorized. I was also completely obsessed with sword-and-sorcery stuff by that point, so Excalibur and Conan the Barbarian got watched at least once a day. Add to that my equally hardcore interest in Apocalypse Now and I was, essentially, an intense Milius fan that had absolutely no idea who the dude was. Classic me, as it were.

As far as plot goes, Farewell to the King is equally as gonzo as anything in Milius’ back-catalog. A British officer and his radio operator land in Borneo, during World War II, in order to whip up local support against Japanese forces in the area. They find a friendly response from a local tribe only to wake up the next morning as captives: it seems that these natives might be the kind normally found in old jungle epics. The difference, however, is that those other tribes didn’t have Nick Nolte as their king.

You see, Nolte was an American soldier during the war, taken prisoner by the Japanese but escaped to the jungles of Borneo. Once there, he was taken captive by the local tribe of headhunters, saved from being turned over to the Japanese due to his dreamy blue eyes (no joke: the women of the village stage a revolt because they can “see the ocean” in his peepers…what a dreamboat!), became leader of the tribe after beating their chief at deadly hand-to-hand combat, fell in love and married one of the locals and managed to unite all of the smaller tribes in the area into one mega-tribe (of which he’s chief, natch). Whew! That is one busy Mystical White Man there, isn’t it!

Learoyd (Nolte) is pretty sure that he can just ignore the rest of World War II: after all, he has a pretty wife, several children, a really cool tropical paradise and the complete adoration of his people…why does he wanna stomp around the jungle and shoot Japanese soldiers? As the British officer gently explains, however, just because you choose to ignore the war doesn’t mean the war chooses to ignore you. Before long, Learoyd is thrown headfirst into the conflict, proceeding full throttle down a path that will lead to glorious victory, staggering defeat, mysterious cannibalistic Japanese ghost regiments, betrayal, mean Australians, Gen. MacArthur and, ultimately, sovereignty.

If it couldn’t be handily discerned from the above plot description, Farewell to the King is a deeply silly, if wildly entertaining, film. It operates along the same sort of wish-fulfillment scenario as Costner’s Dances with Wolves (white guy shows up and teaches the natives to be the best natives they can possibly be). It would be a much more offensive scenario if Milius’ film wasn’t so amiable and good-natured. It’s quite obvious that the natives stand head-and-shoulders above everything else (especially the Australians, who come across so loutishly as to make one wonder if this wasn’t some particular bias of Milius’). For one thing, they’re pretty much the only group that never betrays Learoyd (which can’t be said for the British). For the other, the village scenes are shot with such a sense of sun-dappled wonder that, especially as compared to the dreary jungle combat scenes, it pretty clear where the film would rather be spending its summer vacation.

Ultimately, there’s really one main reason to hunt this flick down (unless you happen to be a Milius’ completest or tropical island enthusiast): the marvelous Nick Nolte. It’s quite wonderful to witness Nolte in all of his buffed-out, leonine glory, especially when he manages to take the character to levels normally reserved for the Nic known as Cage. He strikes a terrific balance of level-headed, village elder and wild-eyed Bornean Rambo and it really works. Less successful, possibly by contrast, is the British officer, played by Nigel Havers. Havers spends most of the film looking sheepish, as if he’s constantly preparing to apologize for something. There are times when the approach works for the character but it usually has the effect of making his Capt. Fairbourne somewhat of a non-entity.

So what do you get with Farewell to the King? Well, you get some pumped-up, patriotic, Green Berets-style jungle fighting. You get Nick Nolte as the leader of a nation of headhunters in Borneo. You get some nice drama, a little character development (but not too much, mind you), plenty of action sequences and a simply gorgeous location. You get a loopy performance from John Bennett Perry (aka Matthew Perry’s dad) as Gen. MacArthur. You even get an evil, cannibalistic Japanese military unit, for good measure. In short, you get the full Milius treatment.

While it’s not my favorite genre, I’m definitely someone who enjoys a good sci-fi flick. In particular, I find myself really enjoying smaller, quirkier, more indie science fiction fare such as Primer, Timecrimes, Moon, Europa Report and Cube. I’ve got nothing, really, against the big tent-pole versions: I grew up on Star Wars and enjoyed The Matrix and Inception. There’s just something about a quieter, weirder sci-fi experience that really appeals to me. When I heard that Rian Johnson was going to be trying his hand at a sci-fi film, I knew this would be a must-see.

I’ve been a huge fan of Rian ever since Brick, a brilliant high school noir that also starred Joseph Gordon-Levitt. He followed that up with The Brothers Bloom, a film so magical and wonderful that I had to keep checking and make sure that Terry Gilliam didn’t create it under a pseudonym. With those two films, I knew that I’d be paying a visit to whatever particular world Rian decided to create next. While sci-fi seemed a little left-field, especially after the magical realism of Brothers Bloom, I had faith, faith which was handily rewarded.

Looper posits a slightly dystopian future, a sort of Blade Runner-lite with hover bikes, drone irrigation systems, telekinesis and time travel. It’s not quite the brave new world we might’ve once imagined, however: telekinesis is pretty much handily written off as “a bunch of assholes floating quarters” and time travel is outlawed, used only by criminal organizations as a way of dumping unwanted corpses in the past. We’ve come so far, you see, but stayed so very close to home.

We meet Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), one of the hitmen known as Loopers, who are responsible for carrying out these contracts. Loopers have it pretty good, all things considered, right up until the time they outlive their welcome. Once this happens, their bosses send the Looper’s future self through the time machine, where the past Looper will, essentially, kill himself, “closing the loop.” At first glance, the mechanics of this seem rather unwieldy, leading one to wonder whether this will be a film akin to Primer (a brilliant film, mind you, but kind of like sitting through a graduate-level physics seminar while still in middle school biology). But fear not, as Joe will later say to himself: “I don’t wanna talk about time travel stuff cuz if we do, we’ll be here all day.” Johnson gives us just enough science to hang our hats on but not enough to hang us, preferring the let the central conflict do the heavy lifting.

And what a conflict. You see, one day, Joe’s future self comes through the portal. Loopers are trained to expect that day and not hesitate: it’s their version of retirement, essentially. Not killing your future self is generally frowned on, as that results in two of you running amok in the same time period. Joe, of course, hesitates just long enough on that fateful day to allow his future self (Bruce Willis) to kick the crap out of him and head for the hills. Present Joe must now track down Future Joe in order to close his own loop, all the while avoiding the shady underworld characters that employ him. Future Joe, for his part, has a mission: he needs to find and kill the mysterious crime boss, known only as The Rainmaker, who ordered his termination, an act which resulted in the death of Future Joe’s beloved wife. If he can do this, Future Joe believes, in can change the course of time and alter the outcome. Present Joe can’t let that happen, leading to a Joe vs Joe fighting extravaganza.

There’s quite a bit more to Looper than what the above indicates but uncovering the film’s many twists and turns is part of its charm. This is a film that manages to not only marry the past parts of Johnson’s short career (the noir-isms of Brick and the magical realism of Brothers Bloom) into a thoroughly cohesive whole but to include wholly new elements to the mix. Tonally, the film really reminded me of Gilliam’s 12 Monkeys, especially once it began to delve into the truth behind The Rainmaker. This is certainly not an influence I could have seen in his earlier films but the parallelism(especially once we factor Willis into the mix) really works and makes me genuinely excited to see what other new tricks are up his sleeve.

As could be expected, JGL and Willis are outstanding. JGL, in particular, deserves special praise for his portrayal of young Joe. There is, obviously, some makeup used to enhance the physical resemblance between the two actors but that in no way should take focus from JGL’s performance. He becomes Willis in such a perfect way, from the way he walks to the way he holds his head and the subtle inflections in his voice, that it’s one of the most dizzying bits of screen fakery I’ve seen in ages. His first appearance took my breath away and it’s impossible for me to think that the same amount of praise and admiration currently bestowed upon Joaquin Phoenix won’t be granted twenty-fold to Gordon-Levitt. It really is an amazing performance, so full of pathos and emotion, yet so subtle, that it reminded me of something I’d kind of taken for granted: Joseph Gordon-Levitt is one hell of an actor.

As is Willis, of course, channeling the same kind of wounded intensity that made his performance in the aforementioned 12 Monkeys so riveting. Cocky, self-assured Bruce Willis is a mighty kickass dude. Quiet, brooding Bruce Willis, however, often makes for a better film. His interplay with JGL is great, especially in a diner sit-down that seems to parody the inevitable “meeting of the twins” scene in like-minded films. I still buy Willis as an action hero, to a point, and Looper makes sure not to cross that point in any manner as egregious as the Expendables films. For his part, JGL convincingly pulls off the action-oriented material, leaving one to hope for more roles like this in his future.

As a whole, the film works exceptionally well. The special effects scenes, especially one involving a bonkers version of one of those “assholes floating quarters” doing a whole lot more than that, are excellent and many of the kinetic fight sequences reminded me of the fights in The Matrix, although much less flashy. There are some really deep issues explored here, issues that help make the powerful ending particularly resonant. Rather than being brazenly manipulative, the ending comes organically from the journey that Present Joe has been on, allowing it to seem more natural than mechanical.

At the end of the day, I found myself liking Looper quite a bit, maybe even more than Inception, despite the more ambitious scope of Nolan’s film. Like Brick, Looper is a tightly-plotted examination of loss, responsibility and moral obligation, a film that is not afraid to ask (or answer) some pretty big questions. It also manages to wrap science fiction into a noir cloak in a way not seen since those fabled attack ships were on fire, somewhere over by Orion.