J.D. Hansel

Drama

Sullivan’s Travels Review

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While I’m not sure I would say that this is one of the funniest comedy films of all time, I do see why it is considered one of the greatest.  After all, a quick Google of the film will list it in the genre(s) of “Drama/Romance,” so clearly there aren’t many particularly memorable belly laughs throughout the movie.  In all fairness, I do get a good laugh out of some parts, and it features one of the best chase sequences I’ve ever seen (and I usually don’t go for chase sequences much).  The character actors who were placed around Sullivan made for a very pleasant experience because of how much I enjoyed hanging around the fun cast, and Veronica Lake‘s character is much more charming than she might have been if the film had been made by (or cast with) the wrong people.  I think the drama is very impressive and moving, but as much as it stirred up passion in me, I fear that it may have detracted from the overall feeling of joy from the comedy.  What’s problematic about the drama is that the film can be viewed as an argument for why comedy is more important than drama – in which case the film’s reliance on drama to make its point seems to work against it – but film critics and historians have since argued that the protagonist’s conclusion regarding comedy’s significance is more a matter of plot than message.  While I would hope that someday I’ll find a film that does attempt (and succeed) to make a great case for the superiority of comedy, I think that Sturges’ goal here is much simpler – to tell a good, fun, engaging story – and this goal is accomplished with finesse.

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Paths of Glory Review

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I don’t like war movies.

I have no interest in wars.  It is an embarrassment to the species that we still have them.  I generally have no interest in stories that attempt to glorify wars, even if they do balance it out to a degree by showing much bloodshed to display how horrible war can be.  At the end of the day, war movies (and arguably anti-war movies) make their money by appealing to the disgusting, aggressive, barbaric element of the human soul that just wants to watch people beat the crap out of other people – an element of the soul that our culture has particularly nurtured and groomed in men.

I also don’t like Stanley Kubrick.

2001: A Space Odyssey was the first (and I think only) movie to literally bore me to tears.  Kubrick’s obnoxious art style is frankly too “up in your face” for his work to feel mature enough for my tastes.  His intense focus on what I consider “mindless mindfulness” for hours on end with his hypnotic visuals is about as pseudo-intellectual as it gets.  I have given him a hard time before for being too boring, and even though I liked Dr. Strangelove, it too felt rather slow and boring at times (as did Killer’s Kiss).  I think this is because Kubrick has a particular gift – and I do mean this sincerely – for making human characters as distant and inhuman as possible, which is honestly a challenge.  Personally, however, I get bored too easily when a film doesn’t have any real “human” characters in it, and when I’m not being drawn in to a specific emotional experience because of the characters.

Enter Paths of Glory.

Here is a film that is extremely intense and intensely extreme, pulling the viewer into the deepest trenches of emotion and outrage.  The hero (whom Kirk Douglas plays beautifully) is largely likable because he is the character who stands for that which is moral, but I would argue that the protagonist is not what makes the film so engaging.  The emotional pull comes not from how much we like the protagonist, but how much we hate the people above him.  He is surrounded by devils, and any notion the viewer may have had beforehand of the first World War being about “good guys vs. bad guys” is shattered – there are bad guys and worse guys.  War is revealed to be a matter of politics, killing people to make a point and artificially form a narrative, making for an absolutely excellent anti-war movie.

Interestingly, I happened to follow my viewing of this film with the 1918 Charlie Chaplin comedy Shoulder Arms, which also takes place during World War I.  It’s amazing to see how both a film that reduces the war to petty political games and a film that completely makes light of the war (both taking place in the French trenches specifically) could be very thoughtful, insightful, and entertaining films.  It almost feels like practicing two separate religions, or supporting two opposing political candidates.  What’s odd, however, is this: with how much of a comedy buff I am, I feel as though I ought to like the Chaplin comedy more – it is very, very clever, after all – but I am more drawn to Kubrick’s film.

What Kubrick captures here is not so much humanity as it is a different kind of inhumanity than I’m used to seeing from him: he offers us the chance to see the twisted monsters that lie in our souls, thus exposing how much of our humanity is actually made up of inhumanity.  While Paths may have started off a little bit on the tedious side as I’d expected, I soon found myself on the edge of my seat as the cynic in me felt overwhelmed with orgasmic outrage and rapturous rage.  I was far more invested in the political drama of this film than I get invested in most films in general, let alone dramas about war.  I was sort of let down by the ending, but I eventually found that the ending was purposely underwhelming, giving the audience one final sting with the realization that no progress has been made, and everything will go on the same corrupt way until the war is over.  It may not be a perfect film, but finally I see in Kubrick the cinematic master I’ve always heard he should be.

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Detour (1945) Review

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This film is an absolute mess.  It looks as cheap as it is, constantly making it painfully obvious that the director’s been given less than $100,000 and less than a week to make a movie.  The script is all over the place, with a story that the biggest of fans of this film concede makes little or no sense.  The characters are clearly not meant to be likable, but I found them utterly detestable without reason.  The whole experience is painful, and I think most film critics/historians recognize that, but they still review it well and consider it a classic because they justify its badness.  I’m not going to do that, because this film doesn’t deserve my help.

I’ve heard a number of reasons why the story and characters are as bad as they are and explanations of what it’s supposed to mean.  I’ve come up with a few similar explanations myself, which the professor of my film noir class found rather thoughtful.  Some argue that the story is addressed directly to us, while I argue he’s mentally preparing his story for anyone – primarily the cops – who may question him, and some would say it’s all essentially a dream (which would explain why it seems to function in an over-dramatized fairy tale world of “dream logic” rather than in reality).  The running theme throughout interpretations and justifications of the story is the unreliable narrator, but in the end, these are all mere excuses.  I think the real reason why people make such excuses is that the film is so intellectually fascinating to critics, and these critics want to make their fascination with the film – which often transforms into love for the film – seem justified.  In my view, however, this is not a matter of a film being so bad that it’s good, although I’ve reviewed such films positively in the past.  This is a case of a very creative and fascinating (yet illogical) film that feels like it ought to have a logic to it, so it remains a memorable enigma, and for that it is a classic . . . it’s just not a good classic.

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Contact Review

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Please, please read this review.

I don’t think the star rating is an accurate picture of what I think of this movie.  It is an absolutely brilliant drama, clearly showing off the storytelling skills of Carl Sagan, Robert Zemeckis, and Alan Silvestri at their finest.  At the same time, I don’t think this review is adequate either.  I sort of have a hatred for this film.  It’s one of those movies that I want to either give a very high rating or a very low rating, but I can’t decide which.  What makes the movie so difficult for me to process is this: Carl Sagan – one of the greatest champions of scientific, skeptical thinking – gave the world a story that makes a case for faith, and seems to make the case against skepticism itself.

This feels like an abominable treachery from one of the last men I would ever expect to be a turncoat in the movement for scientific reasoning.  While the very, very end of the movie seems to suggest that skepticism isn’t a bad thing, the conclusion of the movie essentially does.  The viewer is put in the position of assuming that the protagonist’s experience, for which she has no evidence, is entirely real, and not at all of her own imagination.  The skeptics, however, decide that her experience must be considered invalid.  We see the believers with their signs outside the courthouse claiming that she really did “contact” alien life, but these people (whom we are led to believe are correct) have no good evidence for their stance.  They are right by happenstance – because their unwarranted belief just so happened to be true – and that is not a healthy way to think.  The messages that this film promotes and the way in which it promotes them may be detrimental to the intellectual safety of anyone who takes this film seriously, which is a prospect that I frankly find horrifying and enraging.

The worst part of all this is that the film is perfect up until the ending.  It is one of the most thoughtful, provocative, intellectual, creative, realistic, imaginative, clever, emotional, smart, gripping, fun, and serious films I have ever seen.  It looks at the idea of alien contact in a way that makes it seem very, very real – both intellectually and emotionally.  I was completely sucked in, on the edge of my seat with my jaw on the floor for most of the film, and I was overwhelmingly impressed with perfect marriage of the screenplay Sagan and his wife had fashioned and the cinematic craftsmanship of Zemeckis.  When one considers that this is a drama, which I see as a genre that is generally intellectually inferior to comedy, it is amazing that its first two acts won me over to the extent that they did.  All it needed to do to be one of my top 25 favorite films of all time was show that the beauty of scientific discovery is directly linked to the beauty of skepticism, but instead its ending turned the film into the same drivel that most sappy dramedies end with: “no matter what anyone says, all that matters is that you believe in yourself.”  No, that’s not an actual quote from the film, but frankly it would have been fitting for the closing credits to feature this exact address from one of the Care Bears.

I will need to consider the film further and read more about Sagan’s view of skepticism, but from what I’ve read in interviews and articles thus far, he lacks a basic understanding of what skepticism is, what atheism is, and how to think with rationality about matters of faith in general.  I must concede, however, that the film is deserving of much praise for being incredibly well-made, and I would have to rate it fairly well.  At least it can be seen as inspirational to young women and girls who may leave this film with an eagerness to go into the scientific field, and whom I sincerely hope will learn for themselves just how beautiful true skepticism really is.

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Selma Review

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I cannot relieve that I’m reviewing this movie right now.  I just don’t feel qualified to comment on it.  Since I still review most of the films I watch, if only so I can keep practicing my writing and keep fine-tuning my cinematic eye, I still feel uncomfortable expressing my opinions about it.  I’m no historian, and the vast majority of history that I do know pertains to talking socks, so I cannot review this as an informed critic.  Consequently, I will have to talk about this from the perspective of what I do know – how the movie made me feel.

This was shown as a part of one of my classes at the university where I’m currently studying film, and I’m very glad that it was.  It’s one of the most interesting and enjoyable films that’s been shown in the class thus far, if only because it does a good job at telling a good story.  Generally, this isn’t exactly the breed of movie I go for – the pseudo-realistic lighting and colors, the strict basis in history, the focus on oppression, revolution, and inspiration – it doesn’t tickle my fancy the way that surrealistic fantasy does.  However, I was moved in all the ways I should have been moved, I felt good and bad at the appropriate times, and I’d like to think I may have gained some insight and perspective on both the man and the event.  (Most importantly, the use of “The Banana Boat Song” was perfect.)  This film was fascinating and enjoyable, and I think that, for now, is all I really need to know in order to give it a thumbs-up.

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower Review

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Hi.  I’m J. D. Hansel.

Not the usual J. D. Hansel though – that is to say, not the J. D. who’s already seen the movie that he’s trying to review, and has had time to form an opinion about it.  I’m J. D. in the middle of watching the movie.  I am one hour, six minutes, and 39 seconds into The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and at this time I cannot say with certainty that I’ll be able to finish the film, because the protagonist has just been dared to do the unthinkable.  While I do not wish to give it away, I need to make one thing clear – this is my worst nightmare.  This movie is terribly horrific because it’s filled with my biggest social fears.  I don’t feel safe while watching this film.

I haven’t been this uncomfortable in ages.  What started as a seemingly innocent comedy has had me sweating in a cold room, and biting my fist to keep from yelling.  I had to stop the movie because I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I’ve gone to do some chores, and I’ve gone for a walk, but PowerDVD is still sitting in my taskbar, eager to move on, and I still can’t muster up the courage to see what’s going to happen next.  I even had to get the DVD case out of my sight, because just thinking about the film makes me shaky, queasy, and rather dehydrated.  I’m trying to stall by getting other things done, so I’m in the middle of typing up an email to a Muppeteer I admire at the moment, because even that doesn’t make me quite as anxious as what I think I’m about to see if I play the movie for just ten more seconds.  I might try to go play a video game to take my mind off of it, or perhaps I’ll do some packing to move back into my college dorm after spring break, but I still don’t know if I’ll be able to finish this nightmare.

It’s me again – the “normal” J. D. Hansel, under the influence of hindsight bias and time to overthink things, as usual.  I’m glad that I’m back, because looking back on this film (which I watched almost a month ago), I can appreciate it more now than I could at the time when I was watching it.  My problem, naturally, is that I cannot decide which opinion is more “true” or “pure” – the opinion formed while experiencing the film, or the opinion formed a little bit afterward while looking back at the whole.  For this particular movie, I think that the answer is the former.  Why?  Because, I just now took a look at this movie’s trailer (as I often do to refresh my memory), and immediately my senses have returned to the state depicted in this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MnX1wT7BRU

So, in order to recover a little bit, pardon me for a moment while I bang my fists on the keyboard and scream at the ceiling.  SZAD.s.kaskssklksalaSZKLJsklkuhdkwkwqp’;wsikjnd9jhergpeehuefwmgwr,’l;wersdffeuhgdefrnklj4wert3pmoljmqhudf7yhegkmrergmk;vbdfidvbfzusdwf’l,ERT./dvslop;sdf.,lerg ,gert

In summery, this is one of the most important, absurd, genuine, horrible, amazing, beautiful, creative, bizarre, genius, unethical, idiotic, awesome, frustrating, glorious, deceitful, outstanding, terrifying, enlightening, enraging, cliche, original, heartfelt, heartbreaking, game-changing, life-changing, and stupefying works of art in the entire timeline of the galaxy.  My inability to process such a thing fills me with unspeakable frustration.  This is one of those rare films that will haunt me until I die.  I know this is rather late in the article to present a thesis statement, but I suspect this aggravation is mostly due to the fact that it should just be a stupid, meaningless, unoriginal teen dramedy, but instead, it uses the deepest fears that were meant to be left unspoken to an extent that Stephen King, Alfred Hitchcock, Rod Serling, and the original Snuffleupagus puppet combined could never parallel.

Since it seems impossible for me to figure out how many stars I ought to give this film, I’ll have to try to focus on some aspects other than the horror.  The author of the book, Stephen Lucifer Chbosky, directed this film, and this has both good and bad effects on the movie.  The good effect, of course, is that he knows how to tell the story, since it’s his story, and I firmly believe that the writing and directing of a film are generally best done by the same person.  This film serves as evidence for this theory of mine, because much of the story is expressed excellently in ways that any other director would probably not try.  Not to mention, one scene uses music even more powerfully than the average musical film in the scene featuring “Come on Eileen” – and this kind of perfection is what cinema was meant to be.  However, since his background is in writing more than directing, and since he had not yet directed a film on this scale, some of his work is technically lacking.  I’m specifically thinking of the scene towards the beginning in the bleachers (when Sam is introduced), because the editing is so unprofessional and awkward that I laughed so hard that I fell on the ground.

Still, it is the characters and conflicts that make a movie more interesting than the technical side of things, so these are what I’ll prioritize.  The characters are largely likable when they’re supposed to be, and Charlie is as relatable as the author intended.  Each of the actors performed completely believably, although frequently I found I couldn’t quite believe Watson’s American accent – not that I could have done a better English accent, so perhaps I shouldn’t complain.  The characters and conflict had all been done in such a way that I couldn’t help but get really invested in the story, but I think this leads to my problem with the film.

One of the greatest sensations I have experienced is when I watch a movie or television program that uses the social anxiety of the audience to make a scene that is both terrifying and hilarious at the same time.  The awkwardness of the situations towards the end of Woody Allen’s Play It Again, Sam and the Next Gen. episode “Hollow Pursuits” can generate two very different emotional responses at the same time, one of which has me peeking through my fingers, and the other has me rolling with laughter.  What must be kept in mind is that this only works if the balance is kept just right, with the laughter serving as a spoon full of sugar.  In this film, it’s clear that the balance is off – I couldn’t laugh when I wanted to laugh because I felt far too uncomfortable; frankly, I felt violated.

I felt as though the movie had struck me right in the heart, and used my fears to destroy me.  Even now, over a month after I watched the movie, the anxiety it induced is still too strong to be considered wholly ethical.  Oddly, however, my problem with the film is not so much its attack on the audience, but the way it tries to make everything better with the ending.  The ending is when the movie tries to seem caring for its audience by putting a little Hello Kitty Band-Aid on the bloody slash it slit.  The happy ending is highly inappropriate, and is even deceitful, since the only friends he made in school (aside from the teacher) are only seen on occasion when they come to visit, meaning our protagonist logically should feel lonely and miserable during 90% of the school year.  The worst part is that it’s in the guise of a very cliche young adult novel dramedy, making it the kind of movie that’s not supposed to be a masterpiece, which just adds to the disrespect I feel the film is showing me.  If the movie is going to injure me this badly, it needs to finish me off, to put me out of my misery by making a depressing ending that will make the horrors I experienced worth something.  I’ve often considered how fun it would be for me to make the most depressing film of all time, so it could be used as a tool to show what it’s like to have depression, but to do that I would have the decency to go all the way and end the film with a thought that will make the viewers wish they were dead – with none of Chbosky’s false hope for consolation.

While I am exceedingly tempted to give this movie four and a half stars (part of me even demands five) for being so powerful, impacting, and unbelievably moving, I’m afraid that I must give this a low, low, low rating for its cruel abuse of the medium of cinema.  However, I must recommend it to everyone, and even tout it as a great achievement of cinema, because it’s a more elegant and beautiful abuse than I could have ever imagined.

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