J.D. Hansel

R

American Hustle Review

by

I love my local library.  Its one problem is that I like it too much, so whenever I go in for just a short stop, I end up spending at least half an hour there.  Once I’m lost in the DVD section, there is only but one escape, and it is very rare: I have to find the movie that calls my name.  I need to hear the triumphant sound of the movie that is exactly what I need to watch that night, and it can take ages to succeed at such a quest.  One night, however, I found it – the movie that I had been longing to see for ages, and I could sense that it was finally time.  American Hustle had Jeff Lynne’s music all over it, which already gives it a leg up in the race to my top 50 favorite movies.  On top of that, the film stars actors that I like, and it’s written and directed by David O. Russell, whose film Silver Linings Playbook holds a very special place in my heart.  However, I had just heard that his new release, Joy, is a disappointment, so I hoped and prayed that this movie would be reminiscent of the previous film and not the latter.  Alas, it would seem God woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day, because American Hustle completely fell flat for me – and I’m starting to think I must not be in on the secret to enjoying it.

At this time of year, everyone’s talking about awards ceremonies that I don’t like.  We’ve seen time after time that the elite overlords behind such ceremonies, particularly the Academy, tend to embarrass themselves by making obviously nonsensical decisions.  The Oscars are being frowned upon right now for their lack of diversity among nominees, but they’ve been dropping the ball ever since they neglected to award Citizen Kane for Best Picture in favor of some flick called How Green Was My Valley.  They were mocked in 1979 for giving Best Original Song to “It Goes Like It Goes” – a song that was considered forgettable even at the time, let alone decades in the future – instead of the more obvious choice: “The Rainbow Connection.”  Don’t even get me started on The Lego Movie.  With my disdain for such inane awards as the Oscars, the Golden Globes, and the Grammy Awards, I have been greatly pleased by an excellent joke of Conan O’Brien’s that’s been trending: “At last night’s Golden Globes, the movie ‘The Martian’ won for Best Comedy or Musical.  In a related story, the Golden Globes won the prize for ‘Best Cop Drama or Best Latin Gospel Album.'”  The nominations have really never made much sense, but the most mind-boggling of them all is the notion that American Hustle is a great comedy.  I don’t see how it can be considered a great comedy when I honestly was unaware that it was a comedy until well after I’d finished watching it.

It’s no surprise that I had to look up the movie online to learn that it was a comedy (and learn why people found it enjoyable) if I consider the brutally realistic style.  The comedy of the film fluctuates between muted colors of humor that offer no punches, or harshness that goes far over the top in all the wrong directions.  I’ll address the hard-hitting humor first, and then I’ll spend a little longer on the weak humor.  There is a scene between Bradlee Cooper and Not Funny Louis C- nope.  I can’t finish typing it; it’s just too depressing to think of Louis C. K. as unfunny.  In short, he savagely beats Louis over the head with a telephone, and the scene uses awkward editing in an attempt to make the unwarranted violent abuse comical.  The problem, of course, is that it’s not over-the-top enough to be funny – there is no indication in the scene, to my memory at least, that this is not meant to be taken seriously.  I was watching an ugly beating, so I felt bad for the victim – and empathetic investment is the enemy of comedy.

In my searches through the inter-webs for why people got a laugh out of this film, I found very, very few reasons given, even though its description on Rotten Tomatoes starts with the words “Riotously funny….”  One of the few jokes cited as a source of enjoyability was Cooper’s silly haircut.  Because this film is a period piece about the ’70s, a stupid haircut is merely an inevitable part of making the movie feel realistic, so I’ll need something better than that to come even close to a smile.  As I thought back on it, I recalled another scene that was an attempt at humor.  It’s pretty simple: Unattractive Jennifer La- no, I can’t bring myself to say that either, so let’s just say “the wife” swears in front of her little boy, and the little boy repeats the profanity in a way that’s accidentally quite offensive.  Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to read the words that I, J. D. Hansel, never imagined would be written about an iconic Oscar winner, but here they are: Anchorman 2 did this joke better.  That, my friends, is a travesty.

Let’s take another look at Jennifer Lawrence’s character.  She reminds me of “the pen squeaker.”  Yes, I’m talking about that guy in high school who had that pen which happened to make an annoying squeaking sound when it was twisted, and he would twist it frequently just to bug people.  If the intent was to annoy the girls sitting directly in front of the squeaker, I really enjoyed watching the pen squeaker make them squirm and yell for no good reason, but if the intent was to annoy me, it was not enjoyable in the least.  So I suspect that, if the audience understands that how much of an annoyance Lawrence is to everyone else is supposed to be funny , then the audience enjoys her, but personally, I felt like I was the victim of her excruciating irritability.  While Lawrence did play the character perfectly, the character will always stand out to me as a horrible reminder of how annoying my little siblings are when they scream and fuss all day.  I spent the last third of the film hoping that someone would just punch her out to end it all, but no such consolation was offered.

This is, in my view, one of the most overrated films of all time, right alongside Cabaret, but there are elements of it that I like.  The soundtrack is, as I expected, quite excellent.  Jeff Lynne’s contributions are naturally strong, but the other songs are really fun too.  The actors are clearly giving these performances their all, and they succeed at making me believe in their characters.  As far as cinematography goes, it would seem as through Russell found an Instagram filter for “Oscar bait” and used it for the entirety of the film, but within the constraints of the Oscar bait look, it is shot and edited well.  The best part, however, is the ending.  While I will not reveal all of the details, it’s nice to see that there was, in fact, an interesting and clever hustle being set up this whole time that makes the movie feel more purposeful.

However, for me it always boils down to the characters, the world, and the story.  If those three elements work together just right, it’s a great movie; if one of those elements is off, particularly the first, then we have a problem.  This movie did not work for me because the world felt too real for anything to pop, the story felt too unfocused and messy for it to hold my attention, and the characters made me want to run over the DVD with my car.  In the few days since I watched it, I’ve already forgotten much of the story, and I really don’t know how matters of such little importance took up so much screen time.  This movie is not so much about telling a good story as it is about showing off impressive directorial skills and a brilliant cast, making it such a narcissistic piece that I couldn’t help but roll my eyes even if they were sewn in place.   I am not surprised if people who appreciate films very differently than I do find themselves enjoying American Hustle, but for a film of this nature, one can only look at what it offers to each individual, and for me, it didn’t offer nearly enough.

89 American Hustle

Boogie Nights Review

by

Interesting is an interesting word.

Paul Thomas Anderson’s 1997 hit film Boogie Nights was terribly difficult for me to watch to the finish.  I watched the film in pieces over a period of about two weeks, which is the longest I’ve ever dragged out any of my cinematic experiences without watching another movie before finishing.  Now, this is in part because I’ve been absurdly busy lately, and I’ve had no time to watch movies, but it’s partly because the film is not very interesting.  I had to make it through to the end of the film, however, because it’s very interesting.  This is why the word interesting is so tricky.

Boogie Nights has a story structure that’s not very JD-friendly.  The fact that the last portion of the film (which would ordinarily be used for a very important climax) was actually entitled, “Long Way Down (One Last Thing)” reveals that the scenes shown to us are not scenes that are necessary for a plot, but are instead whatever portions of the lives of these characters the director feels like depicting.  This gives the film a serious case of “And-Then” Syndrome, an issue that’s chastised by writers of several different productions (ranging from PIXAR to South Park) for being the guaranteed way to generate apathy.  For me, this is the kind of movie that leaves me with a blank expression on my face asking, “so… what’s your point?”  There’s not much to gain from a film that gives off vibes of “just being there,” and I find it dreadfully tedious.

On the other hand, I do find the characters quite interesting, and characters are nearly half of the essence of a story.  I did want to know if Dirk was going to be a success, and if Amber was going to get to see her kid, and if Jack was going to find a way to stay afloat in the midst of new trends in the industry.  That being said, I wasn’t exactly on the edge of my seat waiting for the big reveal, because I knew there was no big reveal.  There was no moral of the story, no global implications, and no point – everything is presented matter-of-factly for anyone who’s curious about the field.  This, I think, it was it comes down to: the film is not interesting in the sense of keeping the audience invested and on the edge of their seats, but rather, its unique qualities persist to arouse curiosity, which is the kind of interesting at which this picture excels.

So, while it may not be my kind of film, I do think that, for the kind of film it is, it is done very impressively.  The cast is outstanding, and it is because of the cast that the characters keep us curious.  The soundtrack is one of the best that any movie has ever had, and the ’70s are captured brilliantly.  Even though the story does not appeal to me, and I probably wouldn’t recommend it to hardly anyone I know, I have to respect it for being so well done.  Also, Burt Reynolds’ character in this movie is just too darn likable.

84 Boogie Nights

Birdman Review

by

I need to start with a spoiler warning since I don’t want to hold myself back from writing about whatever I find is most worth writing about, and this film has many interesting elements that I could focus on for much of the review if I chose to do so: it has a unique, seamless editing style that effectively creates the illusion of one continuous shot for the vast majority of the film (which eventually gets annoying since we humans need breaks in what we experience, but for most of the film it’s more of a spectacle than a burden), it has excellent performances from its superb cast, and its visuals are often very pleasing and impressive, but I think those who know my tastes well can guess that I want to talk about the ambiguity factor – after all, I am known for my issues with needless ambiguity, and this a perfect example, because, if given some thought, it becomes clear that either interpretation of the ending is stupid: either Keaton jumps to his death, meaning Stone has no reason to smile the way she does, or he randomly possesses the ability to magically fly like a bird for some reason; and to think, this all could have been avoided if not for the fact that critics love ambiguity, which makes sense in a way – it offers the viewer the chance to write a little portion of the film that makes it meaningful to him/her as an individual, but it relies on the erroneous assumption that the meaning the viewer projects onto the work of art actually matters, but here’s the catch – you, the viewer, don’t matter.

Your two cents are worthless.

If a work of art lacks definition and meaning to the extent that an observer can project his own meaning onto it without being right or wrong, it’s not deep.

It’s shallow, but with style.  It gestures towards possible meanings, but does not commit to any of them.

I can best explain it this way: a film that challenges it audience intelligently says, “when life gives you lemons, should you give them to the poor and hungry?”  An ambiguous film, on the other hand, just has a blind man hold up a coconut and say, “when life gives you melons,” and then it ends.  The second film in my example may leave the viewer asking more questions, which creates an illusion of thoughtfulness, but I’d say the first film is more important.

In other words, no matter how amazing the visuals may be, how perfect the editing may be, how smart the writing may be, or how spot-on the performances may be, it is important for a film that wants to add to any discussion to use complete sentences, or else it isn’t much of a contribution, it’s just a

81 Birdman-02

 

Lucy Review

by

This film seems to be, at least to some extent, emulating 2001: A Space Odyssey, so I’ll give it the same criticism I’d give to Kubrick: “If you’re going to contribute to the discussion of human evolution, all I ask is that you please use complete sentences.”  Notice how that last sentence of mine was quite full, risking being overcrowded, but at least it got its whole point across in the best way possible.  That is what I like.  I like it when ideas are fully explicated, and it should show that the writer has cooked up some good food for thought, rather than just gesturing in the general direction of a kitchen saying, “make your own.”  Don’t get me wrong – I’m perfectly capable of coming up with my own ideas, and inventing stories to describe them, but when a filmmaker concocts an idea only halfway with the intention of leaving the explaining to me, I get stuck with all of the tedious labor. This just makes the creator seem lazy.  The key problem with Lucy is that it serves as a great prompt for someone to fully explicate its ideas in a more creative and interesting story, but a truly great film would have a hypothesis at its core, not a prompt.

Now I suppose I must explain what I mean when I say a prompt or a hypothesis.  A prompt (according to my mental movie dictionary) says, “Here’s a thing that could happen.”  A hypothesis says, “If this happened, here are some of the implications and conflicts that could arise.” This is the difference between “What if a teenager got a time machine?” and “If a teenager got a time machine, what would happen if he accidentally kept his parents from falling in love?” I wonder if the old adage “show, don’t tell” has taught filmmakers to show ideas rather than exploring their implications.  The way that Lucy explores the idea of a person gaining access to 100% of the mind consists of the following: Dr. Exposition (Morgan Freeman) runs through a checklist of what would happen at a given percentage of access to the brain, in spite of the fact that he has no way of knowing this since it’s all guesswork, and then Lucy coincidentally displays that behavior at the exact same time. There are missed opportunities for good storytelling at every corner: the drama of her parents losing their daughter, the comedy of watching her clumsily try to use powers she hasn’t mastered, the sadness of the loss of her friendships, the confusion of figuring out where the powers came from, the arguments about what to do with the knowledge she has, the irony of a girl who flunked math suddenly being an expert, the heartbreak of her growing apart from her lover… okay, I got that last one from Her, but it would still work, if the writer had given her a decent boyfriend. Alas, the film is mostly interested in going through a laundry list of special effects, and the plots are secondary. Here’s the bizarre part: this movie held my interest.

I didn’t care all that much about Lucy as a character because the film puts a roadblock at any potential route to empathy.  At the beginning of the film, she’s clearly not the type of person anyone with half a brain would want to befriend, and we haven’t learned enough about her to empathize yet.  Then, she progressively becomes less and less human throughout the “story,” thus placing her in the mental category of “non-person,” and we humans have a hard time remembering to care about anything in that category.  To make plot all the more futile, conflict is practically non-existent since there is no appropriate adversary for an omnipotent goddess, and it’s a given that she will inevitably succeed unharmed.  My enjoyment of the film is relying almost entirely on my relationship with the director, who keeps tossing interesting ideas and visuals my way for me to enjoy.  Sometimes he gets so pretentious it’s laughable, but I must admit that I was pretty entertained on the whole, and the film even passed my Pause Test.  It tries to substitute drama with intensity, and it kind of pulls off this trick by being concise.

So, in the end, it may not be a brilliant masterpiece, but it keeps the viewer curious about what’s coming next, and it satisfies the curiosity adequately, making for a good cinematic experience.

67 Lucy

History of the World – Part I Review

by

I absolutely love it when a film has such a strong creative essence that it immediately relays its muses to me, who inspire me to express the experience in a review (in much the same way that a songwriter might be overcome by the need to play the expression of his/her passion).  At those moments, the essence of the film appears before me as a dream awaiting a poet’s articulation.  Other films, however, leave me scratching my head (and leave my muses shrugging) as I try to figure out what to make of whatever I’ve just seen.  These are the moments that make me look at Roger Ebert with jealousy, knowing that he could nearly always express exactly how he felt about a movie, no matter the film’s complexity.  Unfortunately, History of the World – Part 1 is a puzzler for me, since I really want to love the film, but I just don’t think I do.

The film has its moments that hit home and are very strong, but it has a lot of moments that simply don’t do it for me.  Unfortunately, the movie can’t decide whether it’s comprised of comedy sketches, vignettes, or (not very) short films.  This inconsistency in length means that many scenes leave me thinking, “that’s it?” while others make me cry, “it’s still going?”  I think that consistency – or, better yet, a narrative (or some focused structure) to tie everything together – would do the film some good.  That being said, I love the “Inquisition” number, and I’m more moved by Mel’s take on 2001: A Space Odyssey than I am by the actual Kubrick film.

I generally wouldn’t hold a vignette-based film to my Pausibility Test (I measure a film by how content I am with pausing it and coming back to it in a few weeks) because the nature of such a film has built-in stopping points, which makes pausing natural.  The problem with this film, however, is that I was content with pausing the movie mid-segment, and I suspect that’s because of the characters.  Ebert helped clarify this for me by pointing out that we are presented with cardboard cut-outs of Jews, monks, etc., but there is not much detail added to make them funny or interesting.  Instead, our interest in each character is dependent on the performers.  While I didn’t necessarily “have a blast” watching the movie, I cannot be as hard on it as Ebert because I suspect that many scenes from it will stick with me for the rest of my life.

64 History of the World - Part 1