DRIVE: Scorpio Descending

"Making a movie is casting a spell."

Kenneth Anger

Director Nicolas Winding Refn’s neo-noir/road movie hybrid, DRIVE, stunningly captures an enchanted ‘80’s cosmos amidst a decaying asphalt desert of Los Angeles by displaying his cunning abilities as a maestro - - or magician- - capable of harnessing music, visuals, symbols, sounds and employing essential film references and genre devices to be used at his command. As the film opens from darkness, a directive is being uttered by Driver (Ryan Gosling) in the form of an incantation after a revving engine is heard in the distance through an atmospheric night time ambience while burbling notes arise from the soundtrack which summon images of a sorcerer’s cauldron filled with a bubbling brew.

There's a hundred thousand streets in this city. If I drive for you, you give me a time and a place, I give you a five-minute window. Anything happens in that five minutes, then I'm yours, no matter what. Anything happens a minute either side of that, and you're on your own. Do you understand? Good. And you won’t be able to reach me on this phone again.

As the sequence unwinds, the camera slowly sweeps through Driver’s domicile, at first, focusing on a marked-up map of Downtown Los Angeles followed by Driver surveying the L.A. cityscape out of an apartment window. Emblazoned on the back of his jacket is a golden scorpion which seems to take on the significance of a supernatural totem. As he speaks to his client over the telephone, an intermittent burst of neon glows under his white jacket as if he were standing over a fire-burning kettle simmering a glowing, pink potion.

Driver (Ryan Gosling) begins to stir the pot … and cast his spell over the City of Angels.

When coupled with the schematic diagram of the city streets, it appears as if he is performing a cinematic incantation over the city and fashioning its landscape to his wishes or, at least, projecting onto the city a series of specialized escape routes he is about to maneuver in his trusty, steel steed. Either way, some kind of sorcery is indeed stirring.

Navigating through the city’s gritty arteries, penetrated by glittering neon and sparkling traffic lights, takes on a spectral, otherworldly quality. As Driver takes refuge in the mobile, womb-like sanctuary of his automobile, while being bathed by green, red and sepia-colored light, other cars and street lamps pass by him like fleeing phantoms and surges of electricity in a modern, yet, retro-noir terrain.

Upon arriving at a pre-determined rendezvous point, he meets a pair of crooks cloaked in dark clothing who are about to perform a heist and it is revealed that Driver is their hired wheelman responsible for their getaway. The five-minute countdown begins and Driver initiates the stopwatch feature on his wristwatch while donning a pair of Gaspar 2204 driving gloves echoing the predominate use of gloves of this type in the decade of the eighties. No modern conveniences like digital timepieces or cellular devices are employed. Driver triggers a walkie-talkie connected to a police band and along with him, we wait, in anxious anticipation. He also flips on the car radio just in time to catch the remaining fifteen minutes of a professional basketball game in the nearby Staples Center which will parallel the suspenseful intensity of Driver eluding the authorities (by land and air) in a cat-and-mouse chase traversing the highways and byways of the City of Angels. Pulling into the Staples Center’s parking structure moments after the local Los Angeles team proves victorious, Driver successfully ditches the car and walks out of the structure unscathed as scores of fans seemingly cheer along with him at his momentous escape from justice.

What we come to know about Driver is the following: above all else, he drives, but beneath his restrained exterior, he’s a man of few words who speaks softly and carries a big stick; he spends his days performing stunt work for the Hollywood film community, but mostly works in a garage; he moonlights as an anonymous wheelman on heists and never works with the same client twice; he has no name to speak of; he doesn’t smoke, but has a fondness for bracing toothpicks between his lips; he’s focused, skilled with his hands and a man of his word; Driver is at his most optimum strength when he is behind the wheel ofan automobile - - it seems to magically recharge his lifeblood; he switches cars as quickly as he does his outfits/identities (mechanic, stunt man, cop, cold-blooded killer, guardian angel) and he doesn’t have any partners. However, his credo against forming partnerships changes when he enters into a relationship with a neighbor in his apartment complex with whom he becomes smitten, Irene (Carey Mulligan), who has a young son, Benicio (Kaden Leos), to whom he offers a token of goodwill, a toothpick.

Extra-diegetic music enters this stage of the soundtrack that not only punctuates Driver’s connection with Irene, but underscores what they might be feeling for one another, complemented by energetic, synth-pop notes reminiscent of the ‘80’s; songs like “A Real Hero” by College featuring Electric Youth

And you have proved to be a real human being and a real hero; A planet on a cold, cold morn’; 155 people or more; All safe and all rescued …

and “Under Your Spell” by Desire,

I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I do nothing but think of you. You keep me under your spell…

the latter of which expands on the film’s affinity for spell casting.

The film posters for DRIVE and RISKY BUSINESS exhibit a stylishly ‘80’s font with a penchant for automobiles.

But, historically, all good spells must have a treacherous counterpart. Within one week of their burgeoning relationship, Irene’s husband, Standard Gabriel (Oscar Isaac), enters from the wings (supporting the film’s symbolic myth of angelic purity) who has been let out of prison on good behavior. He immediately becomes a friend of Driver and is far from sinister, however, his release from redemption unleashes the wrath of his former associates, Nino (Ron Perlman), a Jewish gangster and purveyor of a local pizzeria; his henchman, Cook (James Biberi) and Cook’s loyal subordinate, Blanche (Christina Hendricks). Nino’s business partner and Driver’s reluctant nemesis, Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks), gradually counteracts the potency of Driver’s magic.

Obtaining the opportunity to act outside of the comedic box from which many are familiar with his performances, Albert Brooks is no stranger to violence. His earliest film role was as Tom, a campaign worker in a New York City Senator’soffice in Martin Scorsese’s, TAXI DRIVER, where the film’s “ticking time bomb”, Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) sees it as his duty to clean up the polluted mean streets of Scorsese’s vision of New York City through violent vigilantism.

A major influence on Scorsese’s filmmaking and an obvious reference to DRIVE is Kenneth Anger’s experimental short film, SCORPIO RISING. It also contains little dialogue (actually, none), religious symbolism, a noticeable pop soundtrack, a ritualistic worship of automobiles (namely, motorcycles in Anger’s film) and those that drive them as well as its most dominant symbol - - the scorpion - -which is branded on the back of Driver’s jacket. As Driver zips up his jacket, he keeps his back to the camera and takes his time in the zipping motion giving the viewer enough time to linger on the image of the jacket and take in (fetishize) the potentially cult-status (and rebel-like torso) of Gosling in his role of Driver. Incidentally, Anger said of his film that “Scorpio is the sign of the Zodiac that rules the sex organs and machinery.” Similar to the characters that populate Anger’s film, Driver and Shannon (Bryan Cranston), Driver’s employer and trusted business counselor, work religiously on the automobiles at their Reseda Boulevard garage when Driver isn’t taking one of their prized beauties out for a spin. Upon being wounded in the film, the aptly named Doc (Russ Tamblyn), operates on Driver in its repair shop as if it were a hospital. Shannon, an arch priest in the vaulted church of his sacred garage, along with Driver, make up a religious order of customized car manufacturers. Developing the motif of angels at work, while repairing a car part in his apartment, Driver’s circular desk light hovers over his head like a halo, perhaps, symbolizing him as a guardian angel.

Bernie Rose, on the other hand, conjures up thoughts of one who has a sharp, thorny nature. Stabbing and eviscerating his enemies with jagged objects and razorblades is his signature technique, much like whipping into one’s adversary like with the stinger of a scorpion. A former film producer in the ‘80’s, this wildly uncivilized behavior may stem from one (or several) of the plots of his string of action B-movies he produced which he tells Driver his critics thought too European, yet which he immodestly claims were terrible. During the process of DRIVE, as enemies stack up against Bernie and his temper heightens, not only does blood sloppily begin to spill as it did in his ‘80’s schlock, but DRIVE, likewise, explodes into a hybridized star burst of genres, yet maintains its neo-noir veneer.

As if Refn’s vision of Los Angeles weren’t grim enough, Bernie brings about an ominous cloud of darkness over everyone in Driver’s orbit. These include both Irene’s family and Shannon, the latter of whom calls Driver “special”, admits to exploiting his talents and does everything in his power to maintain their personal and working relationship. But feeling double-crossed after a heist gone horribly wrong at Driver’s expense, Bernie cuts Shannon down to size with a straight razor. Immediately after meeting Bernie for the first time, Driver appears in a successive shot asking Benicio, “Is he a bad guy?” Whether or not he’s truly referring to Rose or to the cartoon they’re watching which features a shark (also an animal with sharp, pointed protrusions), is ambiguous, but one thing is for certain: Driver’s casted spell over the plane of the city is wearing thin.

Contrasted with Driver’s offering of a toothpick to Benicio, Cook gives the boy a bullet to hold onto and orders him not to lose it. And at one instance, when Irene jokes with her son by sweetly calling him a monkey, Bernie, in another part of the film’s universe, vehemently calls Cook a monkey, along with another expletive with great, damning effect. Bernie also matches Driver’s use of statistics when he explains there are roughly two thousand heists in the city of Los Angeles per year, some of which he may be personally responsible for. The setting of DRIVE in Los Angeles, California, specifically in the context of the Western United States, pays homage to and has an undeniable reference to the western film, most particularly, George Stevens’ SHANE.

Driver’s first appearance and back-story, like Shane’s (Alan Ladd), is ambiguous and he eventually resides in the same apartment complex after meeting the Gabriel family where he engages with them in a communal fashion just as Shane did at the home of Joe Starrett (Van Heflin). Both Driver and Shane spend valuable time with the young son of his respective parents. Sexual tension between Shane and Joe’s wife, Marian (Jean Arthur), also exists between Driver and Irene. The placement of the principal characters at their first meal together in the Starrett home resemble that of the first meal that Driver shares with Standard, Irene and Benicio in their apartment.

During their meal, Standard recounts how he first met Irene at a party and when he introduced himself as “Standard”, she quipped,“Where’s the deluxe version?” and gives a brief, yet longing look at Driver. (Just as in Kenneth Anger’s short film, KUSTOM KAR KOMMANDOS, where The Paris Sisters’ song, “Dream Lover” is featured, Driver, himself, is a custom car commando/aficionado and the possible object and “deluxe version” of Irene’s affections.)

References to the western film continue to abound: as Shannon soups up Driver’s getaway cars and stunt mobiles for the movies, at one point, he reveals how he dropped in three hundred horses under the hood. In the film’s daylight hours, storefronts (the pawnshop) and restaurant interiors (Nino’s Pizzeria and the diner where Irene works) all share a similar stone décor resembling a stone tableau one may have seen in abundance in the Los Angeles desert. After Bernie washes his bloodied blade clean in his modest apartment, he sits down to relax in his living room chair adjacent a movie poster called “Slinger”, quite possibly, an abbreviated form of the predominately used term in typical western fare: “Gunslinger”. One characteristic that the featured cast in DRIVE share with those in SHANE is that they’re good with their hands, whether they’re customizing or modifying a car in a garage, wielding a blade and a hammer or pulling shotgun shrapnel from one’s body. And just as it’s illustrated in SHANE, there is very little gunfire that is passed (less than ten shots) between characters. But when it is present, it explodes at a deafening pitch like thunder. And in time, Driver may also share mythic status similar to that of the “Man with No Name” character played by Clint Eastwood in Sergio Leone’s spaghetti western pictures in his “Dollars Trilogy”.

As soon as the ingredient of greed enters the seething mixture of Nino and Bernie’s recipe for destruction, the city and its inhabitants are vectored into a subversive state of decadence and bloodshed. When Driver repeatedly pounds Cook’s hand with a hammer in a strip club and then threatens him with a hammer and nail to his forehead, several nude strippers breathlessly sit by and stare and resemble frozen mannequins who no longer seem to know how to react to such violence. Another scene of intense bloodletting exists when Driver and Irene share the film’s longest and most passionate kiss in an elevator (along with a male passenger on Nino’s payroll) and moments later, is gently guided to another side of the elevator so Driver can pummel Nino’s henchmen’s head to a bloody pulp in the opposite corner. In this respect, DRIVE starts to verge into the territory of grindhouse and the splatter film in its excessive stabbings, slashings and physical destruction of the human body complements of its B-grade producer, Bernie Rose.

In Driver’s fateful confrontation with Bernie, they face off, two scorpions with blade-like precision, orchestrated with their dueling figures in shadow, as their writhing, silhouetted torsos are projected onto a sun-baked parking lot. Their struggle escalates, but it becomes indistinguishable who will overtake whom. Enter a wink to the slasher film, notably PSYCHO, when Driver sits in the seat of his car, (potentially) mortally wounded and stares off into the distance as Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) had done in Hitchcock’s classic slasher. As the camera crawls up Driver’s bloodied torso, into his face, several beats pass until he finally blinks. (This echoes to two earlier scenes when he engaged in a light-hearted blinking showdown with young Benicio.) Unfortunately, Marion Crane never blinked again and shares a similar fate with Bernie Rose. By simply sitting in the driver’s seat after his struggle with Rose, Driver looks as if he is being imbued with some kind of magical energy (or fuel) and seems to be recharged as soon as “A Real Hero” returns from the extra-diegetic ether of the soundtrack. Driver sees the end of his way of life which parallels Shane’s final words:

I gotta be going on. Man has to be what he is. He can’t break the mold. I tried it and it didn’t work for me. There’s no living with a killing. Right or wrong, it’s a brand and a brand sticks. There’s no going back.

By the finale, a man of his word, Driver sticks to his guns and does what he does best behind the wheel of any car he can manipulate: he drives - - into the dark corners of a constructed city he thought he understood - - which may or may not be potentially supernatural - - guided by a superior, innate driving prowess. And as director Refn’s spell disintegrates, so, as we’ve seen, the city begins to crumble; first, into decadence, then, into darkness from where the film originally entered. Chances are, Driver will be fine. As his former employer and mentor, Shannon, once spoke of his skills, “You put this kid behind a wheel, there's nothing he can't do.” That’s his character! And in a final nod to SHANE, Driver heads off into the dark unknown as his magical lifeblood trickles from his body - - and Scorpio descends (?) …

CONTAGION: Sick Degrees of Separation

And on the Second day, director Steven Soderbergh divined a plague. His cinematic creation of the destruction of the human race complements of a lethal fomite contagion, however, is far from biblical proportions and from the outset, is more appropriately a low-budget hyperlink film with a digital gloss. Each sequence of the film is hosted (literally) by a character who may potentially play host to a virus that impacts the visual chain of events that follows or precedes it. Whether or not a character resides in San Francisco, France or Hong Kong makes no difference as in some way, shape or form, will act as a catalyst with others in the global network care of a virus which consumes its prey faster than Fed-Ex or Pings that are transmitted on an Internet Protocol. In the realm of hyperlink cinema, CONTAGION is a multitasker’s delight; imagine IT’S A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD stripped of its comedic elements and featuring just as many stars as in the heavens whose respective actions commingle, converge and collide with one another in horrifying, feverish, paranoiac fervor. In the film’s first five minutes alone, Soderbergh subjects us to various propositions of how the unexplainable and seemingly unassailable pandemic is transmitted: through human contact, sexual intercourse (STD), the flu/common cold and/or fomite contamination. And quite unexpectedly, for the duration of Soderbergh’s latest cinematic experiment, an audience member assumes the role of a willing participant included in the Petri dish of the movie theater along with the neighbors, cultures and bacteria that might be lingering and festering in its dark surroundings.

Since the release of his debut feature and sleeper hit of 1989, SEX, LIES, AND VIDEOTAPE, Soderbergh has consistently tread a fine line between mainstream commercial filmmaking and low-to-no budget cinema. In so doing, he has strategically managed to satisfy both studio heads at multi-million dollar entertainment conglomerates and audiences with a voracious appetite for art house cuisine while multi-tasking behind (and often in front of) the camera and shuttling between the roles of writer, producer, editor, cinematographer and director. Soderbergh’s TRAFFIC, an instant classic about the global war on drugs replete with an inventive, color-coded composition and a tension-inducing, handheld, guerrilla filmmaking approach (yet distributed by a major studio) balanced by a truly effective ensemble cast, exhilarated critics and cinephiles alike and may, quite simply, be the filmmaker’s masterpiece as rumors begin to swirl of his imminent retirement from the craft.

CONTAGION, on the other hand, sneakily introduces a war on communication, most particularly, the social network, in which we are currently engaged in both our waking moments and sleeping hours. And just as an exchange of information, if it is potent enough, may be transmitted from one source to another in the social network at an accelerated rate where it succeeds in becoming viral and trends to the point of becoming extensively popular, Soderbergh hypothesizes that a hybridized infection, likewise, can either spread directly or indirectly at an alarming capacity until it absorbs our lives and the fabric of our global society. It’s an ambitious concept and bloggers, tweeters and the mainstream media are caught in the crosshairs. Contagion, the term itself, originates from various meanings and translations for “a touching, contact”, “communication of disease” and “the transmission of disease from one person to another”. With the breakdown of communication comes the collapse of social mores and customs such as talking to and touching others and as the film’s taglines insist, “Don’t talk to anyone” and “Don’t touch anyone”.

The film’s production company, Participant Media, endeavored to create a social action element to engage its audience ‘participants’ in viral preparedness, but I think that Soderbergh’s motives are more elusive and that his attempts are to denigrate the ever-moving procession of social media in all its guises, be they Twitter, Facebook or Google+. So where there’s the strain of mutated animal DNA compounding the disease in Soderbergh’s film, there exists the strain of being contaminated by relentlessly invasive social media portals. In an interesting twist, Soderbergh affiliates the menace of the airborne pathogen with potentially injurious pharmaceutical corporations and the investment community whose ulterior rationale may not be to immunize but to weaponize and whereas an antidote to the virus is concerned, to monetize. The cold gaze of these bureaucrats at the subsequent media being relayed to them via television of the momentous discovery, likely in advance of a vaccine, coupled with the apathetic configuration of their placement around the model boardroom table, speaks ominous notes. Meanwhile, as residents of the world engage in quarantine and disengage from contact with one another, others desperate enough in seeking fast-tracked recovery, sacrifice common human decency by raiding pharmacies around the globe for a homeopathic remedy called Forsythia rumored to be successful in warding off the contagion. This alternative cure is eventually exposed as a placebo peddled by a false prophet, Alan Krumwiede (Jude Law), who delicately juggles social relationships with crooked investors in the pharm industry along with his followers on Twitter and online readers in the blogosphere.

One character who ignores the online chatter is Mitch Emhoff (Matt Damon) who might be likened to Robert Neville, author Richard Matheson’s lone survivor of a vampiric pandemic in his classic horror novel, “I Am Legend” which (at the time of this review) has not only been adapted to film on four separate occasions, but was the inspiration for George Romero’s 1968 seminal zombie film, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD.

The Legend of the Last Omega Man on Earth

Although not necessarily an ‘Omega Man’ warding off vampiric infestations, Emhoff is surrounded with societal unrest and disorder and in a way, is pardoned from the plague because he doesn’t want to socialize and would much rather stay behind closed doors and keep to himself. As he strives for privacy, notice how his daughter, Jory (Anna Jacoby-Heron), continues to use her cell phone to text SMS messages with her boyfriend, Andrew (Brian J. O’Donnell) and in one instance, tempts fate and risks sharing the plague by kissing after making dual snow angels in the single-digit cold Minnesota weather. On multiple occasions, Mitch tries to annul the kids’ relationship, once going so far as to fix Andrew in the sights of the double-barrel of a shotgun. Even more significant is how the patriarchal Emhoff is seemingly immune to the virus which gripped his wife, Beth (Gwyneth Paltrow), supposedly, the second carrier of the virus and their young son, Clark (Griffin Kane). For inexplicable reasons, Mitch has built an immunity to the virus just as Matheson’s hero, Robert Neville, convinces himself of his insusceptibility to the global plague because he was bitten by an infected bat (bearing a thematic similarity with the climax of CONTAGION) as opposed to another diseased human being and survives his daily life by locking himself in and riding out the storm of post-apocalyptic Los Angeles in the prison of his own home.

Soderbergh may be urging us all to embrace privacy. As demonstrated in his 2002 re-boot of Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1972 sci-fi epic, SOLARIS, at its core, is about one man alone on an island of his own thoughts. Scientists aboard the space station hovering over the oceanic planet of Solaris would much rather mingle with their respective ‘guests’ (loved ones who they each left behind in their past on planet Earth who are reproduced by the sentient powers of Solaris’ waves) than each other. As Mitch fondly looks at pictures taken on his dead wife’s digital camera, he whimpers with remorse for her and, just as the suicidal/dead wife, Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), had been resurrected by the power of her living husband (Donatas Banionis) Kris’ thoughts being beamed to Solaris creating a reproduction of her presence on the space station, Mrs. Emhoff is ‘resurrected’ in non-linear fashion on Day One in Macau just long enough for us to see how Soderbergh’s virus was initiated. Arriving at the film’s climax, the reveal of the virus’ origin is exposed as likely a propagandist element warning corporations of their invasion of the natural world and the consequences that follow - - for it is Emhoff’s mining company responsible for disturbing a jungle, which unsettles a banana tree safe housing a nest of bats, one of which is a carrier of the disease who jettisons its half-chewed morsel of banana into a horde of hogs awaiting slaughter - - a cinematic domino effect that leaves a disrupted global discourse in its wake amidst a Solarian-like sea of Purell hand sanitizing lotion.

Always a bridesmaid … always distasteful.

From top to bottom, Director Paul Feig’s BRIDESMAIDS is a coarsely disjointed effort that relies on the success of its jokes (which come across as one-liners dispensed at an evening of mediocre stand-up comedy) and the ability of its Writer/Producer/Star/Maid of (Dis)Honour, Annie (Kristen Wiig), to carry the film on her shoulders. In Wiig’s defense, as an alum of the Groundlings sketch comedy theater as well as a “Saturday Night Live” veteran, she makes for an impassioned headliner who seems at ease in carrying out a legion of uncomfortable improprieties. For one thing, BRIDESMAIDS immediately seems like an inappropriate title for the film given the fact that it commences with Annie and her on-again, off-again beau, Ted (Jon Hamm), engaging in over a half-dozen sexual gyrations in the first tenth of the film sprinkled with interspersed grunts, demands and other sounds of salaciousness. What is the purpose: to show how agilely kinky they are or unhesitatingly unsettle the audience - - because, and with no intention of sounding like a total prude, is it terribly funny or just graceless? At least any educated (or not) viewer could instantly anticipate the comedic awkwardness of THE 40-YEAR-OLD VIRGIN upon seeing its Writer/Producer/Star/grown-male protagonist curled up in his sheets in the opening shot of the film awaiting the buzz of his 7:00 AM alarm in a bedroom populated with STAR WARS and “Mystery Science Theatre” ephemera, action figures and a ball cap adorned with the image of Jack Skellington. Unfortunately, the joke’s on Annie as Ted deceitfully asks her to leave his plush pad whilst cunningly leaving the door open for future trysts. However, that his motorized driveway gate is literally closed prompting Annie to not only scale it to exit, but also engage in the walk of shame, reinforces the fact that she’s perpetually behind the eightball.

Annie has hit the bottom (and never seems to reach the top) of her personal and professional endeavors because of her consistent bad-life choices and inelegant remarks she shares with those in her orbit. That’s not to say that those in her network are more well-behaved than she, quite the contrary. Each character is distinctly branded and fulfills their abject personas whether it’s Annie’s mother (the late Jill Clayburgh) reciting objectionable commentary from her AA meetings or Annie’s invasive, British roommate Brynn (Rebel Wilson) pouring a bag of frozen peas onto her back to soothe the pain of a recent Mexican worm tattoo curving around her fleshy middle or Annie’s fellow bridesmaid, Megan (Groundlings alum, Melissa McCarthy), shamelessly admitting upon their first introduction that she’d “climb’ Annie’s Mistaken Fella (Hugh Dane) ‘like a tree”.

‘Pretty in pink’ these girls ain’t - - at times, they’re not so much crude as they are downright cruel. It’s when Annie addresses a brusk, young female customer in her jewelry shop with the universally reprehensible four-letter “c” word does her boss, Don Cholodecki (“MADtv” veteran and Groundlings alum, Michael Hitchcock), permanently dismiss her from his employment. Annie’s temper tantrum at the gift-giving ceremony provoked by her jealousy of fellow, upper-crust bridesmaid, Helen (Rose Byrne), is wickedly over-the-top as she initially criticizes those responsible for its event coordination followed by her personally destroying the French-themed (‘her idea’) regalia at the bridal shower. The film also dips into the bowels of scatological humor with a bit of retching thrown in for good measure when the girls and the bride-to-be mix upset stomachs due to badly prepared Brazilian food with the sterile surroundings of an upscale wedding dressmaker shop. But in all seriousness, is there anything more detestable in mainstream cinema than Rob Reiner’s classic “barf-o-rama” featured in his STAND BY ME?

Fashioners of contemporary comedies seem as if they’re constantly trying to out-do each other by inexhaustibly pushing the level of raunch to new heights - - or shall I say, lows. It now seems so very long ago that screwball comedy mavens like Carole Lombard, William Powell, Lucille Ball, Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell performed their roles from polished screenplays which were as timeless and literate (and extraordinarily funny) as those constructed by the Bard complemented by graceful, masterful direction from the likes of Howard Hawks, Gregory La Cava, Ernst Lubitsch, Leo McCarey, Preston Sturges and Billy Wilder … stand-up maestros such as George Carlin, Johnny Carson, Richard Pryor and (as of this review) living virtuosos like Ellen DeGeneres, Phyllis Diller, Eddie Izzard, Bob Newhart, Don Rickles and Chris Rock pepper their audiences with wit and laughter while skewering relevant topics (and often other living persons, politics and events) of the day with intense fervor and infallible timing without constantly spewing extraneous vulgarities to lower in dignity not only themselves, but more importantly, their audience, which nowadays seems commonplace.

Modern comedic filmmakers (save for Woody Allen, Albert Brooks, James L. Brooks, Mel Brooks [no relation between the triumvirate], Nora Ephron, Christopher Guest, Amy Heckerling, Reginald Hudlin, Mike Judge, Nancy Meyers, Bob Odenkirk, Rob Reiner, Trey Parker & Matt Stone, Keenen Ivory Wayans and a handful of others) remind me of chaperones supervising hyperactive children in a sandbox wherein its comedic elements are relegated to mockery, base human behavior of the lowest common denominator, obnoxious noise and distractions of color, props and other contrivances which has further extended virally into contemporary commercials and television shows, not to mention banner ads on the Internet. And like a sandbox, it consists of little depth and dimension; jokes, like sandcastles, which are molded to creation, crushed and recycled (lately, Hollywood has been imitating the British sandbox model e.g. "The Office") … and it looks like fun to play in for a half-hour and then gets really old, really fast. A hybridized (and bastardized) blend of reality-based entertainment with deadpan comedy seems to be the in vogue style (e.g. “The Office”; “Parks and Recreation”; “Modern Family”) where wooden insults are traded amongst characters more often than actual jokes. Bob Newhart, a first-class “straight man”, succeeded in his deadpan craft (in radio, television and film) because others around him displayed emotion to off-set his mental superiority and supposed smugness. With everyone performing in a similar wooden tone, for example, in “The Office”, makes its imaginary paper supply company, Dunder Mifflin, seem like a rather cold, un-funny and difficult situation and place with which to connect. If anything, the program would benefit from a laugh-track or ‘live studio audience’ to give it vitality and personality.

There isn’t much of a connection in the BRIDESMAIDS’ screenplay either. Most sequences and characters that occupy them seem like they’re inserted there as an excuse to introduce new talent found on the stand-up circuit. If not, they provide opportunities for movie-goers to spot notable alumni of The Groundlings or comedic veterans of stage and screen like bridesmaids Rita (Wendi McLendon-Covey) of “Reno 911!”; Becca (Ellie Kemper) of “The Office” who’s role here isn’t much of a departure from her mousy persona at Dunder Mifflin. And there’s Lillian (“Saturday Night Live” cast-member and Groundlings alum, Maya Rudolph) as the blushing bride to be wedded to muted Dougie (Tim Heidecker) of Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim program, “Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!”.

Although it’s not very funny to see a cameo by ‘90’s Grammy Award nominated group Wilson Phillips as they’re lampooned by the cast in a surprise concert during the wedding finale singing “Hold On”, it is a curiosity that earlier in the film during its excruciatingly overlong airline sequence that Annie quips to Flight Attendant Steve (Groundlings member, Mitch Silpa) that “It’s the ‘90’s.” It may be just me, but I thought it was much funnier when the cast of THE FORTY-YEAR-OLD VIRGIN (incidentally, voted by AFI as one of the Top Ten movies of 2005 and a stronger, more cohesive comedy than Feig’s film) broke out into a song-and-dance number of The Fifth Dimension’s “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” which was emblematic of Steve Carell’s affable Andy finally losing his virginity. “Hold On”? Personally, I couldn’t wait to be ‘let go’! Was there any significance of their performance other than Lillian being a fan of the band when she and Annie were growing up? It just felt rather insulting; as if they were being depicted as has-beens. Besides, it’s not the first time Wilson Phillips has been mocked by the “Saturday Night Live” team before.

When it’s all said and done, one might argue that BRIDESMAIDS succeeds as a “Brat Pack” film similar to those popularized by the late (great) Writer/Director, John Hughes; the caveat being that the script is a dull comparative and that it’s overflowing with raunch. THE BREAKFAST CLUB, also a Universal Studios Picture (now, merged with NBC is likely to keep generating crossover in their film, television and talent properties), likewise features five characters from disparate backgrounds introduced to each other through a pivotal event (high school detention vs. Lillian’s marriage) whose bond grows through the course (vs. coarse) of the film. The MPAA is certainly tested and harsh language is utilized to enhance the daring script by Hughes whereas Team Wiig/Mumulo’s screenplay (Annie Mumulo, a Groundlings alum and the “Nervous Woman on Plane” who foresees their plane going down) appears as if it’s an unending series of one-liners, curse words and non sequiturs. Come the final shot of the movie, metaphorically (and derogatorily, my apologies), it’s as if two pigs, Annie and her suitor, Officer Nathan Rhodes (Chris O’Dowd) are driving off in the patrol car. I like to think that Rhodes is using the tactic of taking a call to transport Annie to the police station to lock her up for the night to show her the error of her ways.

As an amusing side note, the Danish translation of the film’s title is BRUDEPIGER … that’s pretty funny happenstance.

Biking on the Golden Gate Bridge ... amidst pedestrians ... in one take ... one-handed ...

One glorious afternoon in the Bay area ... one blogger ... one road bike ... one iconic bridge @ 1.7 miles long ... one hand on the handlebars, the other on the (camera) phone ...

See the footage!

Typically, the West sidewalk is dedicated to cyclists while Pedestrians and tourists of the city are only allowed access on the East sidewalk. But for this particular trip and due to Seismic Retrofit Construction, the West sidewalk of the bridge is closed to bikers (through September, 2011) proving once and for all (for cyclists anyway) that the west side is the best side ... unselfishly and considerately, I pedaled, navigating elbow-to-elbow amongst walking natives and other visitors to the fair city. The end of September can’t come soon enough, I’m afraid.

Incidentally, Friday, May 27, 2011, marks the auspicious opening and 74^th anniversary / birthday of this suspended, twin-towered ‘Wonder of the World’. Many happy returns, GG - - may you continue to wear your coat of International Orange proudly - - as you are continuously over-passed by millions of autos and foot traffic and under-passed by scores upon scores, of boats with or without oars, as they travel via the mighty, restless strait under your gorgeous golden gate!

BATTLE: LOS ANGELES: A War on the Nervous System

The act of watching BATTLE: LOS ANGELES is a nauseating experience. At times, it is aggressively nauseating. According to Director Jonathan Liebesman’s BIO, he studied filmmaking at NYU and the AFDA, but minutes into the film, it becomes abundantly clear that he must have graduated with honors from the School of ADHD. Hyperactive, with the inability to focus and like the neurobehavioral developmental disorder of the same name, it is a chronic disturbance that impairs the film and seems likely an irreversible trend to continue in contemporary filmmaking (as it does in reality TV programming). Lukas Ettlin’s camera-in-a-blender cinematography lacks a purpose and seems like it is constantly trying to find something on which to focus - - and I DARE him or the filmmakers to publically produce a working shot list.

Coupled with the advent of the Avid and other non-linear digital-editing technologies, B-roll and camera coverage has put a strangle-hold on the one-take style of filmmaking that easily translates to a filmmaker having no faith in his or her material. It seems ironic that Ettlin, a native of Switzerland that has a world-renowned position on neutrality, was chosen to lens such a film about extraterrestrial beings obliterating the major cities of Earth in order to harvest its water supply. This irresolute shooting style even continues in the newsreel footage that the characters watch on their respective television sets which include quick zooms and pans amid incomprehensible close-up shots and never for once seems to utilize one of the most sacred devices in a DP’s toolkit: a tripod. In the filmmakers’ defense, all of the Tripods were decimated in Steven Spielberg’s WAR OF THE WORLDS. The film’s ‘You Are There’ experience in which it pits you seems as if it’s nothing more than a recruitment video for the United States Marine Corps, which like Paul Verhoeven’s STARSHIP TROOPERS, is a sci-fi film of war with deceptive overtones of propaganda. 116 minutes later, the only place in which I wanted to enlist was my local drugstore for a Tylenol. Thankfully, however, my immunity for such cinematic trivialities is as impenetrable as a bulletproof vest.

Likely confusing is the film’s moniker - - BATTLE: LOS ANGELES - - when the film takes place primarily in Santa Monica, CA. It’s not until the last shot of the film that military choppers actually make a beeline toward downtown Los Angeles proper! Technically, it should’ve been dubbed BATTLE: WESTERN LOS ANGELES COUNTY, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have satisfied focus groups and didn’t seem cool enough a title. More appropriate a title would’ve been simply BATTLE: LA since 90% of it was shot in Shreveport and Baton Rouge, LA. Luckily for Lieutenant Corporal Peter Kerns (Jim Parrack) who is also a featured character in HBO’s “True Blood” in (fictional) Bon Temps, LA, he didn’t have to travel very far - - physically and in acting chops - - from his likeably, simple-minded and good-hearted persona of Hoyt Fortenberry. Kerns, like Staff Sergeant Michael Nantz (Aaron Eckhart) and Technical Sergeant Elena Santos (Michelle Rodriguez) should each be praised for their ability to stand out from all of the visual clutter in which they’re immersed and be somewhat ingratiating.

Regarding the rules of contemporary film-viewing, even if we do see Nantz perform two, successively rapid sit-ups and push-ups (in extreme close-up), after an appropriate suspension of disbelief, we’re to believe he actually did achieve twenty or more reps (or else, once again, an actor was saved through the magic of editing). With his chiseled features and positive work ethic, I do believe he accomplished a hearty workout regimen. And after witnessing the cast in their various lines of duty, although her spoken dialogue is as wooden as a mighty Oak, I’d rather be shadowing Sergeant Santos for her skilled directness and attention-to-detail in the field of battle. Her fellow soldiers (and the filmmakers) unfortunately take their cues from their successful and more highly ranked predecessors (in order of plagiarism): ALIENS, CLOVERFIELD, INDEPENDENCE DAY, DISTRICT 9, WAR OF THE WORLDS (all versions), STARSHIP TROOPERS and PREDATOR in terms of:

• inter-group rapport with intensely-used and repetitive military slang;
• over-the-shoulder documentation of the unfolding events in a war-torn landscape;
• alien beings that are both lanky, lean and often hybridized with artillery capable of firing various types (at varying speeds) of ammo;
• engagement in ground-to-air and air-to-air (dogfight) combat involving drone-like vehicles and force fields on enemy warship(s) and corresponding craft;
• inspecting the multi-layered innards of alien beings in order to understand its compositional makeup;
• discovering a nemeses’ Achilles heel and sharing the vulnerability with others still alive in the human network in order to ‘spread the word’ and ‘take them down’.

"Hey, Bra, don'tcha think we should pack it in?"

(To evacuate the Pacific Ocean/Gulf of Mexico or not to evacuate?)

In these instances, BATTLE: LOS ANGELES is neither vital entertainment nor a relaxing one to enjoy. Why do filmmakers insist on crafting films that are not only a chore to watch, but as detrimental to one’s optical nerves as they are on one’s nervous system? Contrasted with the film that popularized the trend in hand-held cinematography, THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT was like staring at a slightly skewed picture postcard in which its imagery did not seem randomized and was an enjoyable experience in horror. Having seen both a leaked version of the film phenomenon online and in the theatre, I much preferred the grainy and degraded online version that enhanced the contextual horror of not being able to comfortably see or anticipate what (unseen) demons lurked in the characters’ midst. In its blend of color and black and white sequences, the camera that each character holds, is like a virtual extension of one’s eye - - it doesn’t zoom in and zoom out whilst panning simultaneously to upset the viewer’s equilibrium like in Liebesman’s film. One thing I learned from the CITIZEN KANE school of filmmaking is that where there is a lack of depth of field, there is assuredly a lack of depth (of ideas and imagination).

Why all this zoom in, zoom out, pan right, pan even more right poppycock in scenes such as in the flower shop when a soldier is selecting flowers for his nuptials; or when the soldiers are celebrating on a midnight beer-binge or even when a mortally wounded civilian is lying on the floor of a convenience store as he sits on death’s door step? You’d think that more compassion would be paid to a character in a sequence that absolutely requires it - - sure, just keep whipping that camera lens around to induce a headache more so than tears. Not even the potential elements paying homage to Howard Hawks’ RIO BRAVO where Nantz and his marines hole themselves up with a batch of civilians in the Santa Monica Police Department against the invading alien marauders or John Ford’s STAGECOACH when the soldiers navigate their steel wagon commuter bus through an enemy alien warpath can save a film that is already fubar.

Corpsman Jibril Adukwu (Adetokumboh M'Cormack) remarks, “I’d rather be in Afghanistan”. That’s the spirit, brother! (Sarcasm.) What’s tragic about a film in the current military climate where unrest often (and as of this review, currently) resides in nations around the globe, the last thing you want to hear crossing a soldier’s lips is a disregard for the military duty for which he signed up and shirk his responsibilities - - especially when the alien nemeses they’re facing aren’t terribly menacing. They don’t bleed or expel acid. They don’t control humans with their minds. In fact, the film purports that they are just as organic and have a penchant for body armor as do their human targets.

And with all the firepower and military training at their disposal, even ‘Newt’ (Carrie Henn) in James Cameron’s ALIENS showed more cojones than were exhibited by those in Nantz’s platoon - - in addition to using the Almighty’s name in vain during moments of high tension nearly three dozen times and engaging in personal politics with a superior officer that is not only worthy of being court-martialed, but disrespectful to one’s elders. If I may be so bold and act as my own appointed court martial, I find the defendant, BATTLE: LOS ANGELES, for all of the aforementioned, GUILTY and sentenced directly-to-video, followed by the obligatory video game tie-ins and unnecessary sequels to further numb the minds of gamers and promote a harvest of new, unsuspecting recruits to War.

Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?

Prince Feisal: It is written.

T.E. Lawrence: Nothing is written.

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, Dir. David Lean

From the onset of George Nolfi’s THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU, an adapted rendering of Philip K. Dick’s 1954 sci-fi short story, “Adjustment Team”, youthful U.S. Senate hopeful, David Norris (Matt Damon) is occupying his own space in a dimly-lit hallway preparing a speech he will give to a massive crowd of onlookers seen visibly awaiting his entrance beyond a framed glass doorway. Moments later, the door (literally and figuratively) opens to the promising political future of Senator Norris inviting him to make his way down the path toward the podium where he will greet his attendants - - the theme of traveling through doors and following one’s path is popularized in the film’s second act. A rapid montage ensues consisting of energized speeches on behalf of the candidate, baby-kissing that seems commonplace for contemporary politicians, television appearances on “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart” (because historically, interviews with pundits in today’s media culture as opposed to television journalists excite movie audiences aged 15-34) and networking with a considerable amount of New York City’s registered voters. This positive momentum in Norris’ race is followed shortly thereafter by the predictable career-crusher: a lewd photo leaked to a print news source of David pulling a college prank which is destined to hurt his candidacy and securing his senatorial seat.

“Adjustment Team” featured herein

Moments like these in film are hopeful reminders that print news may still be a viable source of investigative journalism instead of downloading deadlines through one’s mobile smartphone device. Furthering this notion of a breakdown in modern technology is the consistency with which many of the principal actor’s cellular phones either don’t work (however, they regularly send/accept text messages) or don’t afford one enough adequate reception to place or field a phone call. What is the reason for this techno-breakdown? It’s not necessarily implied by the filmmakers so it may be that Art imitates Life and is the result of a crowded cellular network or not enough towers to boost signals - - who really knows? Chances are that the disruption on the physical plane of Norris’ New York may be due to a bureau of adjustment technicians, sophisticatedly dressed (with sharp double-breasted suits, designer coats, ties and hats) harbingers of Fate employed by a “Chairman” to confirm that the lives of nearly all humans on Earth, most specifically David, move according to a predetermined plan. This doesn’t sit well with David whose crestfallen political future is replaced with falling in love with a talented ballet dancer, Elise Sellas (Emily Blunt). In typical Phildickian fashion (BLADE RUNNER, TOTAL RECALL, MINORITY REPORT, PAYCHECK, NEXT), David, who is imbued with prized importance in his future will attempt to outrun these agents of destiny to (re-)connect with the woman of his dreams. Thankfully, he has a few tricks up his Brooks Brothers’ sleeves and can count on the employment of chance which can typically unfold in opposition to the Adjusters’ tactics of ‘sticking to The Plan’.

‘The Plan’ takes the shape of a wonderfully-realized notebook whose ‘digitally’ printed entries and ‘tracks’ move in tandem to a subject’s motion during the events that occur in his life. One might relate its pages to a pair of vertically-affixed iPad devices with GPS technology capable of harnessing anyone’s daily movements with an unlimited battery life enclosed inside of a leather-bound jacket. If only the inspiration for the pages motion was half as exciting as what appears in the notebook - - unfortunately, the storyline of the lovers’ relationship falls short of awe-inspiring; only the path in which they take to (re-)unite with each other is exciting. In the realm of ‘political chase’ films, the presidential/senatorial grooming of Chance (Peter Sellers) in Hal Ashby’s BEING THERE and Jay Billington Bulworth (Warren Beatty, BULWORTH) are far more entertaining depictions of Politician vs. The System, whether they’re fortuitously gaining popularity ‘by chance’ or evading gunfire by an unknown assassin while simultaneously leading in the polls. It’s also not terribly convincing that in Nolfi’s film, Blunt’s Elise will be crowned the nation’s best modern dancer and quite frankly, the chemistry between Norris and Sellas is rather flat and like many contemporary filmed romances, can’t hold a candle to such onscreen flirtation as was exhibited between Roger O. Thornhill (Cary Grant) and Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint) in Hitchcock’s thriller of the political chase brand in NORTH BY NORTHWEST.

Chance (Peter Sellers) resembles 'Fate' / an adjustment technician

Norris is literally engaged in a ‘race’ (physically and politically) as he tries to thwart and/or elude the agents of adjustment while continuing to make a living for himself. (It seems Damon’s Norris has been in training for this film throughout his efforts in the Bourne enterprise.) Initially, the agents are tasked with trying to keep Norris and Sellas from coming into contact with each other and manage to successfully do so for three years - - during which time Norris readies himself for his second swing at the senatorial seat. But after carefully researching David’s file and clarification from “the Chairman”, it is revealed that Norris and Sellas are meant to be together. (Perhaps this element is in homage to Powell and Pressburger’s fantasy classic, A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH about an aviator who goes on trial for his life after finding true love when he was instead supposed to die in a plane crash.) Enter into the chase, Thompson (Terence Stamp) a.k.a. “The Hammer”, a first-class Adjuster in his field and a type of rogue agent (of mal-adjustment?), who advises David that love between two individuals can only damage their respective ambitions; in this case, Sellas’ drive to become the country’s greatest living dancer and Norris’ rise to political stardom and becoming President of the United States. Therein lies the course of the film’s protagonists which progresses through ‘The Plan’ notebook from left to right (not necessarily from Point A to Point B) while the adjustment antagonists litter the playing field with physical challenges, downed phone lines and numerous stalling tactics.

Scattered throughout New York City’s landscape are doorways which take on a special significance of inter-city travel and the key to accessing each portal is the hat each adjuster dons in their attired arsenal. Feeling sympathetic to Norris’ case, adjuster Harry Mitchell (Anthony Mackie) supplies David with a schematic of the doorway system and the use of his hat to travel through the cities’ wormholes. A bond of friendship grows between the two and more secrets of the adjustment’s firm are revealed to Norris: that rain and large bodies of water can affect their judgment and that they’re not necessarily angels, although they’ve been called that term by others, like David, in the past. In fact, there’s actually too much exposition that is relayed to David which in my opinion proves that the characters have no faith in the material they’re presenting; to repeatedly prove that something we know does not exist truly does exist eventually breaks one’s suspension of disbelief. Another criticism that must be made is against the film’s score and that it bears an uncanny similarity to the film’s composer, Thomas Newman’s other musical composition for Mike Nichols’ epic mini-series ANGELS IN AMERICA (harmoniously beautiful, however, a deceptive imitation) which also takes place in New York City and involves angel-like constructs - - coincidence?

Watching THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU, another allusion became clear to me, most particularly with Howard Hawks’ THE BIG SLEEP (the 1946 theatrical release) as the act of passing through doors in the former film reminded me of the characters’ execution of opening/closing doors in the latter. This may require further analysis with other feature films (not including Pete Docter’s/PIXAR’s MONSTER’S, INC., where its animated monsters travel from Monstropolis to the human world through the assistance of innumerable closet doors), but Hawks’ film may hold a record of entering through doors which I’ve tallied at 75 which doesn’t include entering/leaving through car doors (30), entering through a window (1), through A.G. Geiger’s beaded curtain (5) and passing through Joe Brody’s draped curtain (2). Sure, it may also be a big stretch that Philip K. Dick shares the namesake of the protagonist in THE BIG SLEEP (Philip Marlowe), but the attire shared between the adjustment technicians and much of the male cast in Marlowe’s orbit are similar in style and sophistication (save for the post-modern Bureau staff members who slightly resemble the appearance and stride of the Chrome Robot officers in George Lucas’ THX 1138). Marlowe and Norris respectively find themselves in the Public Library (Hollywood / New York), not only an institution for study, investigation and the pursuit of knowledge, but the New York Public Library acts as the foundation of the Adjustment Bureau’s headquarters where its countless files on nearly every human life mirrors that of the books that fill each shelf and cubbyhole in the library’s collection.

Much like a book in a lending library, I would recommend checking out THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU for its imaginative tugging at the veil of reality and peeking behind its fabric to witness an author’s perspective of how things work. In a way, the idea of sharing in this voyeuristic series of moments is rather subversive - - I just wish it would’ve been carried out even further with less narrative exposition. And I can admit to being affected by the film’s sinister charm in that I may think twice about the next person I meet who’s wearing a hat or any other type of headgear.