The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951)

The Day the Earth Stood Still 1951 movie poster

 

Robert Wise’s The Day the Earth Stood Still is one of the few essen­tial sci­ence fic­tion movies that has lasted, over­com­ing dated spe­cial effects, act­ing styles, and the end of the Cold War (provider of sub­text for many a hor­ror story). In the com­pany of For­bid­den Planet (Shakespeare’s The Tem­pest in Space), The Blob (an inva­sive species con­sumes the pop­u­la­tion), and Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers (small­town Amer­ica suc­cumbs to the ulti­mate con­for­mity), it con­tin­ues to res­onate decades later, even being reimag­ined in 2008 as an ecoparable.

Imme­di­ately strik­ing is the dis­so­nant score by Bernard Her­rmann, of Psy­cho fame. The evoca­tive piece over the open­ing cred­its sounds just like an out­take from Brian Eno’s ambi­ent album On Land, thirty years early.

Michael Rennie as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Stillevi­dently they have Bryl­creem in space

Wise shows us humanity’s first alien con­tact through the quaint fil­ter of period radio and tele­vi­sion; rest assured, “sci­en­tists and mil­i­tary men” are on the case. Klaatu (Michael Ren­nie), a suave cau­casian humanoid male alien, and his pet robot Gort (Lock Mar­tin) park their UFO on a base­ball field on The Mall in Wash­ing­ton D.C. His polite request for an audi­ence with the United Nations goes rebuffed, for dur­ing the height of the Cold War, not even a fly­ing saucer, an alien in a sil­ver jump­suit, and a giant robot is enough to con­vince the nations of the world to sit down and talk. Klaatu’s fly­ing saucer is sur­rounded by hilar­i­ously lax secu­rity, and he is briefly taken into cus­tody before hand­ily escap­ing into the D.C. suburbs.

Klaatu has learned mid-Atlantic accented Eng­lish from radio and tele­vi­sion broad­casts, and out­wardly appears per­fectly humanoid right down to his slicked-back hair (they evi­dently have Bryl­creem in space), so all he needs to blend in with the masses is to sim­ply steal someone’s dry clean­ing. He checks into a spare room, with some shots directly quot­ing Alfred Hitchcock’s 1944 clas­sic The Lodger. He befriends young Bobby (Billy Gray) with­out a hint of sus­pi­cion, dat­ing the film more than any­thing else.

Klaatu tries to get his mes­sage through to a paci­fist sci­en­tist, but he’s dis­cov­ered, shot, and dies. Gort, pro­grammed to acti­vate in such an event, threat­ens to exact an unspec­i­fied vio­lence upon human­ity. But Klaatu has already taught his inter­species ladyfriend Helen (Patri­cia Neal) the robot-mollifying fail-safe code­phrase “Klaatu barada nikto.” Gort ceases his hos­til­i­ties, and instead revives Klaatu using machin­ery on their ship. Klaatu claims his new lease on life is only for a lim­ited time, for true res­ur­rec­tion is only the domain of “the Almighty Spirit”. The remark­able fact that he believes in a God goes unre­marked upon; both he and the humans to whom he’s speak­ing sim­ply take it for granted they’re talk­ing about the same deity. This line stands out for a rea­son; the dia­logue was report­edly inserted at the request of the MPAA, who objected to Klaatu’s god­like pow­ers of res­ur­rec­tion. Fail­ing to reach the world’s lead­ers, he set­tles for the next-best thing: an assem­bled group of sci­en­tists (all, of course, white males). Mes­sage deliv­ered, he leaves Earth in a huff.

Lock Martin as Gort in the Day the Earth Stood StillKlaatu barada nikto! Don’t tase me, bro!

So, let’s recap: an oth­er­worldly vis­i­tor with a mes­sage of peace-or-else is exe­cuted, rises again, and ascends into the heav­ens. Do I have to spell it out?

But if Klaatu is anal­o­gous to Jesus, let’s take a closer look at his mes­sage. He claims Earth­lings’ war­like behav­ior is of no inter­est to the space­far­ing species of the uni­verse, as long as it’s con­tained to one planet. But the inter­stel­lar com­mu­nity is begin­ning to fear that Earth­lings are about to dis­cover inter­stel­lar travel, and they will not per­mit human­ity to bring their atomic weapons with them. Klaatu is the rep­re­sen­ta­tive of other soci­eties that have already passed through this phase, whom, unable to curb their vio­lent impulses on their own, came up with a solu­tion to police them­selves: a fleet of lethal robots pro­grammed to erad­i­cate any­one that vio­lates the truce. So they use weapons to deter the use of other weapons? What kind of mes­sage is that to a Cold War audi­ence liv­ing under the night­mare of Mutu­ally Ensured Destruc­tion? To the 21st Cen­tury viewer, the imme­di­ate worry is whether or not we could ever trust an arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence with impar­tially keep­ing the peace. Indeed, whole sci­ence fic­tion fran­chises have been built upon that very theme, includ­ing 2001, Blade Run­ner, The Ter­mi­na­tor, The Matrix, and Bat­tlestar Galactica.

But per­haps I’m being too lit­eral. It’s a sim­ple movie, but is it a sim­ple anal­ogy? Is the army of Gorts a sym­bol for Earth’s nuclear arse­nal? No, because that’s exactly what Klaatu wants humans to put away. Accord­ing to The New York Times, pro­ducer Julian Blaustein “told the press [the film] was an argu­ment in favor of a ‘strong United Nations.’” But the U.N. is den­i­grated as petty and inef­fec­tive in the movie; they won’t deign to gather to merely lis­ten to Klaatu’s speech. The over­all mes­sage is very cyn­i­cal: even more advanced aliens aren’t able to curb their vio­lent impulses on their own. Klaatu is here to threaten, not save us. If we embark out into space bear­ing weapons, we’re toast.

The Day the Earth Stood Still is based on 1940 short story “Farewell to the Mas­ter” by Harry Bates. Wal­ter Tre­vis’ 1963 novel The Man Who Fell to Earth (filmed in 1976 by Nicholas Roeg, star­ring David Bowie) shares some plot ele­ments (the alien Thomas New­ton too bears dia­monds as seed money), but veers off into another direc­tion alto­gether. New­ton has no inter­est in steer­ing humanity’s course. He’s here on a secret mis­sion to save his own peo­ple, but falls prey to his own all-too-human weaknesses.


Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Cool Britannia: State of Play

State of Play movie poster

 

The 2003 BBC minis­eries State of Play is noth­ing less than six straight hours of intel­li­gent drama, lib­er­ally spiced with sus­pense, action, and tasty plot twists. The entire epic tale is deliv­ered by a ver­i­ta­ble plethora of British Isles telly & movie who’s who: writer Paul Abbot, direc­tor David Yates, and actors David Mor­ris­sey, John Simm, Kelly Mac­don­ald, Polly Walker, Bill Nighy, and James McAvoy. Abbot is appar­ently a super­star tele­vi­sion writer in the UK, and Yates directed the last two Harry Pot­ter films (as well as reunit­ing Nighy and Mac­don­ald in 2005 for The Girl in the Café — read The Dork Report review).

State of Play is an espe­cially good tonic after hap­pen­ing to recently watch the dour The Inter­na­tional (read The Dork Report review), which falls more or less into the same genre cat­e­gory. The key dif­fer­en­tial is a heathy dash of comic relief that never crosses over into farce, mostly sup­plied by the sub­limely quirky Bill Nighy. But more impor­tantly, the intri­cate tale of high-level polit­i­cal con­spir­acy feels per­ti­nent. The Inter­na­tional, although based on an actual bank­ing scan­dal (a topic that could not be more timely), sab­o­taged its plau­si­bil­ity by lim­it­ing the pro­tag­o­nists to two lone wolfs that take on a crooked multi­na­tional finan­cial con­glom­er­ate on their lone­some. Here, numer­ous fleshed-out cops and reporters alter­nately clash and col­lab­o­rate as they chase down a gar­gan­tuan story. State of Play is actu­ally both a clas­sic news­pa­per story (like All the President’s Men) and a police pro­ce­dural (like The French Con­nec­tion). It’s worth not­ing that each of these gen­res are about the piec­ing together of sto­ries, and the sus­pense comes from the audi­ence fol­lows along with them as the dis­cover the pieces of the nar­ra­tive. Granted, the lux­u­ri­ous six-hour run­ning time was a lux­ury The Inter­na­tional could not enjoy.

Bill Nighy, John Simm, Kelly Macdonald in State of PlayThe Her­ald news­room fol­lows the money in State of Play

The tele­vi­sion ser­ial was undoubt­edly timely in 2003 and con­tin­ues to be now, proven by its Amer­i­can fea­ture film remake in 2009. After suf­fer­ing through 8 years of a Bush/Cheney admin­is­tra­tion, Amer­i­cans can inti­mately relate to oil com­pa­nies med­dling in gov­ern­men­tal oper­a­tions. Although State of Play is fic­tional, the affair between a Mem­ber of Par­lia­ment and a staff mem­ber that winds up dead inescapably calls to mind US Rep­re­sen­ta­tive Gary Condit’s affair intern Chan­dra Levy, found mur­dered in 2001. A sub­plot involv­ing an MP’s com­pro­mised expense account now looks even more timely than Abbot could have pre­dicted in 2003, con­sid­er­ing the atro­cious wide­spread abuse that cur­rently threat­ens to remove Gor­don Brown and pos­si­bly even the Labour Party from power.

David Morrissey & John Simm in State of PlayThe Next Doc­tor faces off against The Mas­ter for the first time

Apart from the some­times over­en­thu­si­as­tic edit­ing (mak­ing the series feel a bit like the bril­liant satire Hot Fuzz), the only mis­step is Nicholas Hooper’s per­cus­sive, bom­bas­tic score, includ­ing an incon­gru­ous didgeridoo-infused theme sud­denly intro­duced in part six. But one of the series’ great­est plea­sures is to hear Kelly Mac­don­ald (a Dork Report crush ever since her unfor­get­table per­for­mance as the ulti­mate naughty school­girl in Trainspot­ting) pro­nounce “mur­der” with all the won­der­ful extra diph­thongs her Scot­tish accent provides.


Offi­cial site: www.bbc.co.uk/stateofplay

Must read: BBC’s State of Play Left Me in a State of Awe on Pop Cul­ture Nerd

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

California Guitar Trio & Tony Levin’s Stick Men, live at the B.B. King Blues Club, New York, June 22, 2009

 

The Cal­i­for­nia Gui­tar Trio may not actu­ally be from Cal­i­for­nia (they actu­ally hail from Bel­gium, Japan, and the US), but there are indeed three of them and they each play a gui­tar. In a way, that tells you every­thing and noth­ing you need to know. As des­ig­nated spokesman Paul Richards explained dur­ing their June 22nd show at The B.B. King Blues Club in New York City’s Times Square, they met as stu­dents in one of Robert Fripp’s early Gui­tar Craft courses. The promis­ing pupils became mem­bers of the tour­ing out­fits The League of Crafty Gui­tarists and The Robert Fripp String Quin­tet, and formed the CGT to present their orig­i­nal reper­toire inter­spersed with well-chosen pro­gres­sive rock and clas­si­cal cov­ers. As a King Crim­son fan, I’ve wound up see­ing them live no less than three times, all with­out hav­ing specif­i­cally meant to. The 1992 R.F.S.Q. show in Philadel­phia still stands in my mind as one of the best con­certs I’ve attended, and I recall their open­ing sets for King Crim­son in 1995 (also in Philly) and The Trey Gunn Band in New York in 1997 going over great with audi­ences (dur­ing most con­certs I’ve been to, audi­ences can’t be pried away from the bar dur­ing the open­ing act). Richards also told the crowd they had been record­ing and tour­ing the world for 18 years, long since deserv­ing to cease being described as for­mer stu­dents of Fripp. (but a lit­tle name­drop­ping never hurts!)

California Guitar Trio liveCal­i­for­nia Gui­tar Trio

Mon­day night’s con­cert was also an unmiss­able chance to see Tony Levin’s Stick Men, a new band formed with fel­low stick player Michael Bernier and drum­mer Pat Mas­telotto. The droll, genial Levin is one of the world’s great­est bassists, a fan-favorite (lis­ten for the inevitable moment when crowds go wild as Peter Gabriel intro­duces him on any live album he’s released in the past 25 years), and not to men­tion one of the world’s longest-running blog­gers. Mas­telotto is a pow­er­house, a true drum demon obvi­ously enjoy­ing him­self enor­mously on his array of acoustic drums plus var­i­ous elec­tron­ics a drum geek would have to iden­tify (com­ments below, please). He shat­tered a stick at one point (star­tling Bernier as a bit of shrap­nel flew in his direc­tion), but deftly swapped the casu­alty for a new one. I’m not famil­iar with Bernier’s music, but as if his tal­ents weren’t obvi­ous on Mon­day night, Levin gave him props as a player who influ­enced his own tech­nique (mean­ing a lot com­ing from the leg­end that helped pio­neer the Chap­man Stick instru­ment in the first place). Also, Bernier’s got a lit­tle bit of a Hugh Grant thing going on.

California Guitar Trio liveCal­i­for­nia Gui­tar Trio & Tyler Trot­ter per­form Tubu­lar Bells

Gen­er­ally speak­ing, the Trio gave a mel­low, con­tem­pla­tive show, while the Stick Men came out blast­ing with some very dense, funky, mostly instru­men­tal prog rock. They were really, really loud — very glad I brought my earplugs — and even chased a few peo­ple out of the venue. I’m shame­fully behind on my CGT and Levin album-buying, so I wasn’t famil­iar with much of the later reper­toire of either trio. I only own the first three CGT albums (includ­ing what I think is a rare copy of an epony­mous cd I pur­chased at the R.F.S.Q. show, that isn’t even listed on their offi­cial site). Copies of their lat­est are on order from Ama­zon as I write, but I picked up a pristine-sounding live record­ing avail­able for sale right after the show. Here’s the set list accord­ing to Hideyo Moriya’s Road­cam, along with some of my sub­jec­tive comments:

  1. Punta Patri
  2. Unmei — Beethoven’s 5th Sym­phony rearranged by Moriya in a 1960s surf gui­tar style that totally, unex­pect­edly works.
  3. Cathe­dral Peak
  4. Tubu­lar Bells / And I Know / Walk Don’t Run — A con­densed ver­sion of the album-length pro­gres­sive rock epic by Mike Old­field (per­haps more famously known as the theme music from The Exor­cist). Their sound guy Tyler Trot­ter joined the band on melodium.
  5. Port­land Rain
  6. Androm­eda
  7. TX
  8. Moon­light Sonata — Richards briefly described Fripp’s Gui­tar Craft les­son of “cir­cu­la­tion” as a key tech­nique that has stuck with them. Here they’ve dis­trib­uted the notes among three gui­tars, pass­ing sin­gle notes from one to another. I’m not an expert, but when it comes to clas­si­cal music, Bach in par­tic­u­lar seems well-suited for the guitar.
  9. Echoes — Long­time Pink Floyd fans (myself included, I must admit) rec­og­nized it from the first note, but when the major melody appeared, the audi­ence went nuts, even more so than when some King Crim­son cov­ers appeared later in the evening! The CGT ver­sion includes a gor­geous ambi­ent inter­lude, stretch­ing the bounds of what an acoustic gui­tar can do when con­nected to all sorts of elec­tronic devices.
  10. Eve — Levin joined them for this bal­lad, sound­ing a bit like his own “Waters of Eden”
  11. Mel­rose Avenue — A great, terse rocker. With Levin & Mastelotto.
  12. Block­head — With all three Stick Men. One of my favorite CGT tunes, but they omit­ted any kind of solo (Fripp him­self plays a stun­ner on the R.F.S.Q. album The Bridge Between). Amaz­ingly, they started cir­cu­lat­ing power chords.

The Stick Men stayed on stage for the next set, which included the fol­low­ing (and a lot more):

  • Sasquatch
  • Red — The clas­sic King Crim­son barn­stormer, which Levin mod­estly iden­ti­fied as “we didn’t write that one.”
  • Indis­ci­pline — Sung by Bernier.
  • Soup (or Superconductor?)
  • Encore: Larks Tongues in Aspic Part II — An effortless-seeming ver­sion with the CGT. King Crim­son fans will know what I’m talk­ing about when I say here’s another pos­si­ble inter­pre­ta­tion of the “Dou­ble Trio” concept.

California Guitar Trio & Stick Men liveCal­i­for­nia Gui­tar Trio & Stick Men

Levin con­grat­u­lated an audi­ence mem­ber in the first row for con­sum­ing a slice of cheese­cake dur­ing one of the rock­ier num­bers. He also described their recent, greatly mean­der­ing Euro­pean tour, which sounded very excit­ing to some­one with a nor­mal day job. No doubt a pro­fes­sional musi­cian will quickly counter that that much trav­el­ing and border-crossing is gru­el­ing. But if there’s time for even a few days off along the way, it sounds to me like a great way to see the world. Or maybe it’s just hell.

Tony Levin's Stick Men liveTony Levin’s Stick Men

Thanks for read­ing, and I invite any­one to please com­ment below. And finally, if any­one cares enough to have read this far, one last thing: fel­low New York­ers might know what I’m talk­ing about when I say that some days New York is more New Yorky than usual. Mon­day was one of those days, and the nut­ters were out in force. On my way to the venue, I was blessed (or cursed, maybe, I’m not sure) but a green-clad street preacher wield­ing a cross made of twisted wire. Min­utes later, the guy sit­ting next to me in Star­bucks got an ear­ful from a totally dif­fer­ent preacher. And then, in B.B. King’s, one audi­ence mem­ber in the back near me was obvi­ously stoned; not on some­thing rel­a­tively harm­less that merely makes you stu­pid, but rather on the sort of thing that makes you manic and insane (cocaine? speed?). He couldn’t stop loudly bab­bling for the entire con­cert, and was almost lit­er­ally bounc­ing off the walls. I kept hop­ing the man­age­ment would toss him out, but no luck.


Offi­cial band sites: www.cgtrio.com and www.tonylevin.com

Buy the Cal­i­for­nia Gui­tar Trio’s Echoes and Tony Levin’s Stick Man from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

I’ve Loved You So Long

ive_loved_you_so_long.jpg

 

Writer / direc­tor Philippe Claudel’s I’ve Loved You So Long is a text­book exer­cise in the dra­matic with­hold­ing of nar­ra­tive infor­ma­tion. Juli­ette (Kristin Scott Thomas) is released from prison after serv­ing 15 years for an unspec­i­fied crime, and is unwill­ingly housed with her sis­ter Léa (Elsa Zyl­ber­stein). Léa is ini­tially her only ally, and her hus­band Luc (Serge Haz­anavi­cius) is dis­trust­ful for what turns out to be very good rea­son. Léa and Luc have adopted two chil­dren (a big clue to the cen­tral mys­tery of the movie), includ­ing their pre­co­cious older daugh­ter P’tit Lys (Lise Ségur, a rare movie tyke that is actu­ally endear­ing). As part of her pro­ba­tion, Juli­ette is required to sign in weekly with a lonely cop (Frédéric Pier­rot) with even more psy­cho­log­i­cal issues than she. The slow leak of infor­ma­tion ramps up the drama, but we’re told just enough to see that the movie is actu­ally about Juliette’s grad­ual, some­times painful reen­try into life, not her mys­te­ri­ous crime.

Kristen Scott Thomas in I've Loved You So Long

Thomas’s unshowy per­for­mance is act­ing of the high­est degree. The British already proved her flu­ency in French in Tell No One (read The Dork Report review), although a line of dia­logue here explains away her accent. She doesn’t dis­tract by invit­ing the audi­ence to be con­stantly impressed at how tal­ented she is. But that said, there were a few moments where I mar­veled at the com­plex emo­tions she con­veyed. Two scenes in par­tic­u­lar stand out: Juli­ette almost phys­i­cally recoils when intro­duced to Léa’s col­league Michel (Lau­rent Grévill) and when reunited with her estranged mother. Also watch for the almost inde­scrib­ably com­plex expres­sion that plays across her face when she meets a sleazy bloke in a pub shortly after her release.

Kristen Scott Thomas and Elsa Zylberstein in I've Loved You So Long

Only two fac­tors kept me from con­sid­er­ing the movie more highly. There’s a seem­ingly extra­ne­ous and unre­solved sub­plot about Léa ignor­ing a stu­dent who appears to have a crush on her, and claims he’s a sub­ject of prej­u­dice. Was the point merely that Léa is an attrac­tive, sym­pa­thetic per­son? Sec­ondly, the movie arguably descends into talky melo­drama at the very end; with­out reveal­ing too much, we learn the truth about what moti­vated Juliette’s crime, and why she stub­bornly kept her silence for so long.


Offi­cial movie site: www.sonyclassics.com/ivelovedyousolong

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Milk

Milk movie poster

 

Any friend of The Dork Report will know that I almost uni­ver­sally hate biopics. As I’ve com­plained in my reviews of Con­trol, The Div­ing Bell and the But­ter­fly, and even Walk Hard, I believe that the fea­ture film is fun­da­men­tally ill suited for biog­ra­phy. One seem­ingly minor les­son from col­lege that wound up stick­ing with me is Edgar Allen Poe’s def­i­n­i­tion of the short story as a prose piece that can be expe­ri­enced in a sin­gle sit­ting (The Phi­los­o­phy of Com­po­si­tion, 1846). No one expects a seri­ous por­trait of a person’s entire life in a few pages, so why should we applaud a movie? The fea­ture film’s two-hour run­ning time is more akin to a short story than to a book-length novel or biog­ra­phy, and yet the biopic is a dom­i­nant genre in movies. I would argue the pri­mary rea­son is that they give ambi­tious actors the oppor­tu­nity to exer­cise their imi­ta­tion skills. It pleases audi­ences who per­ceive “true sto­ries” as being of greater merit than fic­tion (mere make-believe!), and pan­der­ing to the Acad­emy, who love noth­ing bet­ter than a tech­ni­cally impres­sive mim­icry of an addict or hand­i­capped per­son. I actu­ally wel­comed Walk Hard, for although a ter­ri­ble movie itself, it finally mocked the for­mu­laic drug-addicted musi­cian biopics Ray, Walk the Line, La Vie En Rose, and El Cantante.

Sean Penn in Milk

Direc­tor Gus Van Sant and writer Dustin Lance Black’s Milk, on the other hand, strikes me as less insin­cere than its peers. For one thing, it exam­ines only a ten-year span of a man’s life, avoid­ing the genre’s usual Cliff’s Notes-like approach to sum­ma­riz­ing a famous figure’s life into a series of high­lights. And yes, Sean Penn did win an Oscar for a lively, spir­ited per­for­mance worlds apart from his nat­ural demeanor. But I believe he, like every­one else involved, approached the project with noth­ing but the high­est integrity, and truly hoped the timely project could affect pub­lic opinion.

Milk was in the­aters dur­ing shortly after the national debate over California’s Propo­si­tion 8, which denied the right to marry to a sig­nif­i­cant por­tion of the pop­u­la­tion (thanks to com­menter Sap­pho­crat below for the cor­rec­tion). It’s impos­si­ble to miss the par­al­lels to Har­vey Milk’s strug­gle in 1978 against Propo­si­tion 6, which would have enabled the fir­ing of homo­sex­ual teach­ers and (this is the truly amaz­ing part) any­one that sup­ported them. One of the movie’s biggest achieve­ments is that it empha­sized the sheer urgency of the gay rights move­ment. Equal­ity was not just some­thing that’s time had come. Gays were not only fight­ing for rights they hoped some day to have; they were fight­ing to keep the what rights they did have from being taken away.

Josh Brolin in Milk

I must admit that all I knew about Har­vey Milk was the tan­gen­tial bit of trivia that his assas­sin Dan White (Josh Brolin) was the first to employ the infa­mous “Twinkie Defense” in court, claim­ing that a diet of junk food altered his body chem­istry and cre­ated a tem­po­rary state of insan­ity. Har­vey was orig­i­nally a New York insur­ance man, clos­eted from cowork­ers and fam­ily, but not so much so that he couldn’t brazenly pick up a stranger on the sub­way (with gay­dar so fine-tuned that he could imme­di­ately tell that what I would assume to a normal-looking dude in 70s fash­ions was a fel­low Friend of Dorothy). Scott Smith (James Franco) urges him to move to Cal­i­for­nia where he can live more hon­estly. Har­vey ini­tially is happy to just live his new life, but becomes politi­cized as he faces prej­u­di­cial oppo­si­tion to his small business.

Although it may seem to con­tra­dict part of my tirade against biopics at the begin­ning on this post, it might have been illu­mi­nat­ing to see a lit­tle more of Har­vey as a younger man, before he blos­somed into a polit­i­cally aware, out man. We only learn through pass­ing dia­logue that he hid not only his sex­u­al­ity but even Scott’s very exis­tence from his fam­ily. If the aim was to com­press the essence of Har­vey Milk into a short-form nar­ra­tive, it strikes me that the major dra­matic arc would be his trans­for­ma­tion from a clos­eted man into some­one that would later ask an entire com­mu­nity to come out at once.


Offi­cial movie site: www.milkthemovie.com

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

The International

The International movie poster

 

The Inter­na­tional is a dis­ap­point­ment com­ing from Tom Tyk­wer, direc­tor of the kinetic clas­sic Run Lola Run, the mys­ti­cal The Princess & The War­rior, and the lunatic, per­verse Per­fume. The Inter­na­tional is by far his most con­ven­tional in sub­ject mat­ter, and lack­ing his energy and spirit. It espe­cially suf­fers in com­par­i­son to its clos­est con­tem­po­rary rivals in the globe-trotting action/suspense field, Jason Bourne and James Bond.

Eric Singer’s orig­i­nal screen­play unrav­els the sort of para­noid con­spir­acy the­ory that only exists in fic­tion, but in fact is based on an actual scan­dal involv­ing the Bank of Credit and Com­merce Inter­na­tional (BCCI), which col­lapsed in 1991. But the fic­tion­al­ized story makes use of ridicu­lous con­trivances that reduce a mas­sive inter­na­tional inves­ti­ga­tion down to a two-handed oper­a­tion involv­ing dis­graced Inter­pol agent Louis Salinger (Clive Owen) and Man­hat­tan Dis­trict Attor­ney (and MILF) Eleanor Whit­man (Naomi Watts).

Clive Owen and Naomi Watts in The InternationalFor the love of God, will some­body please tell me where Tyk­wer hid the camera?!

Speak­ing of, The Inter­na­tional is a true waste of Watts’ tal­ent (watch Mul­hol­land Drive and Funny Games for a primer). A poten­tially shock­ing moment comes when her char­ac­ter is hit by a car. Not to sound blood­thirsty, but it might have been very inter­est­ing for her char­ac­ter to make an untimely exit from the movie, à la Julianne Moore in Chil­dren of Men (read The Dork Report review) and Janet Leigh in Psy­cho. But she escapes with just an arm brace, with as lit­tle impact on the plot as on her body.

Clive Owen in The InternationalToy Guggen­heim… toy Guggenheim…

The International’s best pur­pose is per­haps as porn for those with an archi­tec­tural fetish. Much has been made of the production’s recre­ation of New York’s Guggen­heim Museum inte­rior on a Euro­pean sound­stage. But the extended fire­fight sequence is dis­ap­point­ing and clumsy. Michael Mann is often cred­ited for being the mas­ter of such sequences, and for good rea­son. He uti­lizes his total com­mand of space in Heat’s street shootout and Collateral’s night­club bat­tle. You never for­get where all the char­ac­ters are in rela­tion to each other and the sur­round­ing archi­tec­ture. Like­wise Paul Green­grass’ work in The Bourne Supremacy and Ulti­ma­tum. But The International’s grand shootout is a sense­less jum­ble, and even the total num­ber of assailants seems to wildly fluc­tu­ate. First there are two… no, four… no, eight! And the last two are right above you… no, wait, they’re loi­ter­ing on the ground floor. A mess.


Offi­cial movie site: www.everybodypays.com

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

The Decemberists Live at Radio City Music Hall, June 10, 2009

 

Robyn Hitch­cock & The Venus 3 (includ­ing Peter Buck of R.E.M. and Bill Rieflin of Min­istry, R.E.M., and The Humans) opened with an enjoy­able 30-minute set. I was unfa­mil­iar with Hitch­cock, but by total coin­ci­dence had just days before seen his appear­ance in Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Get­ting Mar­ried. His quirky non sequiturs between songs (“I had a root canal this morn­ing, which is why I’m wear­ing a hat” — which he wasn’t) con­trasted with his focused, tight songs. The Decem­berists’ Colin Meloy briefly joined in on tam­bourine and back­ing vocals.

Robyn Hitchcock and The Venus 3 live at Radio City Music HallColin Meloy joins Robyn Hitch­cock & The Venus 3 as they warm up the crowd

I’m a late­comer to The Decem­berists, only catch­ing on with their third album The Crane Wife (2006), which fea­tures a guest appear­ance by Laura Veirs, one of my favorite singer/songwriters, on the won­der­ful track “Yan­kee Bay­o­net.” My inter­est was fur­ther piqued by a review (that I now can’t track down) that com­pared them to early Gen­e­sis, of which I am also a long­time fan. It’s a bold com­par­i­son, for few would clas­sify The Decem­berists’ music as pro­gres­sive rock. But it is fit­ting inso­far as their com­po­si­tions are often epic nar­ra­tives, encom­pass­ing styles rang­ing from pas­toral folk to hard rock, all per­formed with high musi­cian­ship that eschews flashy indi­vid­ual solo­ing. Fur­ther bol­ster­ing their prog rock cred, the first half of The Decem­berists’ set was the entirety of their 2009 con­cept album, The Haz­ards of Love.

In ret­ro­spect, a con­cept album was inevitable for a such a band that had already shown a pen­chant for lengthy story-based songs like “The Mariner’s Revenge Song” (on Picaresque, 2005) and “The Crane Wife Parts 1–3.” Com­pared to Gen­e­sis’ grand but slightly incon­sis­tent epics “Supper’s Ready” and The Lamb Lies Down on Broad­way, The Haz­ards of Love is actu­ally one of the most cohe­sive con­cept albums I’ve heard. It rivals The Who’s Quadrophe­nia for clar­ity of vision and cohe­sive­ness of its recur­ring musi­cal themes.

The Decemberists live at Radio City Music HallMy cam­era is momen­tar­ily over­whelmed by the proceedings

An instru­men­tal organ intro (sorry to keep bring­ing them up, but pos­si­bly an idea bor­rowed from Gen­e­sis’ “Watcher of the Skies”) launches the epic fairy tale. The role of a girl that falls in love with a for­est crea­ture is sung on record and live by the airy, sweet voice of Laven­der Diamond’s Becky Stark. My Bright­est Diamond’s Shara Wor­den, a pint-sized, multi-instrumentalist pow­er­house, blowed everybody’s hair back as the evil for­est queen. How does a girl that small have such pow­er­ful pipes?

Although a few tracks can stand on their own (espe­cially “The Rake’s Song”), the entire suite deserves to be heard in one piece. It was a very bold move to release a 58-minute song suite at a time when the long-player album is dying, and music is con­sumed track-by-track and ran­domly shuf­fled by iPod algo­rithms. Per­son­ally, I had found the album a lit­tle slow to absorb, but now that I’ve wit­nessed the whole thing live… wow. It’s bril­liant, and made to be expe­ri­enced live, in one piece.

The Decemberists live at Radio City Music HallBecky Stark & Shara Wor­den join The Decem­berists to cover Heart’s “Crazy On You”

The sec­ond set mostly fea­tured songs I didn’t know, so it’s time for me to visit Ama­zon MP3 to buy up their back cat­a­logue. Peter Buck came back out to join them for a cover of “Begin the Begin” from my favorite R.E.M. album Lifes Rich Pageant (I was unable to shake Michael Stipe’s hook “The insur­gency began and you missed it” from my head the entire walk home from the show). Stark and Wor­den rejoined the band for a full-blooded cover of all things, Heart’s “Crazy On You.” Their ren­di­tion was totally faith­ful, and yet some­how man­aged to sound both like a Decem­berist orig­i­nal as well as some­thing Fleet­wood Mac might have done. They ended on a high note for me, with one of my per­sonal favorite Decem­berist songs, “Sons & Daughters.”


Offi­cial band site: www.decemberists.com

Buy The Dece­me­berists’ The Haz­ards of Love and Robyn Hitch­cock & The Venus 3’s Good­night Oslo from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Nine Inch Nails & Jane’s Addiction live at Jones Beach, June 7, 2009

 

STREET SWEEPER SOCIAL CLUB

Street Sweeper Social Club, the new band formed by Rage Against the Machine gui­tarist Tom Morello, opened. Their badass cover of M.I.A.‘s “Paper Planes” was a highlight.

Nine Inch Nails live at Jones Beach New York

NINE INCH NAILS

It felt wrong some­how to see a band as moody and dark as Nine Inch Nails play while the sun was still up. But clouds soon moved in, obscur­ing a sun­set that would have been impres­sive over the water, mak­ing every­thing suit­ably gloomy and very, very cold as NIN chased sum­mer away. This stripped-down four-piece ver­sion of the band played a great cover of David Bowie’s “I’m Afraid of Amer­i­cans,” the best song Nine Inch Nails could have but never wrote, and ended with the over­whelm­ingly sad “Hurt.” Sur­pris­ingly omit­ted was “Closer,” what I would assume to be a req­ui­site entry in any NIN set list (but the end theme did fea­ture in a short instru­men­tal jam). Speak­ing of, said jam was one of only two instru­men­tal por­tions of the set (the other being The Fragile’s ambi­ent inter­lude “The Frail”). A lit­tle dis­ap­point­ing, given that Trent Reznor has been becom­ing more and more musi­cally exper­i­men­tal and adven­tur­ous of late, with whole chunks of The Frag­ile and the entirety of the mas­sive two-disc Ghosts being instru­men­tal. Per­son­ally, when it comes to Nine Inch Nails, the music (not so much the gloomy lyrics) is where the action is for me.

Nine Inch Nails live at Jones Beach New York

JANE’S ADDICTION

All thanks to Reznor for play­ing peace­keeper in reunit­ing the noto­ri­ously frac­tious and unsta­ble Jane’s Addic­tion, at least for the length of the NIN/JA tour. Basi­cally a funk/prog/metal power-trio fronted by the antics of Perry Far­rell, a… unique indi­vid­ual whose ego (he once re-released a raft of Jane’s Addic­tion songs under just his own name on a solo great­est hits album) has often cre­ated con­flict with bassist Eric Avery. The full moon peek­ing out from the clouds prob­a­bly only added to Farrell’s lunacy. They opened with their mag­num opus “Three Days,” an epic fea­tur­ing more dis­crete gui­tar solos by Dave Navarro than I could count. Hon­estly, where do you go from there? They kept find­ing high points to hit, how­ever, includ­ing “Ocean Size” and the closer (what else?) “Jane Says.” It only took a few songs for the age­less Navarro’s vest to dis­ap­pear (he must have one heck of a per­sonal trainer, not to men­tion a chest hair waxer), and Perry’s shirt fol­lowed shortly thereafter.

Jane's Addiction live at Jones Beach New York

THE FUTURE

Reznor has made vague noises about Nine Inch Nails com­ing to some kind of end fol­low­ing this tour. It remains to be seen whether he means retir­ing the name in favor of solo work, start­ing a new band, or sim­ply ceas­ing to tour for a while. He’s report­edly been clean & sober for some time now, and engaged to be mar­ried, so more power to him. If he retreats now, he’d be going out on a high note. I hope the orig­i­nal lineup of Jane’s Addic­tion man­ages to keep it together to con­tinue work­ing in some form or another. With only two stu­dio albums to their credit (I’m not count­ing the awful Strays, writ­ten & recorded with­out Avery’s inim­itable bass), the world needs some new songs from them.

GETTING THERE AND BACK

I had a lit­tle unex­pected adven­ture on the long trip from Man­hat­tan all the way out to Jones Beach. Met a few fans on the Long Island Rail­road as we debated the var­i­ous ways of get­ting there, all of which suck. Thanks to Kim & friend for the impromptu car ride to the venue! But I didn’t have the same luck on the way back, an ordeal that included wait­ing a full hour for a LIRR train to arrive. Pic­ture dozens of hun­gry fans, shiv­er­ing atop an ele­vated plat­form in the mid­dle of nowhere.

Jane's Addiction live at Jones Beach New York

THE VENUE

Blech. Sur­rounded on three sides by water, Jones Beach sounds nice in the­ory, but in per­son it’s cold. Never mind if you’re going to a show there dur­ing the sum­mer; dress warmly. Also, for a music lover used to all kinds of venues in Man­hat­tan and Brook­lyn, it’s in the mid­dle of nowhere, with no food or water for lit­er­ally miles. The exor­bi­tant con­ces­sion prices are, let’s be hon­est here, graft. Just to keep from dehy­drat­ing and get­ting a migraine from all the second-hand pot smoke, I reluc­tantly paid $6.50 for a bot­tled water, which I cer­tainly hope the venue recy­cled. Also, the sound sys­tem is kinda crappy. Jane’s were notice­ably louder than NIN, but Farrell’s mike sounded pretty muf­fled, espe­cially on the first and last songs.

THE AUDIENCE

The audi­ence was a weird mix­ture of goths, met­al­heads, and gray­ing thir­tysome­things like me. Although NIN has remained extremely rel­e­vant for some time now, the orig­i­nal Jane’s lineup has been out of action for more than a decade, and both bands date back to the late 80s / early 1990s, when I was in high school. The black-fingernailed lon­ers didn’t sur­prise me, but I didn’t really expect so many head­bangers. I even saw a middle-aged, bearded, fat dude in a skirt, a look I thought fiz­zled on arrival in the mid-90s. In ret­ro­spect, I shouldn’t really have been sur­prised, but I come at Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addic­tion from a dif­fer­ent angle. Lis­ten­ing to NIN is an exten­sion of my appre­ci­a­tion for elec­tronic and pro­gres­sive rock, and Jane’s vis­cer­ally filthy, slightly sleazy rock owes more than a lit­tle to Led Zep­pelin (who were also arguably a bit prog).


Offi­cial band sites: www.nin.com and www.janesaddiction.com

Buy The Slip, Nine Inch Nails’ lat­est album, and the new Jane’s Addic­tion rar­i­ties boxed set A Cab­i­net of Curiosi­ties from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Frozen River

Frozen River movie poster

 

The title of Court­ney Hunt’s sus­pense­ful Frozen River refers to both a lit­eral body of water sep­a­rat­ing coun­tries, and to the ten­u­ous bor­der between merely scrap­ing by and true poverty. Melissa Leo was rightly praised last year for her per­for­mance as Ray, a woman strug­gling to sup­port two boys in upstate New York. Her fam­ily appears to have been liv­ing beyond their means, even before her gambling-addict hus­band lit out with their sav­ings. If she doesn’t make the next pay­ments on their huge flatscreen tele­vi­sion (a ridicu­lous sight in their shabby liv­ing space) or a cov­eted replace­ment double-wide home, they’ll lose the TV and the new home’s down pay­ment. The TV is exactly the sort of need­less extrav­a­gance that can put a check­book in the red, and the double-wide upgrade becomes a neces­sity when their exist­ing place looks unfit to sur­vive the bit­ter winter.

Melisso Leo in Frozen River

Cir­cum­stances push her into an antag­o­nis­tic part­ner­ship with Native Amer­i­can Lila Lit­tle­wolf (Misty Upham), whose sit­u­a­tion is, if any­thing, worse. Lila’s busi­ness is smug­gling ille­gal immi­grants over the tit­u­lar frozen river on Mohawk land. The fact that there is a ques­tion as to whether the prac­tice is legal on a reser­va­tion is almost a point of pride. No one seems to know the actual law, but the per­ceived grey area in a way val­i­dates the Mohawks’ auton­omy. Mak­ing a liv­ing this way is seen as pride­ful, never mind the exploited immi­grants that pay about $40,000–50,000 each to make the trip, either in cash or the oblig­a­tion to work it off as inden­tured slaves.

A still from Frozen River

As I recently wrote about the extra­or­di­nary Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy (read The Dork Report review), a sin­gle event such as a car break­ing down or a spouse leav­ing may be the tip­ping point lead­ing to home­less­ness. Both films fea­ture a woman on her own, strug­gling to meet press­ing debts while feed­ing lov­ing but needy depen­dents. But Frozen River suf­fers in com­par­i­son when watched back-to-back with Wendy and Lucy (as I hap­pened to), feel­ing over­writ­ten and with a neatly schematic end­ing. With­out spoil­ing too much, a sur­pris­ing burst of expo­si­tion near the end explains the rules of almost too-convenient new sit­u­a­tion for Lila and Ray right as it’s happening.


Offi­cial movie site: sonyclassics.com/frozenriver

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.

Just Passing Through: Wendy and Lucy

Wendy and Lucy movie poster

 

Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy is, on its own terms, per­fect. As such, it exposes the silly prac­tice of rat­ing films in num­bers of stars, even if this par­tic­u­lar blog is merely one movie lover’s jour­nal of per­sonal reac­tions, and not pre­tend­ing to be objec­tive crit­i­cism. So please inter­pret these five stars as mean­ing that I was utterly moved by Wendy and Lucy.

Wendy (Michelle Williams) is a young drifter from Indi­ana head­ing nowhere in par­tic­u­lar. Her home is a bat­tered car, shared only with her beloved dog Lucy. She’s wor­ry­ingly skinny, with an unex­plained ban­daged ankle. She keeps a run­ning ledger in her jour­nal, track­ing the rapid decline of the life sav­ings strapped to her waist. We don’t know why Wendy is on her own — whether she’s run­ning from some­thing or some­one, or if she’s sim­ply search­ing for a job. She calls her sis­ter and brother-in-law in Indi­ana, but they evi­dently have prob­lems of their own and quickly dis­miss her. The poor, mis­er­able girl never smiles, but often qui­etly hums a tune to herself.

Michelle Williams in Wendy and Lucy

One night, Wendy meets a group of young drifters by a bon­fire. Icky (musi­cian Will Old­ham — a.k.a. Bon­nie ‘Prince’ Billy) men­tions an Alaskan fish­ery that pays well and pro­vides hous­ing. This is good enough for Wendy, and pro­vides her with a des­ti­na­tion. But she expe­ri­ences a dis­as­trous day while pass­ing through Port­land (or in terms of her ledger, as least, the most crip­plingly expen­sive). In short order, her car breaks down, she’s caught shoplift­ing, loses Lucy, and is very nearly assaulted.

Michelle Williams in Wendy and Lucy

The secu­rity guard of the neigh­bor­hood Wal­greens (Wal­ter Dal­ton) becomes a gen­uine friend, whose great­est aid may sim­ply be just talk­ing with her. They briefly bond over the shared mis­eries of those that fall between the tracks: you can’t get a job with­out an address or a phone num­ber, and you can’t get an address or a phone num­ber with­out a job. Peo­ple like her are always “just pass­ing through.” He gives her $7, a gift he hides from his fam­ily, clearly a sac­ri­fice for him.

Wendy and Lucy is spare and eco­nom­i­cal at only 75 min­utes long, but it is heart­break­ing and dev­as­tat­ing. In some ways, Wendy is bet­ter off than the group of drifters she meets at the begin­ning of the film; she has a car, mea­ger sav­ings, and some dis­ci­pline. But the num­ber of steps it would take for her to become like them is few, and may hap­pen in only a sin­gle day. One can only hope that Icky is right, and that Wendy will find some liveli­hood in Alaska.


Offi­cial movie site: www.wendyandlucy.com

Buy the DVD from Ama­zon and kick back a few pen­nies to The Dork Report.