Redbelt

Redbelt movie poster

 

Red­belt is writer/director David Mamet’s ode to jiu-jitsu, of which he him­self is report­edly a pur­ple belt. Mike Terry (Chi­we­tel Ejio­for) is a strug­gling black belt jiu-jitsu instruc­tor, one of the few remain­ing prac­ti­tion­ers of mar­tial art in its authen­tic Japan­ese ori­gins. The pro­fes­sional com­bat sport asso­ci­a­tion MMA (Mixed Mar­tial Arts) has tainted the mar­tial art with com­mer­cial­ism and spec­ta­cle akin to pro­fes­sional wrestling. In con­trast, Terry is a noble war­rior with an absolute code of honor, like Robert Scott (Val Kilmer) in Mamet’s Spar­tan (2004). Terry is a for­mer spe­cial forces sol­dier, with a past in one or both Gulf Wars he does not wish to dis­cuss. One of his favorite apho­risms becomes some­thing that he real­izes he must live up to him­self: “There is no sit­u­a­tion from which you can­not escape.” He’s a fear­some fighter, able to win a bar fight with­out throw­ing a sin­gle punch. But another of his apho­risms, “com­pe­ti­tion is weak­en­ing,” reflects his choice to teach self-confidence and reliance, not aggres­sive combat.

Chiwetel Ejiofor in Redbelt“Com­pe­ti­tion is weakening”

Like many of Mamet’s films, Red­belt fea­tures many of his reg­u­lar sta­ble of actors: Rebecca Pigeon (Mamet’s wife, who also per­formed the music), Ricky Jay, David Paymer, Joe Man­tegna, and a cameo from Ed O’Neil. Any­one famil­iar with Mamet’s films would know to sus­pect a char­ac­ter played by any one of these actors is up to some mis­chief, espe­cially if the lat­ter two are seen to be in any kind of col­lu­sion. Sig­nif­i­cantly for a playwright/writer/director known for his char­ac­ter­is­ti­cally dense dia­log, the last long sequence is mostly wordless.

Mamet states Red­belt is firmly in the fight film genre, sin­gling out the two recent exam­ples of Mil­lion Dol­lar Baby and Cin­derella Man. Like the superb Spar­tan, it’s also some­thing of a samu­rai movie. Just don’t call it a mar­tial arts or action flick. It also includes healthy doses of two other Mamet obses­sions: the long con and the cor­rup­tion inher­ent in busi­ness. The most obvi­ous advan­tage of the long con in sto­ry­telling terms is that it auto­mat­i­cally pro­vides a struc­ture for a fiendishly com­plex plot, as it did for both House of Games (1987) and The Span­ish Pris­oner (1997).

Emily Mortimer and Chiwetel Ejiofor in Redbelt“There is no sit­u­a­tion from which you can­not escape”

Mamet’s recur­ring theme of insti­tu­tional cor­rup­tion in the busi­ness world is prob­a­bly best expressed in Glen­garry Glen Ross (read The Dork Report review). But in his book Bambi Vs. Godzilla (2007) and movie State & Main (2000), Mamet reveals the one par­tic­u­lar busi­ness that fas­ci­nates him the most: Hol­ly­wood. As he states in the elec­tronic press kit included in the Red­belt DVD, moviemak­ing is a busi­ness like any other, but the par­tic­u­lars of its moral bank­ruptcy fas­ci­nate him. Terry is seduced by Hol­ly­wood as embod­ied by aging action star Chet Frank (Tim Allen). Frank first finds lever­age in the fact that Terry is broke, but also rec­og­nizes that he is is secretly pride­ful, and seeks approval and recog­ni­tion for the bur­den of honor he has been car­ry­ing for so long. These flaws make him manip­u­lat­able. Frank ini­tially seems to pro­vide the solu­tions to his prob­lems, but turns out to be the pre­cise inverse of his name: all empty promises, façades, scams, and pretense.

The two cor­rupt worlds of Red­belt are both hun­gry for meat: pro­fes­sional sports need fight­ers to run through the grinder, and the movie busi­ness eats up ideas as raw mate­r­ial for its prod­uct. They find both in Mike, and nei­ther wants to pay for what they try to take from him.


Offi­cial movie site: www.sonyclassics.com/redbelt

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


The Magnificent Seven

The Magnificent Seven

 

John Sturges’ The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven is Hollywood’s answer to Akira Kurosawa’s hugely pop­u­lar Seven Samu­rai (read The Dork Report review). It suf­fers in com­par­i­son, espe­cially if, like this Dork Reporter, one watches them in suc­ces­sion. The remake is quaint, chaste, and dated in ways the fairly frank orig­i­nal isn’t. To put it another way, Seven Samu­rai is a period piece of its 16th Cen­tury set­ting, while The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven is a period piece both of its 19th Cen­tury set­ting and its 1960 production.

A remake was inevitable con­sid­er­ing the dizzy­ing cir­cle of influ­ence. Kuro­sawa was a fan of the Hol­ly­wood west­ern and espe­cially of direc­tor John Ford, all of which directly informed Seven Samu­rai. Hollywood’s trans­po­si­tion of the story to the Amer­i­can West for The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven was fairly straight­for­ward. Its great suc­cess led to three motion pic­ture sequels, a tele­vi­sion series, and is to be remade again in 2009.

The orig­i­nal epony­mous seven samu­rai were actu­ally ronin, mas­ter­less mer­ce­nar­ies akin to the West­ern out­law: morally ambiva­lent drifters, killers with a per­sonal code of honor. The West­ern genre is usu­ally about out­laws, for the sim­ple rea­son that they’re more dra­mat­i­cally inter­est­ing than reg­u­lar plain folk. In both ver­sions of 3:10 to Yuma (1957 and 2007), for exam­ple, the vil­lain Ben Wade (Glen Ford and Rus­sell Crowe) is a far more appeal­ing and seduc­tive char­ac­ter than the good guy Dan Evans (Can Heflin and Chris­t­ian Bale). An excep­tion to the rule is the clas­sic High Noon, in which Gary Cooper plays an hon­est law­man who pre­vails under extreme duress. The biggest clue the mag­nif­i­cent seven are not clas­sic good guys: Yul Bryn­ner appro­pri­ately sports his trade­mark black hat. Upping the badass quo­tient and testos­terone lev­els are no less than Steve McQueen (here get­ting to drive a real mus­tang on screen), Charles Bron­son, and the very lanky James Coburn.

The Magnificent SevenThe meet­ing of the Badass Soci­ety is adjourned

The basic sce­nario is sim­i­lar: seven Amer­i­can gun­slingers accept a pit­tance in order to defend a Mex­i­can vil­lage besieged by ban­dits. But the many alter­ations beyond this all reflect some very “Hol­ly­wood” think­ing. In the orig­i­nal, it is enough for the samu­rai that there be an injus­tice they are capa­ble of address­ing. But in a Hol­ly­wood film, there must be indi­vid­ual moti­va­tions, which inter­est­ingly have the side effect of ren­der­ing some char­ac­ters less heroic. Harry Luck (Brad Dex­ter) is con­vinced Chris (Bryn­ner) has an ulte­rior motive, such as pil­fer­ing a non-existent gold mine. The dandy bounty hunter Lee (Robert Vaughn) is also along for self­ish rea­sons; he’s on the lam for an unspec­i­fied trans­gres­sion, and needs to dis­ap­pear for a while.

The orig­i­nal Seven Samu­rai is actu­ally tech­ni­cally com­prised of only five actual samu­rai and two pre­tenders. Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune) is a peas­ant pos­ing as a samu­rai, and Kat­sushiro (Isao Kimura) is an earnestly roman­tic young boy seek­ing samu­rai train­ing and adven­ture. Per­haps to econ­o­mize the story, The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven com­bines these two char­ac­ters into Chico (Horst Buch­holz), a for­mer farmer that wor­ships the out­laws and attaches him­self to them in order to become one.

So that leaves Chris, Bernardo (Bron­son), and Vin (McQueen). In this remake’s best sleight-of-hand, we’re in the dark as to their moti­va­tions until near the very end. None of them are young men, and what dri­ves them turns out to be the fan­tasy of set­tling down into an agri­cul­tural lifestyle. The gruff Bernardo befriends a batch of scrappy kids, becom­ing a kind of pro­tec­tive older brother if not a father fig­ure. Chris and Vin seal their friend­ship with the mutual con­fes­sion that they both han­ker for a sim­pler life (a sort of admis­sion very dif­fi­cult for two very macho men).

The Magnificent SevenGo ahead and make our day

But many poor changes out­weigh these afore­men­tioned inter­est­ing ones. Being a prod­uct of Hol­ly­wood, it’s actu­ally less vio­lent, pro­fane, and sexy than the orig­i­nal Japan­ese film. The Mex­i­can vil­lagers are wise and saintly, com­pared to the more real­is­ti­cally flawed farm­ers in Seven Samu­rai. The threat of sex­ual vio­lence is white­washed away; the ban­dits are not inter­ested in the Mex­i­can women. We see too much of the vil­lains, and the chief ban­dit Calvera (Eli Wal­lach) is prac­ti­cally a fea­tured character.

But just as I was begin­ning to dis­miss the remake as infe­rior to the orig­i­nal in every way, and of his­tor­i­cal inter­est only, the movie dark­ens and becomes inter­est­ing again. The Mex­i­can vil­lagers, like their ancient Japan­ese coun­ter­parts, do reveal a dark side after all. Despite their ini­tial suc­cess in beat­ing back the ban­dits with the out­laws’ help, they have a cri­sis of faith and betray the out­laws in order to return to the com­fort zone of their par­a­sitic rela­tion­ship with the bandits.

In the old west, an out­law may very well find a home in a fron­tier town where no one knows his past deeds (a core theme of the HBO series Dead­wood and the sit­u­a­tion in which Clint Eastwood’s The Unfor­given opens). But in ancient feu­dal Japan’s caste sys­tem, a ronin could never take a step down and live among farm­ers. This also proves to be the case in The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven: Chris and Vin mosey on out of town and Chico stays behind, reject­ing his pre­ten­sions to being a rebel out­law, and revert­ing to his des­tined life as a farmer.


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


Shichinin no samurai (Seven Samurai)

Seven Samurai

 

Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samu­rai is awe­some and per­fect, and this most recent view­ing has affirmed its place among this Dork Reporter’s all-time favorites. It’s a big movie, by which I mean it makes the best use of its gen­er­ous run­ning time with just the right amount of every­thing: romance, com­edy, drama, sus­pense, and action. Nearly half the film is taken up by a mas­sive, expertly chore­o­graphed bat­tle rival­ing any­thing put to film by famous West­ern direc­tors of vio­lent spec­ta­cle like Michael Mann or Steven Spiel­berg. Long as it is, it’s about 15 min­utes shorter than Gone With the Wind but twice as epic, twice as sub­stan­tial, twice as… well, twice as good.

It is, in some ways, a sim­ple tale broadly told. A rice farm­ing vil­lage in 16th cen­tury Japan is under con­stant siege by a band of par­a­sitic ban­dits that abduct its young women and reg­u­larly steal most of its annual yield. With no gov­ern­ment or mil­i­tary to pro­tect them, the vil­lagers pool their mea­ger resources to hire seven ronin (mas­ter­less samu­rai reduced to sur­viv­ing hand-to-mouth as mer­ce­nar­ies) to fight on their behalf. The arche­typal char­ac­ters seem sim­plis­tic on the sur­face: vil­lains to boo and heroes to cheer. In case the viewer have any doubt as to who the bad guy is, the chief ban­dit wears a black eye­patch, for cry­ing out loud! Kam­bei (Takashi Shimura), the supremely capa­ble and wise leader of the samu­rai, essen­tially lays down a uni­ver­sal def­i­n­i­tion of “hero” with his recruit­ment call: “There’s a tough bat­tle ahead, lead­ing to nei­ther money nor rank. Will you join us?”

Seven SamuraiYou messed with the wrong ronin

And yet, many sub­tleties grad­u­ally unfold. Kikuchiyo (Toshiro Mifune) is one of the great plea­sures of the movie, but also one of its great­est mys­ter­ies. He’s clown­ish and child­ishly impul­sive, yet pas­sion­ately moral. He’s a com­moner mas­querad­ing as a samu­rai, his only cer­ti­fi­ca­tion being his ridicu­lously long sword (pre­sum­ably the lib­er­ated for­mer pos­ses­sion of a very tall samu­rai). Kam­bei, whom in another life could have been a good shrink, cor­rectly deduces Kikuchiyo’s moti­va­tions for hav­ing attached him­self to the ven­ture; he him­self is a peas­ant farmer with pre­ten­sions for more. He directly iden­ti­fies with the farm­ers’ plight, yet his deep-seated class inse­cu­ri­ties fuel his a love-hate rela­tion­ship with them. As an essay by Ken­neth Turan in the Cri­te­rion Col­lec­tion edi­tion book­let points out, medieval Japan was a fiercely delin­eated caste soci­ety, and the fact that a for­mer farmer might pre­sume to call him­self a samu­rai is a huge trans­gres­sion. For a very dif­fer­ent, more sub­dued dra­matic per­for­mance by Mifune, see Kurosawa’s Stray Dog.

As we learn more about Kikuchiyo, we like­wise slowly get a more and more com­plex por­trait of the vil­lagers. They are no doubt the vic­tims of a seri­ous crime. Yet they whine all the way and mythol­o­gize them­selves as help­less, saintly, vic­tim­ized salt of the earth that must resort to hir­ing dis­graced samu­rai to pro­tect them. But they har­bor a dark secret; they have robbed many fallen samu­rai of their armor and weapons over the years Their ver­i­ta­ble armory of pil­fered gear of war is use­less to them, and yet they shame­fully hide it from the samu­rai pro­tect­ing them (even though it would bol­ster their com­ing war). The seven samu­rai are deeply offended, and yet nev­er­the­less do the right thing and defend the vil­lage. But the gulf between the two classes, samu­rai and farmer, is reaffirmed.

Seven SamuraiHe’s a wild and crazy samurai

Seven Samu­rai is in the com­pany of 2001: A Space Odyssey, Cit­i­zen Kane, and Ver­tigo, a spe­cial class of film so famously influ­en­tial that even first-time view­ers may very well feel they’ve seen it before. Just to name a few of Seven Samurai’s first-generation off­spring: The Mag­nif­i­cent Seven is an unapolo­getic trans­po­si­tion of the orig­i­nal from feu­dal Japan to the Amer­i­can West. The Dirty Dozen and Ocean’s Eleven both bor­row the trope of recruit­ing a gang of mis­fits one-by-one, whom in con­cert become capa­ble of strengths impos­si­ble as indi­vid­u­als. Another American-produced remake is sched­uled for release in 2009, this time set in modern-day Thailand.

The 2006 Cri­te­rion Col­lec­tion edi­tion is a required library item, not one to merely rent. A mag­nif­i­cent restora­tion of the film itself is accom­pa­nied by a beau­ti­fully designed sleeve and book­let. A sur­pris­ing amount of dam­age remains in the long bat­tle sequence in the sec­ond half of the film, but Criterion’s rep­u­ta­tion for qual­ity ensures that these are almost cer­tainly the best avail­able mate­ri­als. Per­haps these reels were more fre­quently sub­jected to tor­ture over the years by scholars?

Why you need to read the booklet:

  • Ken­neth Turan on the full year of pro­duc­tion it took to make the film, mir­ror­ing the time that passes in the movie. On a prac­ti­cal level, the extended pro­duc­tion allows for greater real­ism like Kambei’s hair real­is­ti­cally grow­ing back after shav­ing his head in the begin­ning (the top­knot is a prized sym­bol of the samu­rai; not just a fash­ion but a require­ment of their caste). But also on a the­matic level, one year = the farm­ing cycle of life: plant­ing through harvest.
  • Peter Cowie on the mutual admi­ra­tion soci­ety between Kuro­sawa (a fan of the Hol­ly­wood West­ern) and John Ford.
  • Philip Kemp on 16th Cen­tury Japan. The feu­dal soci­ety had lit­tle dis­tinc­tion between ronin and bandits.
  • Peggy Chiao on Kurosawa’s influ­ences. Kuro­sawa was a Marx­ist in his 20s, but later mel­lowed. His older brother turned him on to Dos­toyevsky, but com­mit­ted suicide.
  • Alain Sil­ver on Kurosawa’s stag­ing and composition.
  • Stu­art Gal­braith IV on the his­tor­i­cal con­text of the con­tem­po­rary Japan­ese cin­ema, which was flour­ish­ing at the time.
  • Appre­ci­a­tions by direc­tors Sid­ney Lumet and Arthur Penn.
  • Toshiro Mifune’s quite funny and enter­tain­ing rem­i­nis­cences. Mifune claims he devised his char­ac­ter, as noth­ing had been writ­ten yet when he was cast.

Sup­ple­men­tal fea­tures on the bonus discs:

  • Akira Kuro­sawa: It is Won­der­ful to Cre­ate” — an almost exces­sively hagio­graphic biog­ra­phy, but with sev­eral amus­ing anec­dotes. Shoot­ing all year meant con­tin­u­ing through February’s freez­ing mud, while Mifune was almost naked. Kuro­sawa duti­fully stood in the mud with his cast and crew, and was lit­er­ally frostbitten.
  • Seven Samu­rai: Ori­gins & Influ­ences” — “The Story of the 47 Ronin” was a pop­u­lar pup­pet the­ater tale for hun­dreds of years, and was adapted into films sev­eral times a year in early Japan­ese cin­ema. One of those obser­va­tions that sounds obvi­ous in ret­ro­spect, but needs to be pointed out by some­body: Ronin (pro­nounced by some as “roh-ee-nin”) sto­ries are more pop­u­lar than samu­rai sto­ries because they are inher­ently more dra­mat­i­cally interesting.
  • My Life in Cin­ema: Akira Kuro­sawa” — a long inter­view by fel­low direc­tor Nag­isa Oshima.

Must read: the Cri­te­rion Con­trap­tion review by Matthew Dessem

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