I'll be reviewing a movie to make up for Monday after I reflect briefly on film culture...
I haven't been consistently impressed with American film since the 90s. Within the decade in which The Matrix came out, I felt like a number of other decent films could easily be included. During that time, I had a better chance of choosing a film I had not heard of prior to arriving at the theater and enjoying it than I have lately. I am not saying that there have been absolutely no good movies since then... just significantly fewer. The past few years can hardly compete with the time of American Beauty... but, this is my impression.
I feel as though we tried harder in the 90s. With the bloom of CG just barely peeking through the bud of the industry, filmmakers did not lean on their technology. It was a tool to enhance the experience. Nowadays, it's everywhere... and they're getting lazy about it. Using CG anywhere they can't be bothered to conjure any pure creativity. I'm proud of filmmakers like Peter Jackson who used every trick in the book so that his audience does not fixate on hocus pocus of The Lord of the Rings but rather the saga, the drama. The tale is the thing.
Anyway, I have to wonder what it is the Academy really requests from film... Obviously there are categories to designed to acknowledge all hands on deck, but what about the one we sit up late to hear about...? How does one choose the very Best Picture of the year?
Because last year's...? I don't know. Considering what Slumdog Millionaire was up against, I suppose it was the only one that should have walked away with the prize. I heard decent talk about most of the other movies, but the winner spoke the loudest to the times, to the now. Slumdog Millionaire manages to acknowledge a paradigm while educating an audience that, by majority, likely knows very little about Indian culture or history. Using the show Who Wants to be a Millionaire was just a contemporary vehicle to tell a story we all love: rags to riches, boy gets the girl, good wins the day after tremendous struggle. No-brainer against war stories, fantasy/sci-fi stories about a reverse aging process, and dynamic politicians. All compelling ideas... but Slumdog has trapped a specific moment in time that no one else has made into a decent film... this, our early 21st century.
Now, I don't know if I would have picked any of the films selected for Best Picture in 2008... but I'm a sucker for space (WALL-E), Batman, and Indiana Jones. It's all subjective, I guess, and I can still see how the nominations and awards were dealt out the way the were...
...this is not the case for the films of the year 1998 (Academy Awards 1999). The nominees were Saving Private Ryan, A Thin Red Line, Elizabeth, La vita e bella (Life is Beautiful), and Shakespeare in Love. Remember who won? Because I do... and I was unimpressed. In the face of other great films like American History X (guess they don't like picking downers), What Dreams May Come, or even The Truman Show, it's obnoxious that it was nominated at all. For those of you who enjoyed the film, maybe you get something I don't because I found it disappointing and cheaply sensational.
The disappointment of this specific year drew my eye to movies that I had neglected though meant to see when they were in theaters... among them, Gds and Monsters...
Here comes the review portion:
(from www.geraldpeary.com)Gds and Monsters is based on Christopher Bram's novel THE FATHER OF FRANKENSTEIN. His novel is derived from the details left behind of the tortured and twisted life of James Whale, the creator and director of the monster we all know as Frankenstein. His portrayals of what defines monsters and humans likely mirrored his own experiences and the disappointments of his poor family, his unintelligent father, the horrors of war, etc. The movie is one of many mirrors bringing us back to the original tableau of the life of director James Whale.
Ian McKellan stars as James Whale... it takes subtly and a streak of wickedness to pull off a role of this complexity. James Whale, as portrayed by McKellan, is a brilliant and troubled artist who made a film to work through the pain in his life, went on to making other films including some lovely movies (like Show Boat), but would never be able to step out of the shadow of his work in horror. Frankenstein and his bride became major icons of horror and they remain recognizable and somewhat revered today... these monsters are fused with our sympathy... they are like children lost in the world with little to no guidance, so they naturally fall off the deep end now and again... appearing to be the monsters of the piece. McKellan's portrayal of the disturbed director most certainly has an intimate understanding of playing both roles... the child and the monster.
McKellan comes off as a dirty old man immediately. He sees his new gardener and feels the need to offer his swimming pool to him... purposefully mentioning that it's okay if he doesn't have a suit. No one here will mind. The gardener tries to shake off the comment but later finds himself asked to pose for a sketch... the director, after all, drew the very first concept drawing of Frankenstein, paints copies of great works as a hobby, and is brimming with talent within visual medium. During these sessions, the director tells his gardener stories from his life. These stories bring about painful flashbacks and horrendous headaches (his condition already aggravated by a stroke he suffers earlier in the film).
The gardener is played by Brendan Fraser... who is the best man for the job despite our exposure to him as a goofy surfer moron from films like Encino Man or Airheads. I feel that they needed someone beautiful enough to lead you on but square enough, bulky enough, to be reminiscent of the actor who played Frankenstein. The director has this inexplicable sense of comfort with the gardener as though he could tell him everything... in my mind, the director saw the outline of his first creation, his first method of working through the pain of his past. He can't help but open up to the man... all the while, after setting the dirty old man precedent, one believes that his intentions with his gardener are more than someone to talk to...
...right up to the end, that's what the filmmakers want you to think. It hearkens to the original Frankenstein... Who is the monster? Is it the gay, predatory artist? The semi-belligerent ex-Marine gardener? The snooty Hollywood fanfare who won't appreciate James Whale for anything other than his horror films? Or is it you for thinking what you're thinking as you watch the movie?
I had to chew on it, but I think this is a great film. It's complex and graceful in its execution. I also admire filmmakers unafraid to play with the audience's heads. There are a few pieces missing... it's hard to buy the director's urgency to be taken from this world towards the end. Yes, you see he's frustrated, but you also see, no matter where your own dirty mind took you, that he has a friend. I think one more scene might have helped... something that uses more than a series of flashback moments to demonstrate how much pain and suffering has worn the director down.
Lynn Redgrave plays the director's maid... and I think she's amazing. She complicates everything just by being there. Since you've been lead to dislike the old horny toad gay artist, the text includes a very devoted maid who suspects the gardener will hurt her employer. She knows all about the director's habits, but she's concerned about him, not the young handsome man coming to model for a sketch. (If you're as behind as me, the next few sentences will spoil the movie for you, so, skip to the next paragraph.) She is devastated to find the director dead in the end and weeps as though it were her husband dead before her eyes. Wanting to avoid incriminating her employer's friend, she waits to alert the police and asks the gardener replace the body where they found it after they say their goodbyes to James Whale.
The desire for companionship is pure. It's so very moving. It's just as moving as that scene we've all watched in the original Frankenstein movie (If not, please catch up here: Most popular scene) when the "monster" finally makes a friend with a blind man. Raw, simple, and universal. In the end, the director longs to be reunited with his first love... the gardener wants to move on and find a woman with whom he can build a family, settle down, and provide something better than the poor life he had survived. In a sense, the gardener becomes the director's monster (Know that saying, "I've created a monster?" The gardener took the director's honesty and ran with his own feelings towards the same goal) and the director, who the audience probably saw as a monster much of the time, becomes the gd that gave this particular monster life.
And I liked it better than that wretched, saccharin Shakespeare in Love...
(I apologize for the abnormal amount of technical difficulties that went into this posting... Cox had some issues last night right about the time I was trying to publish...)
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