#235. La Bête Humaine (1938)

 

 

A.K.A. The Human Beast and Judas Was a Woman

 

It's funny: for a movie that literally includes "Human" in the title, La Bête Humaine seems to be equally fascinated by train mechanics. But that's certainly not a complaint; trains are among my favourite movie settings/objects, and they'd be even more common if I had my way. So Jean Renoir definitely got off on the right foot with me by making the entire opening a near-wordless train sequence.

 

After that, we largely settle into a proto-noir (or Re-noir, if you will) story of plotting and guilt, the kind where every major character is a horrible person and where most of them end up even worse than they started. Some elements are a bit underdeveloped for my liking (like Lantier's homicidal outbursts, or Roubaud's descent into jealousy), but the tone makes up for that, with atmosphere so bleak and foreboding that it feels almost profound for 1938.

 

Otherwise, I think the strongest element here is the central relationship between Lantier and Séverine, precisely because the two have such little chemistry. It adds to Lantier's sense of isolation, it raises the question of whether Séverine was actually into him or simply using him (which is kept open-ended by Simone Simon's wonderfully vague performance), and it amplifies the shades of pessimism and fatalism throughout.

 

Grade: A-

 

#234. Frost/Nixon (2008)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Man, remember when American presidents could actually face the consequences of their actions? What a wild concept.

 

For the most part, Frost/Nixon is a safe and unadventurous historical drama (what else would you expect with Ron Howard behind the camera?), but the execution's smooth and direct enough that I find the whole thing really compelling. It just builds and builds in a way that feels both suspenseful and effortless, and it's not long before I'm gripped by a bunch of interviews that have already taken place.

 

Helps, too, that the movie humanizes these two people to the degree that it does. Nixon is correctly presented as a lying criminal, but there's a self-loathing loneliness to this depiction that gives the man some unexpected depth (and I like that Frank Langella does his own interpretation, rather than just an impression). And despite Frost coming off like a vapid playboy, you can sense his frustrations and inner turmoil at all times, and it lends that much more weight to the stakes of the story.

 

I don't know if I'm completely sold on the faux-documentary style (in my opinion, it detracts from the overall simplicity), and a few of the more sensational moments don't quite convince, but I think this is an otherwise impressive dramatization, with a strong central conflict, a good sense of rhythm, and a likeable team dynamic.

 

Grade: A-

 

#233. Steve Jobs (2015)

 

 

There's this thing that always happens to me when I watch a movie written by Aaron Sorkin. For roughly the first fifteen or twenty minutes, I'll roll my eyes at the breakneck pacing and all-too-witty dialogue, and I start to wonder if his charm has finally worn off. But then, without fail, I find myself slowly getting sucked into his story and characters, and I end the movie thinking "that son of a bitch did it again."

 

Steve Jobs is a heavily fictionalized biopic in the vein of The Social Network and Moneyball, and while it's not quite as flawless as those comparables, the strengths are pretty much identical: keen structuring (and I love that it's broken up into three distinct parts, all centered around press conferences), sharp back and forth, and an emphasis on emotional truth over facts. Once I was on its side, I was captivated the entire way - especially in the confrontational third act.

 

But it's not just Sorkin. Danny Boyle and cinematographer Alwin Küchler capture the screenplay's energy by implementing three different film formats (16 mm, 35 mm, and digital) to make each era unique, and Michael Fassbender, Seth Rogen, Jeff Daniels, and especially Kate Winslet bring these words to life with some killer performances. And the result is yet another in a long line of elegant-yet-complex products to carry the Jobs name.

 

Grade: A-

 

#232. Used Cars (1980)

 

 

Watching this one, it's clear to me that Robert Zemeckis always had an aptitude for cartoon zaniness. Used Cars might be a bit more raucous and inconsistent than much of what came later, but the energetic humour and chaotic set pieces (I'm starting to notice that car stunts peaked in the early '80s) showcase a young talent who's not afraid to get wildly creative with scripts and visuals.

 

This enthusiasm also allows the movie to remain dark and cynical without getting unbearably sleazy, which is a winning tone in my mind. And it of course helps that our hero is played by a post-Disney, pre-comeback (unless you count Elvis) Kurt Russell, who manages to turn a total sleazebag into a charming go-getter. In fact, the entire cast is able to keep things light and broad, and it enhances both the laughs and the satire.

 

On the negative end, though, the approach can get pretty unwieldy at times. There's too much plotting for my liking, and the pacing routinely feels uneven (while I enjoy the action-heavy third act, for example, it goes on for far too long). But I can easily forgive some messiness if it leads to more lunacy, especially when said messiness is arguably part of the charm.

 

Grade: B+

 

#231. Sayonara (1957)

 

 

It must've been exhausting to be a casual moviegoer in the late '50s. With cinema waging war on the new medium of television, pretty much every release was now two-and-a-half hours long (if not longer), subject matter had largely become weighty and self-important, and the entire concept of brisk pacing was basically thrown out the window.

 

For these reasons, I've always found it slightly daunting to go back and watch a movie from this era (especially because its brand of spectacle doesn't necessarily lend itself to smaller home screens), but I can get on board with an elongated runtime if, say, there's enough thematic depth and purpose to justify it. And that's where Sayonara mostly succeeds in my eyes.

 

Sure, the movie's needlessly bloated, with a presentation that can definitely feel preachy and drab, but this gives it the necessary room to explore some delicate topics in a way that would've been really progressive for the time (hence the Oscar nods). This, combined with the passionate performances, significant story/character developments, and immersive settings (there's something about Japanese architecture that I find incredibly soothing), was enough to keep me invested in the relationships.

 

Grade: B+

 

#230. Sweet Charity (1969)

 

 

Bob Fosse always had a unique knack for combining colourful imagery and energetic characters with sleazy settings and dark subject matter. It's a bittersweet aesthetic that he perfected in the '70s with films like Cabaret and All That Jazz, but you can definitely see it starting to come together in Sweet Charity, which manages to make 1969 New York City look like both an idealistic wonderland and a soul-crushing hellscape.

 

It's also quite camp, with some countercultural spirit and avant-garde filmmaking techniques to keep things fresh and creative. And while the musical elements usually have a pretty tenuous connection to the actual narrative (causing certain scenes to feel like filler), and the bizarre editing choices only occasionally land, Fosse channels enough passion and temporary catharsis into the choreography and overall atmosphere that the emotions largely remain consistent.

 

Also keeping the tone in place is Shirley MacLaine, who, on top of giving a great performance, brings such an effervescent joy and light to every single scene. It makes the songs that much more endearing (to the point where you don't really care that next-to-nothing is actually happening), the character that much easier to root for, and her arc that much more effective. 

 

Grade: A-

 

#229. Miller's Crossing (1990)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1-2

 

The Coen Brothers are my favourite filmmakers, and have been for quite a long time now. Visually, tonally, stylistically, and even thematically, they simply make the kinds of movies that I want to watch. And while I don't necessarily adore everything they've ever made, the batting average is high enough that you'll more than likely grow tired of my endless praise before long.

 

For that reason, I chose to lead off with Miller's Crossing, which had never been a personal favourite (the dense opening half hour always kept it at arm's length for me). But, lo and behold, it totally clicked for me this time, so I guess that plan backfired. I've come around on the complicated plot and era-specific dialogue, and I'm finally able to see just how rich and moody the whole thing is.

 

Whether we're talking about the costumes, the comically large sets, the beautiful music, the muted cinematography, the wild set pieces, the squib-heavy violence, the dry humour, or the colourful collection of characters and performances (I'm especially partial to Jon Polito and J.E. Freeman, but everyone shines here), it all makes for a compelling drama, a terrific period piece, and a well-constructed slice of pulp.

 

So not only do I now view this as another Joel & Ethan masterpiece, but I can also recognize it as maybe the first instance in which their bizarre tonal aesthetic (namely, mixing serious tension with borderline-slapstick) came together in a way that only they could make work. It's just a flawless bit of filmmaking, and I doubt I'll give it the high hat ever again.

 

Grade: A+