Misinterpreted: Wild At Heart

          Roger Ebert, before he decided that he liked David Lynch after all upon the release of Mulholland Drive, found Wild At Heart to be a wildly unbalanced, tonally confusing, and offensively violent failure of a film. Ten years later, Ebert praised Inland Empire for the exact same thing. He called the latter a bold, ambitious vision that few directors can achieve. I'm glad that Ebert appreciates Inland Empire for all of its idiosyncrasies, but it feels unfair that Ebert would wait until Lynch is almost universally loved in the world of film criticism before he started giving the director the benefit of the doubt.

           In his reviews for ERASERHEAD, Blue Velvet, and Wild At Heart, Ebert criticizes the way Lynch's movies don't explain themselves. He acts as if Lynch has no big plan for his films, and that they are just random moments of style that amount to an empty experience. He criticized Blue Velvet for its sexuality, ERASERHEAD for its dense imagery, and Wild At Heart for its violence. He said it was a director pushing buttons for the sake of controversy, and that Lynch's films are full of hate.

           Not to sound dramatic, but there are people who believe that Huck Finn is a racist novel because there's racism in it. Just because something depicts cruel acts of humanity, this does not mean that that product endorses cruel acts.

           Yeah, Wild At Heart is violent. It begins with Sailor Ripley (Nicolas Cage) beating an African-American man to death in one of the most shockingly violent scenes I've ever seen. Sailor, our hero, committing such acts of violence so early in the film is indicative of the kind of journey Lynch is taking us on.

         
           Sailor is not a hero. He is young, impulsive, passionate, and free. He represents the dream of 1950's youth--the invincible, endlessly cool lover who will do anything "for [his] girl." He is Elvis and James Dean rolled into one. From his snakeskin jacket to his oiled hair, he is the epitome of style.

           In a sense, Sailor is the embodiment of what Ebert accused Lynch's films of being--good style, easy on the eyes, but, ultimately, empty. To call the characterization of Sailor broad-stroked and lacking of any subtlety is not a criticism, but an observation. His violence, his raw sexuality, his hatred--these are all elements used to describe an ideal. And, as the movie continues, the viewer should come to realize that the film does not like Sailor. The film wants Sailor to change, but he can't. How can he? He's an ideal. He isn't a real person.
       
          You could say that I'm reading the film this way because I love David Lynch. You're probably on to something. Once I commit to a filmmaker or painter or singer, I am fiercely committed to that artist and love what he or she does. However, with Wild At Heart, I think there's a good argument for my reading of the film.

         It becomes clear early on that the film is a loose (and I mean loose) adaptation of The Wizard Of Oz, complete with a good and bad witch and a road onto which the heroes must journey. Now, let's think about The Wizard of Oz for a second. What is Dorothy? Is she a character lovingly designed with subtlety and nuance? No, she's the ideal little girl. She is innocent and sweet and cannot stand when other people are hurt. Like Sailor, she is a representation of a dream. She must be read this way for us to invest in her story.

       Now look at Sailor. He is 1950's America (a subject Lynch never really seems to stray from), and he represents every ignorant, hateful, alienating aspect of the decade and what it represents. Lula Fortune (Laura Dern) is in love with his spirit. He is a go-getter, a fighter, a man who fully believes in his own convictions, and for the duration of the film, these convictions all center around her.

          Lula is the way people of Sailor's ideal view women. She is the pinup, the codependent, the passionate virgin looking for adventure. Her obsession with Sailor is poisonous. It infects her life and her relationship with the outside world. She very literally goes to the edge of the Earth to keep Sailor in love with her. You see that picture up there? Lula spends approximately 80% of the film in a position very similar to that one. Most of her dialogue is the exclamation "Sailor!" She is not a real person. She can't be. She is a type, just as Sailor is, and when Lynch puts both of these types into the same room, they explode.

        The rational world cannot handle these extreme examples of 1950's idealism. They are embroiled in a tragic romance not unlike Bonnie and Clyde, or the lovers in Terrence Malick's Badlands, or even Romeo and Juliet.

         What sets them apart from these other tragic love stories is that they are aware of their own story. From the earliest point, it becomes clear that Lula and Sailor are knowingly and willingly becoming entrenched in a tragic love affair. They are exhilarated by the knowledge of their own demise. Each time Sailor gets in a fight, or drives his car too fast and too dangerously, or lights up a cigarette, Lula smiles and screams with glee. Only true love can burn so bright. Only true life must be ejected from this world. Only true love can inspire the monsters to attack.

          As in The Wizard of Oz, the journey of the hero is tested. In the case of Wild At Heart, the hero is Sailor Ripley, and the journey is his path toward enlightenment. For Dorothy, her true test was a fight against the Wicked Witch--a woman who hates where she is from and what it represents. The witch represents, for Dorothy, the way that she may end up if she doesn't change her mind about her family and her home. She may end up alone in a tower, hating everything that's content.

         For Sailor, his Wicked Witch Bobby Peru (Willem Dafoe). Peru is the end result of what Sailor is slowly becoming. He is impulsive to a fault--exploding into violence at the smallest whim, and his sexuality is so strong that it is hostile. Peru is mean and closed-minded. He is a dark example of arrogance and brute strength. He knows what he wants and he gets it with God on his side. Sailor sees himself in the man. He knows that, if he doesn't watch out, he will become Bobby Peru.

        Wild At Heart is a fable. This is not one of David Lynch's complex dissections of the human identity. It is a morality a tale, a pretty straightforward one at that, and it uses its Wizard of Oz imagery to guide viewer in his/her understanding of it. The film is often considered a misfire, despite the fact that it won the Palm D'or at the Cannes Film Festival, because of its unusual tone and bizarre sense of humor, but I find it to be one of the director's most enduring and interesting films of his career.


        If you've never seen it, definitely give it a look. If you've seen it before and you are shaking your head at the lengths I will go for my fanboy passions, then you should watch it again. Perhaps you'll change your mind.

How do you feel about this movie? Let me know in the comments. 

I'm My Own Grandpa, and Other Reasons Why Great Scenes in Bad Movies Are Evidence of Parallel Dimensions

     Remember The Stupids? You know, the one where Tom Arnold plays that dumb guy who talks loud and smiles a lot? No, not that one with Rick Moranis, it's the one---No, not the one directed by James Cameron---
     Anyway, there's this scene in that dreadful movie that is too funny for its own good. You can watch it  here.
     There is also a scene involving a cigarette, an airbag, and a surprise fender bender that is particularly amusing. Both of these scenes are rare glimpses into a movie that does not exist. You see, there is a world where The Stupids is a delightful slapstick comedy. And in order for us to glimpse that world, we have to watch the version we have in our world and search for holes in the fabric of space-time.
     This phenomenon is not limited to The Stupids. In fact, there are many, many bad movies which offer glimpses into this parallel dimension. Sometimes a film comes along that includes, between its incomprehensible plot, unconvincing acting, poor pacing, and uninteresting set design, a scene that peels back the layers of matter between our world and another, similar world where things are opposite. Much like great films with bad scenes (I'm looking at you ridiculously staged smack-around scene involving Sonny and Talia Shire's beau in The Godfather), bad films with great scenes are rare, precious stones that can make people do and say crazy things, like, "Come on, guys The Stupids wasn't that bad. What about that one scene?" or "Really? You thought Knowing was a bad movie? What about that great tracking shot of the plane crash?" (Seen here )
     Yes, these scenes do not just display another world, they intentionally confuse well-meaning folks about what it means to see a good movie. The previously mentioned tracking shot from Knowing is impressive in its ability to show absolute realism with a tragic plane crash, yet the scene is surrounded by muddy, poorly scripted premise-with-no-plot narrative. However, as a well-meaning folk, I walked away from that movie thinking only one thing. (Hint: that second bit of dialogue was yours truly.)
     It's true, what I'm talking about is purely subjective. I mean, Roger Ebert loved Knowing, giving it four stars out of four. He was not so kind to The Stupids, but maybe he never saw the veil of space-time open up before him during his screening of that particular movie.
     Or maybe something happened, something sinister, something that will reveal the true nature of opinion.
     What if there is no opinion? What if what we like is based on another dimension's version of a film you saw in our world? Perhaps, during those great or bad scenes in otherwise opposite films, the fabric of space-time opens up too wide for some people. Maybe sometimes that fabric breaks, and we are left with a perfect film that others see as nothing but lameburgers.
     This could be what happened to me when I saw Southland Tales. Maybe the scene involving a particularly rousing dance number broke something in the universe that caused my brain to view the film as perfect.
     There are infinite examples of this phenomenon. You can find great scenes in bad action movies. In bad horror films. And you can even find them in bad Surf Ninja movies.
    Have any of you ever experienced this break in the fabric of space-time? Please, tell me when this strange and dangerous occurrence has happened to you in the comments section.

Uncaged: How Nicolas Cage Reveals the Faults of Others by Being Generally Awesome

     Call me crazy, but Nicolas Cage is one of the best actors of his generation. Make no mistake, Nicolas Cage has been in some horrible, devastatingly repulsive films in his day, but I have never watched Nicolas Cage do anything that I didn't totally believe. It's interesting, Cage can exist in a horribly written, sloppily directed film and only exude total belief and certitude in the world he is in. In his Wicker Man performance, Cage punches women, hates bees, screams, punches more women (in a bear suit!), and then questions the reasonability of flammable objects flaming, and I believe every cheesy, horrible second of it. Can we blame Cage for how terrible this movie is? I'm sure some of you are saying, "Yes...yes we can."

I'm not balding.

     But we can't!

     You see, Nicolas Cage is the amplifier for his writer/director's electric guitar. And believe me, Nicolas Cage goes to 11. Neil Labute, the man to blame for Wicker Man's existence, is also the man to blame for its supreme suckage (it's a word, look it up). He gave Cage lines of dialogue to read and perform, and he set up scenes for Cage to run around in. Cage was just doing his job. The man is a working actor, he needs to get paid. Yes, Labute is a working director and he needs to produce films, but Labute is in the wrong, here. You see, he decided that a movie containing the previously stated elements would be a good idea (not to mention the fact that it's a totally needless remake), and he hired Cage to make all of these things happen onscreen. The previous Wicker Man is a solid thriller with a semi-cult following, and Labute had a good track record before this film started shooting. The script, when Cage signed on, was not yet finished, and Cage signed on because of the quality of Labute's previous efforts. 

     Of course, we can say that Cage could have backed out during filming, but Cage is horrible with money and really cannot afford quitting. Plus, we have to remember that an amplifier might blow out, but it will continue making a horrible noise until you unplug it, mixed metaphors aside, that is the science of an amplifier. 

     Anyway, yes Wicker Man sucks, but Cage's performance in the film is totally and exactly what the movie calls for. He is simply a vessel for the movie's terribleness (also a word), and we cannot blame a car on the highway for being too fast, it's the driver. 

     Cage's amazing gift of doing exactly what is asked of him has done him well in the past. You see, there was once a time where Cage didn't have enough money to be broke. I know that sentence doesn't make sense, but it really really does. During these years, Cage was utilized in films like Raising Arizona, Leaving Las Vegas, Wild at Heart, Bringing Out the Dead, and Adaptation. All of these films are highly regarded, especially Cage's performances in them, and for a while he seemed to be one of the shining Coppola's. 

I'm not balding. 

     But something happened, something terrible, Cage got too rich. Now he is an equally amazing vessel, a perfect concert amp, being used by $20.00 guitars. We have John Turtletaub, (3 Ninjas) director of National Treasure and The Sorcerer's Apprentice making films specifically for Nicolas Cage. Cage is giving his all for his performances in these films, but the directors can't handle his perfectly detailed sound. There is no distortion, no grunge, it is perfect sound coming from people who cannot play their instruments correctly. 

     Case in point, we find Cage in a place where he will literally accept any film role (Money problems are the culprit, but maybe, just maybe, he accepts anything because he is performing some sort of experiment that weeds out the good directors from the bad) that he is offered. So we have him appearing in Ghost Rider, Next, Drive Angry 3D, and Season of the Witch. None of these movies seem particularly amazing, but we also have his outstanding, mesmerizing, bewitching, transcendent performance in Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, and his fun performance in Kick-Ass. With these last two performances, at least personally, I think Cage is showing the public that he is more than capable as an actor. In fact, Cage seems to be showing us what he really is. 

     In Kick-Ass, Cage is totally believable as an insane man that has taken it upon himself to be Batman. He has the voice, the physicality, the charisma. Cage leaps off of the screen as this character and brings life the film. He is amplifying the smart writing and making everything around him seem even better than it is because the person playing their instrument is doing something right. 

     In Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, Cage is working for the totally insane, yet brilliant, film director Werner Herzog. Cage's performance as the titular lieutenant escalates the film to mythic proportions with lines like, "Shoot him again, his soul is still dancing" and "These iguanas are playing the harmonica." The actor completely devotes himself to the director, and in turn makes the film that Herzog wanted to make. Any other actor would have gotten lost in the material and become self-conscious: not Nicolas Cage. He can totally lend his abilities to the maker and let them do whatever they can with him.

     Some people may take Cage's more bombastic performances as hamminess, but what we are really seeing is the work of a director who does not have the maturity of talent to know how much is too much. Like an amplifier turned up too loud, Cage is sometimes used too much and drowns out the other players. This is not his fault, but the fault of the people in charge. 

     So please, if you're a director, only use Nicolas Cage if you trust in your skill. Because his ability to be whatever you want him to be only showcases your flaws, not his.