What is the "Magical Music Cue"?

          People tend to geek about the scene in The Royal Tenenbaums where Gwyneth Paltrow exits a bus to the tune of Nico's "These Days." I enjoy it too. The image of Margot Tenenbaum moving in dream-like slow motion toward the audience is supplemented perfectly by the song, and it is usually one of the three musical moments of recent films that people my age cite as being their introduction to the power of music in cinema. The other two moments include, inevitably, Requiem for a Dream's "Lux Aterna" sequence composed by Clint Mansell and Fight Club's "Where is My Mind" Pixies finisher.

         This fact has actually turned into something of a game. I've gotten into the habit of asking fellow movie-lovers their favorite movie-music moments. 9 times out of 10, if the person is under 25 and over 18, it is one of the three scenes mentioned above.

         Of course, there are exceptions. Some people might mention one of the many worthy sections of I'm Not There, or perhaps the Urge Overkill "Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon" lip-synch in Pulp Fiction. Or maybe even the Walter Carlos Moog-fest of a Clockwork Orange score (most notably the opening shot). All perfectly good examples, I must say.

         But examples of what? Well, obviously, music in cinema. But something more, too. They're not just examples of music in movies, but they're examples of "Magical Music Cues". "Magical Music Cues", as they're sometimes called by film historians, present themselves as totally emotional, tonal, and supplemental moments that detach themselves from the film in order to stir the audience in a specific direction.

Magic?

        If this definition is difficult to wrap your mind around, and you haven't, for some reason or another, seen any of the previous examples, try checking out this perfect example from Vincent Gallo's Buffalo '66, a film I more-or-less shrug about.

       As you can see, once the music is placed into the aural foreground, all hope for plot progression is thrown out the window, and the audience is just left with a stylistically jarring and emotionally compelling image. There is a marriage. The visual and audio artistry is merged into a sort of dance, each piece perfectly supplementing the other.

      Some films try to have these moments but fail to make the marriage a faithful one, with the music sometimes cheating on the image with the actors, or perhaps a special effect.

      You may think this sounds crazy, but try to remember one of these shocking infidelities: the painful use of any song at any point in Peter Jackson's horrendously clumsy The Lovely Bones (specifically the use of The Hollies' "Long Cool Woman" in what is supposed to be a heart-wrenchingly dramatic sequence where Susie's brother almost dies), the poor man's golden era singing of Liza Minnelli in Martin Scorsese's unfortunate New York, New York, and of course the nauseating display of sentimentality at the end of Pay It Forward with "Calling All Angels" by Jane Siberry.

      All of these examples of lousy attempts at "Magical Movie Cues" are by filmmakers who may have felt their films were lacking some sort of emotional punch. The good cues are designed to jump-start audiences emotionally and inspire them. I mean, basically the entirety of Baraka is one long musical cue. People tend to dig that movie. They get emotionally attached to it. Why? Because that marriage is admirably healthy.

      A recent example of a successful cue (I'm going to keep mentioning this film forever, so you'd better not get tired of it) is the use of Zbigniew Preisner's "Lacrimosa" in Terrence Malick's mesmerizing creation of the universe segment of The Tree Of Life. The perfect combination of sound and sight. A totally overwhelming piece of cinema.
   
     In addition to The Tree of Life, some more examples of my favorite cues include, in no particular order:

• The "Wise Up" scene in Magnolia
• The Ry Cooder "Cancion Mixteca" piece during the super 8 sequence in Paris, Texas
• The Nick Cave "O' Children" sequence in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1
• Club Silencio, all of Club Silencio, in Mulholland Drive
• "In Heaven" in Eraserhead
• Raging Bull's Intermezzo
• Leonard Cohen's "Stranger Song" opening sequence in McCabe & Mrs. Miller
• Daft Punk's "The Grid" in Tron: Legacy
• Glen Hansard's "Say it To Me Now" in Once
• Michael Brook's "Best Unsaid" in Into The Wild
• Nick Cave's "Song for Bob" in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
• James Rado's "Aquarius" in The 40 Year Old Virgin

What are some of your favorite "Magical Music Cues"? What are some of your least favorite? Let me know in the comments section or on Facebook.

Cry Already 2: Biggest Tearjerkers

I'm already crying

          Somebody asked me what I find to be the most manipulative movie I've ever seen. I responded with Crash. I stand by that answer. I've never seen a movie scream at me so hard to cry already. Michael Pena's screaming scene (pictured in the below blog) is bundled with all of the plot devices string pulling necessary to build a bridge out of Dolly Parton movies.
          That said, I'll admit it. I cried the first time I saw Crash. I was very much manipulated by its dark magic. However, the second time I saw the movie I couldn't help but cringe. After being asked that question, and thinking about Crash's effect on me, I got to thinking about tearjerkers that are consistent with their manipulation.
          What are the movies that always seem to make me cry, no matter how many times I've seen them?
          I'm going to break these down by category, rating the films by the mileage they get out of my tear ducts.

The Denzel Tear

So what, I'm crying

• The Champ
• If any of you can sit through this scene without shedding a Denzel, then I suggest you buy a coffin and lay in it. Seriously. 
• Rudy
• You see a pattern emerging? Sports movies tend to illicit the coveted Denzel tear from me. You've got the basic question, can this underdog really do it? And when that resounding yes is finally given, how can you not cry? HOW CAN YOU NOT CRY!
• Into the Wild
• This movie's ending is not what makes me cry. It is instead the entire performance of Hal Holbrook. Almost every moment this man is onscreen is completely heartbreaking, especially the moment where Holbrook's character pleads for permission to adopt Chris, only to be met with, "Can we talk about this when I get back?" Holbrook knows he'll never see Chris again and breaks down as he watches the young man walk away. Powerful stuff. 
• Toy Story 2
• Don't act like you didn't shed a Denzel when Jessie sang her song about being forgotten by her owner and left on the side of the road. Don't. Even. Act like it. 

The Sniffle

What? It's sad!

•   Life is Beautiful
• You cried. I cried. We all cried. Admit it. When that little boy tells his mother that he's won a tank, all I've won is the condescending stare of the dude that only caught the ending. "That's not dust," I say, mildly flexing my biceps as I wipe my tears, "I'm freaking crying." 
• Big Fish
• Oh yeah. Billy Crudup's final monologue, and ultimate acceptance of his father, rips me a new one every time. A new tear duct. 
• Paths of Glory
• Often accused of being emotionally distant, Stanley Kubrick fans are quick to point out the  heart wrenching ending to this often overlooked masterpiece. 
• Cast Away
• You cried too. Right? Right...?

The Uncontrollable Sob

Go away!

• Breaking the Waves
• This movie does terrible things to me. Every time I see those bells ringing at the end I lose it. It doesn't matter if that's the only part I saw. 
• Toy Story 3
• And we thought Jessie's song was sad. Andy's beautiful farewell to his toys at the end of Toy Story 3 is like watching my childhood get folded into a bottle and thrown to sea. 
• Cinema Paradiso
• OH MY GOD
• Dancer In The Dark
• Either Lars Von Trier has a direct line to all things sad, or I have a lot in common with the man. Either way, I'm scared. This movie slaughters all things good in the world and leaves you in a kiddie pool made of salt water and snot. If you ever watch this movie with another person, apologize to them in advance for the emotional sewage you will become. 

What are your biggest tearjerkers? Let me know in the comments section or below the link on Facebook.

Cry Already! Questions and Answers and Lists and Things

The Plot Devices Made Me Sad

          I decided to write a question and answer blog because I wanted to see what kinds of blogs you want me to write. Apparently you people love lists. So your wish is my command. Several of you asked me similar questions, so I've boiled them down to the overlap.


Who Do You Prefer, Godard or Truffaut?
      
          To be totally honest, I don't really care too much for either. I'm a Louis Malle man. I appreciate their contributions to cinema, but I don't think either filmmaker has aged particularly well.


What are your five favorite films since 2005?

• Synecdoche, New York
• On most days I consider this the best movie I've ever seen. 
• Inland Empire
• There is nothing else in the world like it. In a good way. 
• A Serious Man
• The most emotionally jarring Coen Bros. film. 
• The Tree of Life
• It's possible that I could change my mind on this. But at the moment, I'm really, really impressed by this one. 
• The White Ribbon
• An absolutely soul-crushing masterpiece of modern cinema. See it immediately. 

What's the movie you wish you had made the most?

          I think this to myself all the time when I'm watching a movie. It usually doesn't even matter if it's high quality or not. Sometimes I find myself wishing I had made crap. Just something. Strangely enough, I often catch myself wishing I had made a comedy. 

         I get jealous of Judd Apatow's directing career, especially when I watch Funny People, because a lot of those ideas have been in my own fiction. However, I think the strongest memory I have of watching a movie I wish I had made myself was when I watched Mean Streets for the first time. There's something about the improvisational quality of that movie that made me believe anybody could have made it. Even me. 

What are some movies you find yourself constantly defending? 

• Southland Tales
• I've already written an article on this one, but this is definitely the one I defend the most. "Donnie Darko was good, but Southland Tales was too silly and confusing." I hear that all the time. And I find myself totally compelled to argue it. There is just something about that movie that really does something to me. 
• Inland Empire
• Too weird, to confusing, the image is too muddy, it's too long. I've heard them all. I've argued them all. Almost constantly. 
• Hulk
• I've actually written a fairly lengthy defense of this one that almost got published. This movie, to me, is the best superhero movie ever made. It has everything I want in my big budget character studies. The problem people have with this movie is that it is too moody, too slow, and too focused on its characters. Well, what is the Hulk if not a moody, lumbering green dude with serious anger issues? Ang Lee made a spectacular film with Hulk and people, inexplicably to me, complain about it all the time. As if the Liv Tyler muscle-fest did any better. 
• I feel like I've been constantly defending The Tree of Life lately. If you're one of those people who hates it, read my review to see what I think of it. 

How many movies do you watch a week?!

          It depends on the week. I tend to watch at least one movie every other day. Sometimes two in one day. Sometimes one in one week. But the average is probably seven movies a week. Sometimes more, though...

Where do you find all the movies you watch?

          I read a lot of articles online and buy lots of autobiographies from filmmakers where they list their favorite films and filmmakers. I usually find the influences of some filmmaker, then watch those influences, and then find those influences, etc. Netflix is VERY helpful. 

What are the movies that changed how you feel about the medium? 

• Sideways
• When I first saw this movie, I think I was 14, I didn't think much of it. I saw it again, at about 18, and completely identified with it. It completely absorbed me and shook me emotionally. This is when I found out that movies effect you in different ways at different times. It's an extremely simple thing to learn, and I'm sure I learned it really late, but there you have it. 
• The Dark Knight
• I learned that genre, budget, and audience need not get in the way of brilliant filmmaking. And that, sometimes, those things enhance the picture. 
• Dead Man
• Dead Man taught me that I should write whichever story I can dream up in my head, and that it is possible for it to get made. Far and away Jarmusch's cinematic triumph, Dead Man shows young writers and filmmakers that there will always be an audience for the weird and original things we come up with. 
• Nashville
• Your film is only as good as its casting. 

You gave us your favorite movies, but what do you think are, objectively, the best movies ever made?

          I think it would be impossible for me to give an objective answer to this question. But I suppose I'll try to break it down to most impressive examples of sheer filmmaking talent. 

• Citizen Kane
• Duh. The phenomenal camera tricks, the fast pacing, the groundbreaking use of lenses. This one is near perfect. Everybody knows that. 
• Raiders of the Lost Ark
• Literally the perfect special effects blockbuster. The filmmaking, the acting, the writing, the pacing. Everything works. 
• The Empire Strikes Back
• The ultimate sequel. Even better than The Godfather, Part II. Why? Because big summer movies have a different kind of hype. This picture didn't just have to amp it up, it had to live up to the world building, the legions of fans, the merchandising market, and the box office returns. And it did it. 
• Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb
• One of the most impressive performances ever committed to film while simultaneously being one of the most impressive, and bold, uses of film as a means of fighting "the man" possible. 
• McCabe & Mrs. Miller
• A perfectly conceptualized western in every way. Totally unique, and yet completely familiar. 

What is the most heavy-handed, manipulative movie you've ever seen? 

          Crash. Definitely Crash. 

What are some under seen gems you're always trying to get people to watch? 

• True Stories
• I love this movie. I feel like everybody would love this movie if they watched it. If you haven't seen it, what are you doing reading this blog? Go! Go now!
• Winter Light
• An absolutely spellbinding drama. One of the best ever made. 
• Zerkalo
• Cinematographer's delight. 
• Crumb
• An emotionally devastating documentary. Infinitely fascinating. 
• Synecdoche, New York
• Because it's awesome. 
• Paris, Texas
• One of the finest screenplays ever written. 
• 25th Hour
• No, no, I know it's Spike Lee, but it's really, really brilliant. 

That's all the questions I'll answer for now. I'll get to the others at some point, I'm sure. I'd love to hear some of your answers to these questions. Just fire off in the comments section below, or message me answers on facebook below the inevitable link I'll post to this blog. 

Movie Review: The Tree of Life

         Early on in Terrence Malick's newest film The Tree of Life, Brad Pitt's character (named Father) wakes up his three boys and takes them to their church, where he plays a huge pipe organ in the seemingly endless sanctuary. As the music plays, Father's oldest son Jack (played by an excellent Hunter McKraken) smiles. And then, for an instant, the film switches its focus to a sandstorm moving across a desert. And then, before you know that the image has changed, the focus returns to Jack and his father's organ playing. 

         

        It wasn't until this moment that I believed in The Tree of Life, and in the direction that Terrence Malick seems to be heading. 

       And what direction is that? It's hard to describe. The film lies somewhere between 2001: A Space Odyssey and McCabe & Mrs. Miller. Which means that those of you with a short attention span may want to look elsewhere. It moves slow. But I will say that the pacing is much, much faster than Malick's previous effort The New World, which many people consider unwatchably dull. 

       Although, when I talk about pacing, some people may confuse that with plot. So I'm going to get this out of the way early. There is no plot. There is no point A trying to reach point B. In fact, the film seems to be in direct opposition to point B. There are just moments. Hundreds of moments. These moments are linked together by a free-associating mind. For example, when the young boys are shown walking like their legs have been broken, moving side to side as if on a ship during a storm, the film cuts away to a man whose physical deformity forces him to really walk this way. We cut back to the kids, but it's a different day, and they feel guilty--maybe because they've insulted the man, but maybe not. Maybe because they've just watched a man get arrested. 

         "Could that happen to anybody?" Jack asks. But what is it he's afraid of? The film has shown us a man with deformed legs, men being pushed into the back of a police officer's car, and another man who seems to be having some sort of a seizure, since the last time we've seen Jack's face. Is he asking about all of those things? Does it matter? 

        I suppose it only matters if you're trying to find a plot. There are many opportunities for you to try and decipher one, but I don't think you'll have much luck. It's better to just watch the movie as if you're watching a dream. It's best to watch it the way you would watch 2001: A Space Odyssey, perhaps the only other American film to work on such an ambitious level. 

A Screenshot From the Film

    
         The closest thing to a synopsis that I can give you is the movie is, essentially, a series of questions and attempted answers. Like Kubrick's film, The Tree of Life works more like an essay than a narrative. While 2001 attempts to answer questions about progress and technology, The Tree of Life attempts to answer why God seems so distant, and why people never seem to get what they deserve. In fact, it seems that the entire movie balances on a single question, "God, how could you let my son die?"

       This question, asked very early in the film, sends the audience through millions of years of evolution. Where was God? Well, as the quote from the book of Job shown before the start of the film asks, "where were you when I created the heavens and the Earth?" 

      These two questions wrestle with each other for the duration of the film. We're treated to huge, momentous events like the creation of the sun, and small, microscopic ones like the way a small child looks at his baby brother. No event is treated as more important than the other. In this film, everything is treated with a sense of balance. A dinosaur crushing another dinosaur's head into a rock is presented with the same curiosity as a young boy smashing his neighbor's window. 

     Malick seems to be saying that all of these things are of equal importance. Or, that they are at least similarly ranked among what is important in the cosmos. The juxtaposition, for the most part, works quite well. 

     The movie's problems lie in runtime and focus. While there is no plot to speak of, there is most definitely a focus. However, throughout the lengthy prologue and epilogue, the focus is somewhat diminished. Match the aimless epilogue with the film's 157 minute runtime, and you can guess that this movie may not be for everybody. 

     But I encourage you to stick with it. Especially if you are a fan of Terrence Malick's previous work. You'll appreciate the absolutely brilliant imagery, the haunting musical score, and what is perhaps Brad Pitt's best performance so far in his career. 

     I feel like I have more to say, but for right now, just know that this a movie that isn't for people who say, "that movie was too weird" and it is not for people who say "but what was the point?" This movie is for those of you who smile to yourself whenever you hear somebody say those things.  And to those of you, enjoy the show.  

Audio Commentaries: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, and the Bizarre

      

           Audio commentaries became popular special features of home video releases around the time laserdiscs were released. They acted as an opportunity for filmmakers to describe the production of their films or reveal interesting behind-the-scenes tidbits. Occasionally, noted film critics like Roger Ebert would provide an audio commentary to a classic film such as Touch of Evil or Citizen Kane. 


         As I'm sure you're aware, the commentary track made its way onto DVD's after the unfortunate demise of the laserdisc. It wasn't long before commentaries became a cheap way for distributors to add bonus material to their discs, seeing that a couple of dudes in a room talking into a microphone is cheaper than producing a "making-of" doc. It also adds the entire film's runtime to that ever-growing number of bonus material hours advertised on box art.

         So, as you can imagine, there is a huge spectrum in terms of audio commentary quality. Sometimes it's just some people in a room, not really paying much attention to the film or each other, and sometimes you have lively discussions that highlight several interesting aspects of production while offering the audience a glimpse into the creative process.

          I'm going to give you a rundown on all of the commentaries I find to be helpful, funny, boring, unbearable, and just plain bizarre.

The Good


        

          Say what you will about his films, but Eli Roth knows how to record a commentary. Not only does he deliver commentaries at a breakneck speed (allowing for almost no periods of silence), Roth also offers viewers an unparalleled level of detail in all aspects of film production. He chronicles his entire process from script conception to distribution rights. Any one of Eli Roth's solo commentaries packs as much information as a film studies course, only his insights represent the voice of an extremely successful independent writer, director, and producer.

          While Roth's solo commentaries are the highlight of his film's releases, he also records commentaries with co-producer Quentin Tarantino that are particularly memorable, if not a little more off-topic.

          If, for some reason, you can't get past Roth's films to enjoy his (admittedly better) commentaries, perhaps you'd do well with David Fincher.

          Fincher, an advocate of audio commentaries, records them for the sole purpose of educating young filmmakers. His commentary for Se7en is an insightful look into the technical side of filmmaking. His sometimes dry delivery is balanced out by his undeniable ability as a visual artist. Additionally, Fincher knows that young filmmakers don't have access to big budget lighting rigs and high definition cameras, and offers listeners low-budget solutions to difficult problems surrounding lighting, blocking, location scouting and editing.

         Robert Altman provided insightful commentaries for Nashville and Short Cuts before his death in 2006. In those recordings, Altman explains the importance of casting and improvisation, going as far as saying that casting is "90% of any filmmaker's job."

         Other interesting commentators include, to varying degrees, Darren Aronofsky, Richard Donner, Jason Reitman, Edgar Wright, Roger Ebert, and Martin Scorsese. These are filmmakers who know what the listener wants (an education of the process/funny on-set stories/insights into the film, not long bouts of silence), and who always seem to have at least partially prepared for their 90-150 minute monologue.

The Bad

Speak up, Meathead

          If clear, educational and fast-paced commentaries aren't your thing, try listening to the commentary for any Rob Reiner movie. Particularly When Harry Met Sally. Good grief, is it bad. There is a forty minute period where Reiner does not say a word. In fact, I completely forgot that I was even watching a commentary. It wasn't until Reiner inexplicably found it necessary to tell me that his father visited the set on the day of the break-up scene that I realized that the commentary track was even on. So, of course, when he finally spoke up with that totally uninteresting fact, I about fell out of my chair.

          And then, as if a fountain of uninteresting anecdotes, Reiner continues to talk about who was on set for each scene. Like a dry, boring, monotonous roll call from a middle school teacher, Rob Reiner reminds audiences everywhere why commentary tracks are usually complete wastes of time.

         Other disappointing commentators include William Friedkin (whose Exorcist extended cut commentary may be the single-most silent commentary track ever recorded), Michel Gondry, Jackie Chan (surprised?), and Richard Linklater. These are filmmakers who either don't like to talk very much, or who find their work so impressive that they just tell you exactly what's happening on screen without any analysis or, gasp, commentary to speak of.

        In William Friedkin's commentary of BUG, he actually says, "and this is the scene where [Ashley] Judd sleeps with [Michael] Shannon. Actually, no, that scene is later on. This is the scene where...actually, yeah, I was right."


The Ugly

That's my neighbor's dog!

          What's worse than Rob Reiner suddenly remembering he's on the air, only to spout out a seemingly endless roll call of the people who were on set?

          Oh, I've got it, a prepared list of all of the people in the background that the directors know. Bobby and Peter Farrelly do just that on all of their commentary tracks. Instead of reeling on the hilarious, zany hijinks of their big name talents like Matt Damon and Jim Carrey, the Farrelly brothers spend literally all of their time telling us who the girl in the hockey sweatshirt is in the car in the background beside Jim carrey's left ear. No, the other girl in the hockey sweater. Wait, I don't think that was her. She might be in a later scene. Yeah, you know, I think the girl in that car is the one we were in French class with our junior year. That wasn't her, either? Are you sure?
      
         It's horrible. It is an excruciating experience hearing brothers bicker about who the extras were in their movie. It's even more horrible when they interrupt their bickering in order to laugh at a scene that they wrote and directed, only to offer zero insight or commentary on the production, inspiration, or reception of the scene.

        Most middle to low-brow comedies include commentary tracks of this nature. I'll never forget the commentary track to Dude, Where's my Car?, the very first commentary track I ever heard, where Seann William Scott and Ashton Kutcher talk about accidentally entering the women's bathroom for what seems like half of the film's runtime, only to spend the other half of the film's runtime talking about how funny they are in the movie.

       Yes, the ugly commentaries seem to suffer from an intolerable arrogance by the filmmaker. These commentaries usually revolve around how brilliant the filmmaker is because of his work, and how he or she can't possibly explain his or herself in a way that the viewer can understand.

      Tim Blake Nelson comes dangerously close to the arrogant filmmaker's border in his commentary for Leaves of Grass. Nicholas Cage is the complete embodiment of the arrogant filmmaker in his commentary for Sonny. And Quentin Tarantino somehow becomes the arrogant filmmaker for somebody else's movie in his commentary for Edgar Wright's Hot Fuzz.

The Bizarre
     

          Leave it to the Coen Brothers to poke fun at the audio commentary. For their DVD release of Blood Simple, their debut feature, the Coen brothers wrote a commentary and then hired an actor to play Kenneth Loring, a "film historian," to read it. The commentary includes all sorts of completely false information, such as claiming that the opening scene was shot upside down, with all of the actors speaking in reverse, in order to give the beginning a dream-like feeling. He also claims that the brothers had reserved roles for Rosemary Clooney and Gene Kelly, who "For some reason or another, dropped out of the film due to creative differences."

        Other bizarre commentaries include the Ghostbusters commentary (with the actors appearing on the bottom of the screen Mystery Science Theater 3000 style), Adam McKay's commentary for Talledega Nights (in which McKay lies about literally every detail of the film's production, one highlight being that all of the child actors were played by well-behaved robots), and Sylvester Stallone's commentary for Cliffhanger (where, at the end of the film, Stallone apologizes for pretty much his entire cinematic output).


Am I missing any great, awful, terrible, or strange commentaries?

Do any of you people even listen to commentaries, or am I the only one?

Let me know in the Comments Section!!

Misinterpreted: Antichrist

      
          The Cannes Film Festival jury is not known for being subtle. Just take a look at the experience Antichrist had with it. The members of the jury hated Antichrist so much that they gave the film a special award for its "misogynistic overtones." Lars Von Trier, during the press conference for the film, became so frustrated with the journalists calling him misogynistic that he declared himself the greatest filmmaker of all time and left the room.

          I suppose that's one way to call your audience stupid.

          Another way to call them stupid is to make them watch a film that condemns gender expectations and the arrogance of men and, somehow, make it seem like your film is hateful toward women. How embarrassed they must be for not having understood a film's intentions. Especially a film with such clear intentions.

          Lars Von Trier is known for a lot of things, beautiful imagery, strong performances, brutal endings; however, like the Cannes jury, he is not known for his subtlety. When he wanted to make a musical about capital punishment, he made Dancer in the Dark, a film with a plot so completely contrived and unbelievable that its ultimate goal feels like a slap in the face by an unconvincing preacher.  And that's just one of his movies. Nearly all of them are of that nature.

         Including Antichrist. 


         However, instead of capital punishment, Von Trier is attacking the expectations that have been placed upon the genders. More specifically, he is attacking the centuries-old conceit that men inhabit the realm of the mind, and that women inhabit the realm of the body. Or, as Trier takes it even further, that women are nature and men are spirit.

         He is attacking these prescribed ideas by creating characters who totally embody these gender stereotypes. I suppose one could argue that he is not attacking anything. One could argue that he truly believes in these tropes, and that he is trying to show the world how much sense these ideas make.

         And for those supposing people, they have clearly never seen the end of Antichrist.

         Strange as it may sound, many of the people who criticized the film for its offensive treatment of women either walked out of their screening or never even watched the film. They researched the basic plot, gathered some dialogue from the film--as well as their hatred for Von Trier's personality--and soared off into an oasis of self-important think-piecery.

 "I'm more enlightened and progressive than this Danish, misogynistic monster!" they yelled to themselves as they typed away on their keyboards made of soy plastic.

          At least, that's what I hope is what happened. Because surely these critics did not finish the film and continue believing that Antichrist is about how terrible women are and how awesome men are.

         I suppose I should offer up the plot of the movie to those of you who have not seen it. I'll be quick.

        There are two characters--He and She--played by Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg. He is a psychotherapist, She is a graduate student. The film begins with a prologue, He and She have sex as their young son, in the other room, makes his way to an open window and falls to his death. After their son's funeral, He and She deal with grief in their own ways. He, after crying at the funeral, shows very little outward emotion concerning his grief, while She is crippled by her overwhelming sense of loss. After She is released from the psych ward of the hospital, He decides that he will continue her treatment in a cabin they own in the woods. He tries to "cure" her by forcing her to confront all of her greatest fears. However, instead of helping her, the treatment seems to make her delusional and violent. And, not to give too much away, lets just say that things get out of hand.

          The film is comprised mainly of conversations between He and She. These conversations usually surround the very theme of the movie. She talks about her thesis on gynocide (spelled correctly, look it up) and how nature is Satan's church and He talks endlessly about how reasonable and intelligent he is. As the film continues, she begins to discuss how she can't stop buying into the beliefs of these Medieval philosophers whom she's been reading. She claims that women might actually be everything they've been reduced to over the centuries. He calls her crazy, that she's been brainwashed by articles she was supposed to be critical of.

          However, shortly after, He seems to be completely fine with She's drastic change in philosophy. After all, he's been acting exactly as a man is expected to act. He has shown no emotion other than anger, retained a healthy amount of arrogance, and has only succumbed to his sexual desires when his wife has forced herself upon him.


           In other words, He and She become the quintessential Medieval couple. And yes, I know how this is starting to look. What I've described from the film sounds, and definitely is, very offensive. Yet I am only describing the first two acts of the film. All of these elements are surprisingly offensive. No self-respecting feminist should ever try to defend a movie with this plot. But...

           The final scenes of the movie, particularly the final three shots, should drive home what the audience has been told all along. Lars Von Trier does not believe in what these characters are saying. It's like reading Huckleberry Finn and calling Mark Twain a racist. It just doesn't work that way. The film is so blatantly criticizing unfair gender expectations that the only way somebody could mistake the film's message is to just not watch it.

          Yes, the characters are completely offensive representations of men and women. They're supposed to be. The film's primary intention is rabble rousing. You're supposed to scream at the screen. Von Trier wants you to watch the movie through your fingers as you constantly look away in fear that you'll see something terrible. He's like that. That's just the kind of guy he is. And while the film may be trying to offend you, its ultimate goal is not offensive. It's just a difficult, painful journey.

         My problem with the film does not lie in its message because that message is actually pretty common: men and women should be treated equally by society. My problem lies in the question of audience. Who is the audience for this film?

        Who watches a Lars Von Trier film and does not already believe that men and women should be treated equally? Surely a film with such grotesque imagery and difficult subject matter is, by nature, given a very limited audience. And that limited audience, such as Cannes filmgoers, is surely caught up on modern sexual politics. Why must they need to be reminded that Medieval sexual politics were terribly impractical?
    
         Oh, wait, they didn't get it. You win, Lars.

Movie Review: SCRE4M

        
          SCRE4M is another way of saying Scream 4, which is another way of saying Scream: The Reboot. These are all acceptable titles, and I actually feel that that last title would have been more appropriate. That is because SCRE4M is really just a reboot. It is a self-aware, "meta" remake of the original Scream. That first film, if you can remember all the way back to 1996, received unusually good reviews for a teen slasher film. Most of the reviews hailed Wes Craven's direction as "fun and fresh," and carrying "a dollop of sarcasm and wit rarely seen in low-budget horror."

          Craven, the most well-known and financially stable director of the teen slasher film genre, still carries the slasher film torch all these years after the success of the Scream trilogy. And, realistically, after the success of the slasher movie genre.

          Because, let's face it, slasher movies are kind of dead. They've been replaced by shaky-cam thrillers and torture porn. The whole high-school-students-slowly-killed-by-immortal-murdering-monster thing has sort of turned into a crazy-guts-spilled-for-no-reason-by-immortal-mastermind thing.

          I suppose the question wouldn't be whether or not SCRE4M is any good, but rather is it anything new? If you're wondering whether or not the new Scream film is any good, then you are probably mistaken about what these films represent. They are not "good films." They are also not "bad films." It's hard to call it bad when, for the entire duration of the movie, it is reminding you that it has all of these rules that it must follow. And that it has no choice but to follow them. The entire charm of the series lies in this self-awareness.

        The thing is, for the first movie--released in a time where people had grown very, very weary of slasher films--audiences knew all of the rules and expected the film to be bad, being surprised mid-way through the film by its smart, post-modern plot. In other words, audiences were aware too. They were aware that the movie was aware, and everybody was on the same level.

        With SCRE4M, it feels like there is more of a disconnect between the film and its audience. Where the first film's scenes of teenagers discussing the rules of horror films felt fresh and fun, this new film's identical scenes feel more like a quota being filled. And this is where the film runs into problems.

        SCRE4M is a remake of the first film. So everything that happens in this new film is something that we have seen in the other one. With a remake comes the baggage of the original film. There MUST be an equally shocking murder in the beginning. There MUST be nerds who know too much about movies. There MUST be a good motive for the killer. The film MUST be aware of all of these rules.

        Now imagine a film that not only fills all of these quotas, but also has to acknowledge these quotas. Then imagine a remake of the film that is filling and acknowledging these quotas, and then acknowledging its acknowledgment. That means that on top of the original film's attempts at meta-narrative, this new film must also comment on the fact that it is commenting on a quota that it is also filling.

        Confused? Look at this:

SCRE4M is this caption.

            The seemingly unnecessary complexities aside, this film is definitely worth watching for fans of the other films. Most of the actors are back, and most of the reasons you liked the first ones are back as well. The beginning, while not necessarily shocking, is pretty hilarious and worthwhile anyway. And everything that follows, while a definite retread of things seen before, is sort of what you're asking for anyway when seeing the third sequel (not third film, third sequel) to any movie.

           The problem lies in the film's existence. If Wes Craven wanted to comment on the current wave of horror films, why did he decide to bring a decade old franchise out of mothballs? The original film was so charming because it was existing as a current film while commenting on one. It did the same thing that Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead did just a few years ago with zombie films. It is important to be a good example of the thing you're critiquing as you critique it, or your criticism feels meritless. As an aside, Shaun of the Dead is showcased in this film.

          If Wes Craven had really wanted to criticize modern horror, he should have started a new franchise. While it is funny to see characters in a reboot commenting on the fact that there are so many reboots out there, it is also incredibly tedious to go through the motions all over again. For a film that is so excited about breaking its own rules, it follows a pretty narrow formula.

          In fact, SCRE4M reveals a semi-solution to the problem about half-way through the film. In a scene where some high school kids are watching one of the Stab films, the series within a series, we learn that the fake film is directed by Robert Rodriguez. We are then shown a couple of minutes from this film, a clip actually directed by Rodriguez, and they are probably the best part of the movie. The scene is fresh, twisted, intentionally campy, and awesome.

          After that, we are brought back into the tired world of SCRE4M once again, not only aware of Craven's inability to leave a tired franchise behind, but in his inability to see that his reign as king of the  low-budget innovators has ended, succeeded by directors who are more willing to take risks like Robert Rodriguez and Edgar Wright. Which is strange, considering that both director's works are given screen time in the film.

          If you skipped everything above, here's what you need to know: if you like the Scream franchise, go see it; if you are expecting something new or innovative, you will be disappointed.

The bottom line is that the film is fine, but a real missed opportunity.