Film Theory

How Could You Do This To Us?

How Could You Do This To Us? Staggeringly idiotic, I can’t fathom the good reviews this film is receiving – anymore than I can fathom how they approved the “twist” ending. It was something that I’d expect to see out of M. Night Shyamalan’s reject pile.

I love Jordan Peele, but this film was awful. Terrible directing, awkward pacing that was slow to the point of boredom, and laughable acting. When the “tethered” villain started speaking her choked and gasping voice, I started laughing. It was comical. The comedic timing, as a whole was all over the place. There was little that made sense: funny scenes were rendered flat and tense scenes were interrupted by bizarre, unexpected comedic moments.

I appreciated some of the natural dialogue between the characters that could act, but it was still ill-suited. It was also nice to see both Tim Heidecker and Elizabeth Moss, but both of their talents were wasted.

None of the scenes contributed in ways they should, often dragging on for far longer than my attention would hold – and buttoned up with pieces of information that was shown in a form that didn’t depend on the scene context. For example, as the family is driving to the beach in Santa Cruz, nothing happens.

The scene contributes nothing to the main character, and certainly nothing to the overall film, and then they throw in a random flashback she has. If you removed the scene, it wouldn’t impact the film in the slightest; it was merely transitional.

How Could You Do This To Us? The ending…. I’m not even going to bother explaining it, but I will say this: what you think the ending is going to be is stupid. One character goes on a rant explaining the entire film that you didn’t actually see, and it’s supremely moronic. But it doesn’t stop there. No, sadly there’s a twist that essentially invalidates the entire film you just watched. It removes all motivation from the character.

It conflicts with the very essence of the story, and it serves the opposite intended purpose. How Could You Do This To Us? It’s a mistake so egregious, that I’m actually insulted Peele would think I’m so fucking dumb (or amnesic). It’s terrible. As bad as the fake, setup ending is, I wish they had left it there. Sure, you’d feel short-changed, but it would make more sense than what they did. If you want me to share what happens, I will, but I’m gonna need a drink…or several.

The Punisher

As the title of this review suggests, I have suffered. Some at the hands of what I consider subpar storytelling and character development, but with the occasional graphic action treat. Some at the hands of myself, and my compulsion to finish this show because I can’t stop ripping it apart.

It’s a little unfair, as most of my criticisms come from a production standpoint; in my defense, however, I only defaulted to this because I found it hard to stay engaged in the story. I’ll knock out the production stuff quickly, then move onto more audience-centric issues.

The cadence of the actors and the devices they regularly fall back on are distracting. For example, Jonathan Edward Bernthal (“Frank Castle/Punisher”) regularly does this thing where he bobs his head back and forth while talking – as though he’s trying to find clues for what line is next from cue cards positioned offscreen. Amber Rose Revah (“Agent Madani”) has this weird palatal fricative pronunciations of words that draw attention to the awkward contortions of her mouth. (And yes, I had to look this shit up it was so irritating.) I don’t know if this was a character choice, and I haven’t seen anything else she’s been in, but it was incredibly distracting and weakened her character to the point where I would start skipping through her scenes in 10-second increments.

Even bitplayers dragged on my nerves with their bullshit “business.” Deborah Ann Woll, who plays the reporter Karen Page (great job on the name, guys…Jesus) does this fucking lip-bite in every remotely emotional scene. Please find something else, lady.

There are obvious set reuses, and later on they just stop caring – like when the psychiatrist helping Billy Russo ends up in the same hospital room where Frank Castle formerly was.

They needed some technical consulting, especially since we’re expected to believe these ex-military folks are legit and elite in their jobs. It should be second nature, and you wouldn’t be referring to a magazine as a “clip.” It’s just sloppy.

As an audience member, and suspending my technical concerns, the show has some major flaws. Mainly, it feels like a rehash of other rehashes. The first season was manageable. But by the start of the second season, I knew we were in trouble.

The plot of the first episode in season two unfolds like a 12-year-old’s power fantasy. Here’s how it starts: Castle is living a new life in the midwest. He’s at a bar with, yep, an attractive bartender. What happens next? Don’t pretend you don’t know. Some drunk patron comes up and aggressively flirts with her – actually uses the line, “How far up do those tattoos go? I want to lick them.” What creatively bankrupt sixth-grader did you steal that from? Anyway, drunk guy doesn’t take the hint, so Castle steps in to save the poor lass. “You just made my night,” boasts the drunkard, stabbing a finger into Castle’s chest. Does Castle buy him a beer and explain the need for a less toxic portrayal of masculinity? Aw, hell no! He beats the shit out of him so that he can impress the woman, whose only purpose is to validate Castle’s baboonery by rewarding him with saaaaayyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeex! …Yes, they fucking have sex afterwards. You can’t make this shit up. Er, I guess…you…can, as it’s been so overdone it has moved past troupe and into ancient relic.

The troupe problem is one of its biggest. Everyone is a cliche, down to Castle’s deceased wife. I don’t get this “perfect woman” affect; you can love your partner deeply without being some virginal fucking angel who never raises her voice or is so selfless she has no personality of her own. How about you writers try dating? It’ll change your life, I promise.

Mostly, I hated everybody in the show, and no investment for what happened to them – save for Curtis Hoyle (played by Jason R. Moore) and John Pilgrim (played by Josh Stewart). Stewart’s neo-Nazi-turned-preacher character was surely overdone, but he pulled it off and was a joy to watch. His presence held every sequence. Moore’s acting was just fantastic; he stayed connected in every scene, and held a charismatic hold as he moved toward clear scene objectives.

Ben Barnes’s character (“Billy Russo”) was a narrative waste, and was dragged out far beyond what one could call reasonable. You can tell when a character lacks motivation or relevance when the emotional transitions are all over the place. He’s flailing for some kind of inner reason to act the way he does, and it’s noticeably absent from Russo as a character. This typically takes form when he starts yelling; since it’s halfway through his scene, he has to make some other transition. But he doesn’t. He just keeps yelling. Maybe he calms slightly, but then ramps up again pointlessly and exhaustively. Once you hit your peak, bro, you’ve got to go somewhere else. And playing a crazy man who’s only dial is “pissed” doesn’t get you very far with regard to character development.

The speed of the final wrap-up at the end of season two was ridiculous. I think it took them all of 11 minutes to button everything up, and it felt rushed. Both the staging of the actors in the very last shot, in addition to the lighting, made it look like the start of a modern “West Side Story” dance-off. When one of the gang members screamed, “You wanna dance?” I legit thought they were going to break out into a synchronised group routine. Then ole Frank comes in and does his gorilla yell while firing two automatic weapons. It was puss icing on a shit sandwich. It felt like a child directed this scene, but one who only grew up with dated stereotypes of manliness from the 1960s.

There’s some good to the show: namely, I think their depiction of violent revenge holds some dark satisfaction for viewers, and the effects are done well. The gore is believable, and the sound design heightens the intensity of the graphic assaults throughout a few pivotal scenes. I’m thinking primarily of the death of Agent Rawlins, Castle against Russo at the carnival, and of the fight between Castle and John Pilgrim.

But outside of all of that, I find myself daydreaming during episodes – wishing for what could be and trying to drown out the misery that is this flatly portrayed non-revenge, revenge narrative. Save yourself the time, and pass on this.

America

Probably Kazan’s greatest directorial achievement, it is also his most personal – recounting his uncle’s trek from Turkey to the United States. Using a mix of nonprofessionals and up-and-coming acting talent, this film contains some of the most radical, emotionally charged performances I’ve ever seen. The commentary provided on the DVD prefaces each scene by saying “this scene is very important.” Appropriately so.

Stathis Giallelis’s face pulls you in; you can’t look away. His struggle to transition into his own definition of a man – outside of his father’s values – is a plight to which most of us can relate. The tension between actors and the explosive emotions littered throughout the film (like visceral landmines) raises my anxiety levels, but reveals a truth about my own experience from deep within. Kazan has always had that effect on me. He reaches in and pulls out the deepest pain and shows it to you. But not in an abusive way; he doesn’t take you hostage. He talks to you with paternal affection – both saying, “I know you are hurting” and “it’s okay, I’ve been here too.”

The music of Manos Hadjidakis lulls us into new cities, new experiences, and each scene unfolds before you in a way that pulls you further into investment with people around – lovable or not.

Haskell Wexler was an asshole on this picture, completely undermining Kazan’s direction, yet still provided stellar cinematography. Kazan recounts him as “a man of considerable talent, and he was considerable pain in the ass.” Wexler would regularly remind him how little artistry he had, commenting “You know you don’t have a good eye,” a comment that Kazan would begrudge for years. When asked what he thought of the script, Wexler replied “I thought it was a piece of shit…[but] I knew what a Kazan picture would do for my career.” When the film was done, Haskell casually remarked to Kazan, “I think I can see what you were getting at now….” Jesus, dude, save some shit attitude for the rest of us.

Haskell Wexler on one of the many practical locations used for this film.

Dede Allen rounds out the production staff to provide incredible, dynamic pacing through the film’s editing – sometimes jump-cutting mid-shot to provide unrest and disruption to highly charged events within the story.

It is an epic in the most classical sense, replete with a heroic journey structure and deeply symbolic relics, false friends and beautiful sacrifices, and a protagonist who goes through hell to come out a new person. The goal of our hero, Stavros, is clear; and we suffer with him to get there.

Finally, it was inspiring as an American to feel how difficult it was for some to travel here. It was the dream of many to come here, and you can feel the joyful tears streaming down their wind-weathered faces as Ellis Island approaches on the horizon. It must be confusing to immigrants who suffer unspeakable trials to get here, to then hear natives of our country bemoan its faults. This piece gave an authentic slice of the struggle. Toward the end of the film, I felt a strong sense of pride and good fortune at growing up in a land of opportunity.

Beautifully crafted essays by French film theorist Jean-Claude Carrière, who was himself a highly prolific and successful screenwriter – working for the likes of Buñuel and Volker Schlöndorff. And the man has a certain command of language that is equal parts moving, inspiring, clear, and devastating. This book not only covers the vast distance of the evolution of visual linguistics behind the ever-evolving cinematic language, but it reinvigourates your imaginative “muscles.” He calls out your shit – the stuff that ruins your creativity – and he gets you to work through it.

Movies have forever changed the human landscape, both internal and external – especially when considering how we view each other and how we view ourselves, compared to…say…the old Master Thinkers and Philosophers of ancient Greece, for example. And yet, with all this technological development and our constant, ever-increasing exposure to new media, the question still remains: is cinema young or old? There is no clear answer.

Carrière masterfully interweaves timeless observations with research that was contemporary in the 90s, and bundles the proof neatly with intriguing, insightful stories that delight you as you read. Even if you’re not a film buff, there’s much to appreciate about this title – especially the way he writes and his humour.

One particularly moving passage recounted how, after being imprisoned a decade without access to media, ex-convicts would be completely confused by modern films and could not follow the sequence of events within the plot. Just like language, film techniques and meanings evolve, are filled with mistakes and misunderstandings, become trite and vapid, and circle back to new meaning. As the Indian proverb says, “God is only interested in beginnings….”

I wanted to cite the following passage, which pertains to the manipulation of news stories for dramatic effect, because it holds prevalent meaning for me:

“Sometimes it is enough to be forewarned, to have a lucid grasp of the language of film, for every TV news program to become an interesting decoding exercise. We can then look with new eyes at the images that bombard us (nobody ever wholly escapes them), anticipating blind alleys, technical tricks, omissions. Our habitual passivity can give way to wakefulness, to curiosity, to a critical eye. A necessary, salutary attitude and – doubtless for that very reason – a perpetually threatened one. But how many people will take the trouble, or are informed enough, to open their eyes, to see differently? Most of the time we stare supine and dull-witted at the image we are shown and the sound we are made to hear: dull and unreacting. Sometimes we hear that these are ‘exclusive’ pictures – meaning that they have been acquired as a result of sub rosa deals and fees higher than the competition could afford. We are being tempted with promises of horror. After one railroad disaster I even heard a reporter say, ‘With luck, we will be able to show you the footage of this horrible accident later on in the program.’ Every professional announcer is to some degree an actor.”

There is so much covered in this tiny book that I can’t really do justice to any review of it. He talks about damn-near everything: relationship in art, the tricks the mind plays on itself, the frustration of trying to find creative balance between exploration and reflexion, and the list goes on. And they aren’t necessarily neatly compiled (in the most positive way, it ties all the elements together, even though it may be at the cost of convenience). I would recommend taking notes; but don’t be off-put: this is a remarkable read.

I had written a longer review, but had ended up quoting so many passages that it was like I was rewriting his book. I think that exercise could be useful, if for no other reason than to sort the immense volume of data packed into those narrow bindings. I didn’t even choose the best quotes! But I do find value in some particular phrases, such as this one – that could really use some context that is not here: “The filmmaker is the heir of the great storytellers of the past, and the keeper of their tradition.”

When Carrière met up with Oliver Sacks, he asked him “What is a normal man?” After some time, Sacks replied that he thought a normal man was one with whom understood his own story (to its full capacity). I think the deeper joke – or the sad tragedy – is that who we are is defined by our stories. Without them, we are aimless – evanescent ghosts without substance that whisper our sad ideologies to those that, even if they could hear, wouldn’t care. Knowing where we come from and where we are going is a profound aspect of our character, and it was refreshing to read from someone who not only understood these nuanced aspects to media – but also someone who cared so deeply about movies that it ends up reminding you of your own occupational divinity…your reason for pursuing this craft. We should all try to find teachers that can help transform our lives. I’ve been fortunate to experience so many of them remotely or from beyond the grave, but nothing beats the real thing of a teacher beating sense into you.. If your heroes still happen to be alive, you should set down to write them a letter immediately. You’ll only regret it if you don’t follow through….