WHAT MAKES A MEMORABLE DIRECTOR?

Going to break my format for my last blog post and talk about separates good director from a memorable one. I think one of the reasons I routinely go back and watch a Tarantino film or a Paul Thomas Anderson film or a David Fincher film is that, not only are they all around entertaining and insightful movies, but I also feel like their directors are communicating something about themselves within each film; something about their past or their personaility or their interpretation of something.

A good director is serviceable and inoffensive, they don't make waves one way or another. They facilitate. Great directors elevate whatever material they're working with to a cinematic level. Even if the script itself is already award-worthy, it's still just words on a page. It takes a vision and a will to raise to new heights. 

Recently I've been on a P.T. Anderson kick, especially with Phantom Thread only a month-and-a-half away. The commonality I'm finding throughout Anderson's work is that he's very good at making things feel grand. I've not seen Hard Eight, but Boogie Nights, Punch-Drunk Love and Magnolia especially all feel epic in scale, in my opinion, despite their relatively humble settings. It's one reason that There Will Be Blood really stands out among Anderson's filmography, as the director had already had over ten years' practice making small things feel big so when he finally got the chance to tell a true American epic, it was a spectacle.

Sometimes, it just comes down to luck. As a writer and/or director, you obviously never know what's going to resonate. For instance, Richard Kelly, whose directorial debut, Donnie Darko, was a noteworthy indie hit. Kelly by all rights, had the same amount of promise as any of my aforementioned favorite directors and should still be making noteworthy films but after his two follow-up films, the incomprehensible Southland Tales and the tepid The Box, Kelly has virtually vanished from the entertainment world.

I'm not an expert or especially knowledgeable on the subject, I just thought I'd muse on what separates the memorable from the forgotten. Also, can't wait to see Phantom Thread!

THE KILLING OF A SACRED DEER (2017)

When I started this blog, I assumed I would only be writing about films that had had an impact on me which were released, at the very leastm a year or two before the present day. But, having just seen Yorgos Lanthimos' The Killing of a Sacred Deer, I can't think of a film released recently that has stayed with me so much.

I'll do my best to keep major plotpoints out of this write-up and focus on how the film made me feel and what I gleaned from it. For the sake of context, though, the film is essentially a revenge story involving Colin Farrell, his family, and a teenaged boy played by Barry Koeghan. Part tragedy, part thriller and part black comedy, The Killing of a Sacred Deer is impossible to pin down into one genre as it drifts between all three of these, sometimes invoking all of them at the same time.

Lanthimos's idisyncratic dialogue is like an alien's impression of what humans sound like. Often it's hilarious. Similar to his previous films, Dogtooth and The Lobster, this is a world without emotional guilt or many social boundaries. People do what is most logical, even if it is in stark contrast with what they want. 

The world of Sacred Deer, begs to be explored further. Not that it is undereveloped, but there is clearly a major societal difference between this world and our own with an undoudbetly fascinating backstory. It's refreshing to see such a wildly unique take on societal norms. It's an example of world-building without unnecessary flash.  

Lanthimos's work isn't afraid to embrace tragedy and let things end on a dower, uncertain note. Where most films use tragedy to motivate characters and plot points, Lanthimos' characters are perfectly (mostly?) happy and it is the result of both their choices and fate that bring them to an ultimately tragic climax.

I genuinely laughed harder during this film than any comedy released in recent memory. It's an odd film and I quite loved it.

WHIPLASH (2014)

On paper, a film about a jazz drummer and his volatile conductor doesn't feel like one of the most gripping stories of the decade, but what's so fantastic about Damien Chazelle's sophmore outing (Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench being his first feature) is that it tosses aside all preconceived notions about a movie set in a jazz conservatory and flings them out the window in a fit of howling rage.

Despite its insultaed setting, Whiplash deals with themes everyone can relate to; desire versus talent; coaching versus bullying; sacrifice versus self-destruction. J.K. Simmons and Miles Teller have palpable chemistry and an extremely layered dynamic that, to my mind, has never been achieved in such grandiose fashion before in film.

Chazelle isn't afraid to be tough on his characters and clearly revels in pitting them against one another, drawing as much drama as possible from their conflict. More on the subject of Teller and Simmons' student/teacher relationship, the fact that they essentially both want the same thing makes their clash so much more satisfying because, ultimately, they just have different methods of going about it. Teller's Andrew desperately wants to be a great musician and Simmons' Fletcher desperately wants to be a great musician's teacher.

For me, what is especially inspiring about this film is that it creates spectacle and atmosphere with a modest setting and a small cast. This is something all filmmakers should aspire to achieve; making a film FEEL big even if it doesn't LOOK big. This is largely achieved by, in addition to the leads' brilliant performances, the sharp, precicse cinematography and razor sharp editing. Editor Tom Cross's Academy Award was well earned for Whiplash's beauitfully assembled final cut.

I love this film because it is so outside of what would normally be in my purview. It's not quite like anything I've seen before which works entirely to its advantage. Within its first five minutes, Chazelle establishes the central conflict of the film, as well as Teller and Simmons' core motivations. Between this, Guy and Madeline, La La Land and the upcoming Neil Armstrong biopic, First Man, Chazelle has already has a magnificent filmography and a bright future ahead. 

SUPERMAN: THE MOVIE (1978)

This film was something of a white whale for me as a kid. I was always a fan of the Superman cartoons of the 90's, and knew that there was a live-action film made some twenty/thirty years prior, but I was never able to find it, strangely enough. I remember renting it from two separate video stores and both copies being worn down from excessive viewing. It wasn't until years later that I caught it on TV and fell in love with Richard Donner's take on one of the greatest characters to come out of the 20th century. 

It's still something of an anomaly among the superhero film genre in that it isn't a typical superhero film. It doesn't have much action or any fight scenes, per se. It's very romantic and very mythological. In fact, I would argue that the strongest moments of the film don't involve Superman at all and, instead, take place early on during the Krypton sequence and the erecting of the Fortress of Solitude.

The Krypton prologue wherein Jor-El (Marlon Brando) and Lara Lor-Van (Susannah York) is a wonderful, dreamlike sequence. Krypton's crystaline design feels overwhelmingly alien, yet warm and inviting. The decision to have Superman's trademark 'S' crest be something like a family sigil is a stroke of brilliance on the part of co-writer Mario Puzo (The Godfather). Despite his clear ambivalence towards the film, Brando performs as only Brando could, with a verbose tongue and regality.

This has always remained my favorite version of Krypton because it undoubtedly the most cinematic and truly alien. I love that it doens't resemble our world in any way, shape or form. I love the idea of crystal computers and crystal architecture. It's an inspired design.

While I love the film as a whole to this day, my favorite moments, for some reason, don't involve Reeve at all. The Fortress of Solitude, like Krypton, is an inspired design that both recalls Kal-El's enigmatic alien homeworld and the tipi-style tent of the Native Americans. The Fortress represents Clark's last link to his heritage, it's apparent the moment we see it signifies to him.

When Clark throws his glowing green crystal (the only remnant from his crashed ship), it's a wonderfully primal moment with amazing payoff. Up until this point, he's known nothing of his homeworld or his parents and the unanswered questions are beginning to get to him; Why did my parents send me away? Where am I from? What makes me different? Clark's journey from Smallville to solitude is an important, yet rarely explored aspect of the Superman mythos. It's a perfect metaphor for the transition from adolescence to adulthood. If only we could all step into our Fortresses of Soltiude and emerge as Christopher Reeve in-costume. Alas.

I love this film. I love for it its weirdness and sapiness and romanticism. You will never see another superhero film like this one, with more focus on character than plot, and not a single punch in sight. Don't get me wrong, it's a bizarre movie with more than a couple of cringe-worthy moments, but they all serve reinforce the fantasy element of Superman. Where, most of the time, Superman is used to tell science fiction and action/adventure stories, Donner takes a much more ethereal approach to the Man of Steel and, in my opinion, it works well.

Also, Superman says "excuse me" to a pimp.

SIX SHOOTER (2004)

With Martin Mcdonagh's new film, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri already getting awards buzz and lots of critical acclaim, I thought I'd revisit his first foray into cinema, the short film, Six Shooter.

Brendan Gleeson plays a grieving widower who meets an extremely disturbed, strange young man on a train ride. 

Though I would go on to read Mcdonagh's The Pillowman and watch In Bruges, I went into this fresh, just looking for new interesting short films online. Immediately, I was struck by Mcdonagh's deft balancing of tonal shifts throughout his short piece. Where most directors falter when weaving between various tonalities, Mcdonagh had a clear understanding right off of the bat of how to keep his characters and narrative balanced, yet unpredictable. Six Shooter is as darkly funny as any of his other works, and just as macabre, dealing with grief, guilt and violence. 

Six Shooter is an excercise in momentum. Starting out with Brendon Gleeson visiting his dead wife, it moves steadily, building tension and suspense until it reaches an explosive climax with an ironic tag.

At the time I saw it, this felt like a breath of fresh air, filmic-wise. Something smart and thoughtful with beautiful contrasting depictions of violence. A scene involving a cow with trapped win exploding into a bloody mess, is nicely juxtaposed with the gorey shootout involving the disturbed young man on the train. Mcdonagh is brilliant about laying bare his themes, while keeping them layered and subtly executed. And all the while peppering in hilarious dialogue ironic payoff.

Six Shooter was important, too, in learning to distinguish between a film that is directed and one that is written. By this, I mean, a film that owes the majority of its quality to the direction and dialogue on the page. Whereas, a film that is directed, owes most of its quality to the decisions of the director. David Fincher, for example, does not write his own films and most certainly raises the quality of the screenplays he's given to new heights when he directs them. His films, while finely written, are mostly known for their distinct visual style, rather than the dialogue or characters. All of Mcdonagh's films are written, first and foremost. For me, the distinction is a fascinating one and Mcdonagh's debut short helped to clarify it.

Six Shooter is a wonderful short piece with a fantastic performance by Gleeson and certainly worth a watch before heading into Three Billboards.

THE MUPPETS TAKE MANHATTAN (1984)

My first introduction to The Muppets was watching reruns of Muppet Babies at a very, very young age which, although I enjoyed well enough for a toddler, wasn't a revelatory discovery in the same way that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was, for example. 

It wasn't until seeing a television broadcast of The Muppets Take Manhattan that I developed an affinity for Jim Henson's gang of tongue-in-cheek, absurdist puppets. What I found so captivating about the Muppets, first and foremost, is how distinct and human each and every one of them is. They all display ego and pretension and selfishness at times, all the while remaining laughably self-aware of who they are. In a time where animators spend millions of dollars making CGI characters look and feel human, Henson was able to accomplish the same thing with just his voice and some felt. 

The third entry into the Muppets' feature film series, Muppets Take Manhattan finds the Muppets fresh out of college (which could have been a film unto itself), migrating to New York City to get a musical made on Broadway. The film has all the staples of a Muppet movie; guest stars, songs and lots of meta humor. 

Even as a kid seeing this for the first time, what felt so refrsehing about Muppets Take Manhattan is how flawed and, ultimately, human the Muppets feel. Though certainly protective of his creations, it never felt like Henson was so precious as to avoid making the Muppets relatable. Miss Piggy's abrasive, angry and, often greedy, demeanor has always made her a standout female character that breaks the dainty, nice-girl mold. And her relationship with the more subdued, yet still quick to anger in his own way, Kermit is a fascinating one. They argue and misunderstand each other, but it never goes too far and you never doubt that there's a genuine, mutual love between them. 

In watching the film again in 2017, there were a few things which stuck out that were ever-so-slightly uncomfortable: The song "You Can't Take No For An Answer", though in the context that film uses it is mostly fine, obviously has some different connotations today. Bizarre, too, is the extended sequence where we see live-action Muppet Babies. Their designs are... not as cute as they were surely intended. 

Though perhaps not as beloved as The Muppet Movie (1979), or as laugh-out-loud funny as The Muppets (2011), The Muppests Take Manhattan nonetheless a timeless feature and one of the stronger feature films by the Henson Company. 

DAY OF THE DEAD (1985)

Like most kids, zombie films were a staple of my adolescence; RE-ANIMATOR, RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD and, of course, George A. Romero's NIGHT, DAWN and my personal favorite, DAY OF THE DEAD.

Where the previous films took place during the early days of the zombie apocalypse, DAY OF THE DEAD is at an indeterminate point in the future, long enough that most of humanity has either died outright or returned from death, zombified. 

More so than NIGHT or DAWN OF THE DEAD, DAY is less about fear and more about survival and carving out a place for one's self in such a hostile world. It's Romero's most inwardly focused film, having moved on from the consumerism commentary of DAWN, he positions his characters as isolated, from their past and fututre, stuck in a world that belongs entirely to the dead.

Lead Lori Cardille's opening scene, alone in a white room staring at a calendar, sets the tone for the rest of the film, with most of it taking place underground, away from the zombie-infested city above.

Isolation is key to DAY, from star Lori Cardille's opening scene alone in a white room staring at a calendar, to the many scenes set underground in an abandoned military compound. DAY OF THE DEAD presents a world moved on from humanity, alone with its walking dead. Isolated, too, is a zombie nicknamed "Butch" being experimented on by military scientists. Butch's arc was an especially captivating one for me, as seeing a zombie evolve, in any way, was a unique experience. I interpreted this as being Romero's way of giving his trilogy an apothesis and a semblance of closure (though he would eventually follow it up with more sequels years later). In this way, DAY actually ends on a relateively upbeat note. Our three human protagonists escape to an island where they can, presumably, live out the rest of their days peacefully, and the zombies are going to evolve in their time and possibly cultivate a new society of their own. 

I've always loved this film for more than its gore and over-the-top performances. It really felt like the culmination of something for Romero, both narratively and as a filmmaker himself. Starting out with a micro budget for NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, Romero built his career on the walking, stalking dead and continued to escalate spectacle and production value with each installment, DAY being the most ambitious and fun (in my opinion).