Archive for Mel Gibson

The Three Stooges of Grief

Posted in FILM, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 21, 2019 by dcairns

Okay. After further Stooge-viewing, I can offer more “insights.”

(One) Watching with company helps. For me, there’s still a point of depression that kicks in after two shorts, but you obviously get bigger laughs with a friend present, and I can imagine a big cinema audience would amplify things further.

Old womanhaters.

(Two) Some of the shorts have more to offer than others. It might be the presence of a guest star — expected, like Billy Gilbert, or unexpected, like Lucille Ball. Or it might be an actual plot, as in PUNCH DRUNKS, where we get to see the Stooges meet up as if for the first time — Moe is a fight manager, Curly a waiter, Larry a violinist, and Curley becomes an unbeatable berserker whenever he hears “Pop Goes the Weasel” played. Or it might be all that plus the whole thing being a kind of grotesque operetta, as in WOMAN HATERS, an ode to/spoof of misogyny, performed in song and recitative.

Curky does his celebrated Jean Cocteau routine.

(Three) Curly is the most appealing actor. Moe is a horrible character, played with some skill admittedly (and as a unit, the Stooges are exemplary in what they do, if you can admit the need for anybody to do it at all). Whenever Moe gets a closeup, any laughter you might be working on dies before reaching the throat. And then you have a dead laugh lying on your stomach. Larry, apart from his fiddling, seems less of a character all round, and doesn’t really suggest the required dumbness. When you look at Moe and Larry together they seem like they ought to be starring in a film which would be called BILL AND TED GET ACROMEGALY. But Curly has all these weird mannerisms and non-sequiturs, which have nothing to do with real human behaviour — the strange butterfly movements, the dances, the abstract vocalisations, the nonsense utterances — “victim of circumstance” — “that’s a coincidence.” And he’s the most creative, adding flinches everywhere, as if constantly fearing the violence he is, in fact, going to receive.

Look at this image. Now try to think of something amusing.

(Four) I do have a fascination with unfunny clowns, or clowns who are only intermittently funny (Jerry Lewis is the King of Intermittence, but he can get me HYSTERICAL). I’ve watched less than ten Stooges shorts, and two of them begin with the Stooges begging on the streets. Not busking, like L&H, but merely BEGGING. And I think you’d find it hard to argue with the contention that we’re basically being asked to laugh at beggars. The way to enjoy this is to turn the laugh on the filmmakers, and laugh any time there’s a good joke but also laugh at the twisted nature of the endeavor, the tasteless, clueless approach to popular entertainment. There’s a contention that comedy is valuable when it punches UP and disagreeable when it punches DOWN. The Stooges shorts certainly contain a lot of punch-ups. But whereas Laurel & Hardy films have this strange duality (at least when Stan was in charge), where the boys are both the butt of the joke and the sole focus of our sympathy, in the Stooges films we are meant to laugh at the respectable citizens who get hurt and also at the idiots responsible, and we have no sympathy for anyone. I’m reminded of Fassbinder. Yes, I am: “I look to the left, and I look to the right, and I FIRE IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

Censored sequence from FIEND WITHOUT A FACE.

(Five) In POP GOES THE EASEL, a deaf dowager type is introduced. We wait for some kind of comedy based on her mishearing, or forcing people to repeat themselves, but no. She’s merely PELTED WITH CLAY. Her deafness is introduced (by writer Felix Adler, who also worked for Lloyd and Stan & Ollie) merely because it was assumed that smacking a disabled person with clay would be even funnier than doing it to a not-yet-disabled person.

(Six) In MEN IN BLACK (!), directed by Leo McCarey’s tragic brother Ray, the boys are turned loose in a hospital. They knock their boss unconscious with a hammer, transport him to the Operating Room, open him up with a road drill and then leave all their instruments inside him. Ha. Ha. Ha. J.J. Hunsecker’s line about “cheap, gruesome gags,” seems an apt one here.

(Seven) It would be wrong to traduce all Stooges fans. But anyone who likes the Stooges above and beyond other vaudeville-type comics, I would view with suspicion. Sam Raimi, Mel Gibson and the Farrelly Brothers are the main Stoogites I can think of, and I feel their preference tells us a lot about them. I simply won’t watch Farrelly films, they make me laugh a fair bit but there’s always something that depresses me for days. And they are not well-made films. Mel Gibson, enough said. I’m told he includes an hommage (“Spread out!”) in APOCALYPTO. Think of it. His films really are all set in a nightmare world of continuous mayhem, just like the Stooges. Raimi at least incorporates his stoogisms into a burlesque vision of grueling horror, which seems like the right place for them.

Is it a mistake that Moe is labeled with the chemical formula, not of water, but of hydrogen peroxide? Was that a well-known formula the audience would laugh at?

(Eight) Behind-the-scenes-of-chaos personages in the early shorts include Clyde Bruckman, ace gagman and Keaton’s co-director on THE GENERAL, who later shot himself with Keaton’s gun. See HORSES’ COLLARS and learn why. Then there’s the truly magnificent anti-talent of Jules White, co-auteur of the Dogville Shorts, which I kind of adore for their sheer horror. I showed the canine reconstruction of WWI to students and asked, “How did it make you feel?” “Just angry,” came the reply. White also presided over the destruction of Buster Keaton at MGM. Lou Breslow, misguided genius behind reincarnated dog detective movie YOU NEVER CAN TELL, is also in the mix. But it never seems to make much difference who is involved. If you’re in hell, which particular imp is stirring your pot may not matter too much.

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The Easter Sunday Intertitle: Cross Words

Posted in FILM, Mythology with tags , , , , , on April 16, 2017 by dcairns

I.N.R.I. (1923), directed by Robert CALIGARI Wiene. I think it has the most disturbing crucifixion on record — the effulgent golden tinting doesn’t prettify it at all. Grigori Chmara’s performance, and his “look” courtesy of the hair & makeup dept, somehow surpasses all the frenzied bloodletting of Mel Gibson and co.

Chmara also played the lead in Wiene’s RASKOLNIKOV. Both films deserve to be released in opulent restorations — it’s long been a puzzle how Wiene’s cinema can be so clearly important and yet so undervalued and unavailable.

But would all the Christians run out and buy this? Alas, no. The stylised sets and slow pageantry make the events depicted seem more distant and alien — the opening really looks like a school nativity play only with a bigger budget and adults in the roles. Gibson’s PASSION OF was a big hit with the churchgoers because it seemed to offer the experience of time-travel, a front row seat for the torture and killing and resurrection — the violence and the modern filmmaking provided the illusion of “realism,” and it didn’t matter that the ancient languages were all wrong, as long as you couldn’t understand them — Gibson said he’d prefer people to watch without subtitles — it’s all aiming at a You Are There aesthetic.

Wiene’s film is the exact opposite — nothing looks quite real until Christ’s death. The moment when the film transcends its theatricality.

“It is accomplished! Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

Ugh, Mr. Porter

Posted in FILM, literature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 10, 2017 by dcairns

OK, so I looked at PAYBACK, Brian Helgeland’s 1996 version of Richard Stark/Donald Westlake’s The Hunter. I even looked at the director’s cut as well as the original release. I’ll do it the courtesy of not calling it a remake of John Boorman’s ice-cool 1968 version, POINT BLANK, because it does go back to the book.

Superficially the film is a lot closer to the novel than Boorman’s take, beginning with our protagonist — Parker in the book, Walker in the Boorman, and the softer-sound Porter in this version — walking across the George Washington Bridge. I’ll say up front that in terms of quality, there’s not much to choose between the two edits of this one. Helgeland compromised Stark’s version of Parker, just as he understandably had to compromise James Ellroy’s characters and ending in L.A. CONFIDENTIAL, so the thing would get made. Mel Gibson’s version of his film compromises a bit more, is all.

The film looks gritty — while Boorman colour-coded like crazy, Antonioni-style, Helgeland simply spray-paints the sets, locations, costumes and actors an even gun-metal hue. This might be called ONE SHADE OF GRAY. It makes for a distinctive, consistent but ultimately rather claustrophobic look. Nothing is the colour of nature. Ideally, Helgeland would probably have liked to make his modern noir in b&w, but desaturated digital dye-jobs like this do tend to make us feel “starved of Technicolor” as Marius Goring once put it.

The really pathetic material is the sadomasochistic mucking about between baddie Gregg Henry (Stark’s Mal Resnick, renamed Val Resnick — how to explain this scattershot renaming?) and Lucy Liu. Stark makes his villain truly hateful via his mistreatment of his junky girlfriend/hooker/victim. Here we get a farrago of BDSM with the petite LL exchanging passionate punches with the overblown GH. It has nothing to do with real kink, and it makes an already rather weak villain seem silly.

Gregg H.’s bosses turn out to be a starry bunch, escalating from William Devane to Kris Kristofferson all the way to an uncredited James Coburn. Pat Garrett AND Billy the Kid. (The ’96 release also has an uncredited Elizabeth Berridge — remember her from AMADEUS?)

The original release gives Deborah Kara Unger almost nothing to do and the director’s cut reinstates her key scene, which is nevertheless not as effective as the version in the book or the Boorman — because the filmmakers are determined to soften the hero, even though his ruthlessness is in fact his U.S.P. for anyone who’s read the Parker books. Then Maria Bello turns up, looking too much like Unger, and softens things further by becoming romantic interest.

The 2006 director’s cut has a more downbeat end, where maybe Porter isn’t looking so good, while the Gibson version keeps him healthy-ish but subjects him to some protracted torture because Mel is into that, at least cinematically. Making the villain in the picture a masochist seems like Gibson projecting his own cravings into another figure in order to achieve some distance from them, whereas the hammer to the toes sequence seems like Gibson wallowing in tendencies which have achieved ample expression in the LETHAL WEAPON series, BRAVEHEART, and of course THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST…