Archive for The Informant!

The Sunday Intertitle: Vile Bodies

Posted in Dance, FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2013 by dcairns

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Too hot to write… two hot to read… too hot to watch… we didn’t get a summer in Scotland last year, but this year we seem to have two piled on top of each other like sweaty wrestlers.

Finally caught up with Steven Soderbergh’s MAGIC MIKE, and incidentally also saw BEHIND THE CANDELABRA at the Cameo. It holds up pretty well on the big screen, and was very enjoyable — more so than MM, which is diverting, and moves in a surprising way, its wonders to perform, which is very refreshing, but does it add up to a whole lot? I dunno. I guess it needn’t.

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The male stripper movie is mainly enjoyable for the insight it offers, fictitious though it may be, into a closed world. It’s almost like a Howard Hughes movie, only with penis pump and buttockless trousers. I was fascinated to learn that male strippers are all heterosexual. Surprising, in a way. Maybe it’s like the US army’s “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy? Show, don’t tell, or something. And all that stuff about steroid abuse? Not true, according to this.

The movie has the most unforgiving sound mix of any film I’ve seen recently — I’d say that if we had been even slightly hard of hearing we’d have been turning on the subtitles — as it is, it took fifteen minutes for us to adjust to the very low volume dialogue (with Channing Tatum a king mumbler), with very loud background noise and music too. It was interesting the way Soderbergh kept the crowd noise way up during the various stripshow acts, with the music heavily distorted, so the scenes play as verité rather than as production numbers. Maybe that made some of it less enjoyable than it might have been, but it integrated the style.

Not so keen on the yellow filtered Floridian exteriors, though, which looked kinda toxic. Reminds me of how he made Mexico orange in TRAFFIC.

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BEHIND THE CANDELABRA has more emotion and more nerve, and slightly more gayness — though there isn’t a lot of mad passionate love — the two leads kiss each other but all too deliberately miss the mouths. The “courageous” aspect of Michael Douglas’s performance is the physical self-exposure. After his ass got very badly reviewed in BASIC INSTINCT, he swore never to unleash it (onscreen) again, but here it is, along with skinny limbs and a rotund abdomen. Respect is due for the abandonment of vanity, especially after the man had just gotten over a life-threatening illness. And I’m very glad that WALL STREET thing wasn’t his last movie.

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Douglas and Damon and Bakula and Rob Lowe and Debbie Reynolds are all excellent. One worries about a straight cast and production team (Soderbergh as director, editor and cinematographer) tackling a subject which inherently presents a grotesque parody of an already stereotyped vision of a homosexual lifestyle — but the film seemed confident enough to be able to say “This is what it was like” — it’s not a comment on anything other than the facts in the case (as presented by one participant’s memoir).

I worry that Soderbergh is now to Douglas and Zeta-Jones as Joseph Losey was to the Burtons. But none of Soderbergh’s films misfire as magnificently as BOOM! — they don’t have the grandiloquence. Soderbergh is too smart and self-aware to commit a howler of that magnitude, but that’s a little sad too — he’d never let himself go, to that extent, either. His best work seems to focus his wit and intelligence onto small subjects, illuminating them until they sparkle.

I think THE INFORMANT! is still my favourite Soderbergh joint.

Still, very glad that Soderbergh’s retirement is essentially in name only — his TV show The Knick will deal with an early twentieth century hospital in New York — Fiona will watch regularly as anything to do with historic medicine is catnip to her. Will I be watching too? I think so.

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Schnooks on a Plane

Posted in FILM, literature, Mythology with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 19, 2011 by dcairns

In-flight movies — perhaps these are the ultimate justification for Hollywood pabulum. Anesthetic for the tense traveler. When you’re cramped in your seat and anxious about your untenable position hurtling through the stratosphere, it would be nice to be rapt out of yourself by dramatic catharsis, but it AIN’T HAPPENING (although I would welcome with keen interest and incredulity any stories of mid-air catharsis you have to offer) so you settle for the numbing tedium of badly thought-out genre bullshit —

PERCY JACKSON AND THE LIGHTNING THIEF

Not only have they made a Harry Potter rip-off based on a rip-off novel, they’ve got Christopher Columbus who made the first two HARRY POTTER films to direct it. That’s just like stamping the word SAP on the forehead of every child who buys a ticket, isn’t it?

Terrible dross, and all I can say in my defense is that I’m working on a project with some mythological elements so I wanted to see what the kids are thinking about myth these days. Some cute moments — using an i-phone camera to observe the Medusa without getting petrified is neat. Uma Thurman has gone from Venus in BARON MUNCHAUSEN to Medusa in this — a pithier charting of the leading lady’s career arc than even Sondheim has given us.

There’s something irresistibly hilarious about the idea of Pierce Brosnan as a centaur, something the film is completely unaware of. None of the actors playing gods make much impression except Steve Coogan, doing what he does. Zeus is Sean Bean, who made Tolkien sound credible but is screwed when he has to say “You have done well,” as opposed to “Well done.” Look, it’s Kevin McKidd — as with 300, you can’t do ancient Greeks without casting a Scotsman. Now, I’ve never seen a real ancient Greek but I’ve seen the modern variety, several times, and none of them looked like Scotsmen. “It’s the magic of the movies!” you cry.

CAPTAIN AMERICA THE FIRST AVENGER

Perfectly adequate up to the two-third mark: this Chris Evans fellow is quite sweet, and the wimp-to-ubermensch narrative is engaging, the action lucid (oh, you mock Joe Johnston, don’t you, but in his fight scenes you can SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING — feel the nostalgia!) and the supporting players mainly do what they’ve been contracted for. Tommy Lee Jones is gruff, Stanley Tucci is solemn, Toby Jones is short. For a while, Haley Atwell is suitably prim, but when called upon to restage the start of A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH, her inability to pull off anything else except pulchritude punctures the pathos. Hugo Weaving provides the entertainment with a Werner Herzog impersonation and hilarious little facial reactions, soon subsumed in a splurge of CG as he rips his own face off to become The Red Skull.

THE INFORMANT!

Continental Air likes to provide a couple of oldies and a couple of indies to its transatlantic clientele, so we get this recent-ish Soderbergh (it was this or GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER? and I was actually up for that, but then I felt that I wanted to actually do it justice). Matt Damon always seemed kind of a schlub-in-the-making, and here he gets to play an actual Philip Seymour Hoffman role, and he’s splendid. I haven’t followed Soderbergh religiously — asides from his Spalding Gray bio last year, AND EVERYTHING IS GOING FINE, I haven’t seen anything since half of THE GOOD GERMAN (it wasn’t good) and bits of OCEAN’S TWELVE. I should catch up sometime, this was funny and clever. Soderbergh’s ludic side (cf SCHIZOPOLIS) is allowed just enough room to breath by the quietly demented voice-over, a calm recitation of delusions, non-sequiturs and stray pub facts.