Through this month of October, I have been overwhelmed with 14 in-theater screenings and one “premiere” online. Some have been better. Some worse. But what has struck me, after a year of endless conversation about the financial realities of the film industry going forward, is that almost every single one of these films has been born of a very distinct personal vision. And whether we love or hate or stand somewhere in between on these movies, this is something we should all be thrilled about.
The biggest scale personal film in this period would have to be Dune, Denis Villeneuve’s intimate epic and the smallest would have to be Sean Baker’s Red Rocket, with the closest thing to a movie star in the film being Simon Rex, a charismatic guy whose primary claim to fame before this was bedding Paris Hilton and Jaime Pressly and getting fired by MTV for being in two “solo masturbation films,” though not being, as his character in the film is, a porn star.
It’s easy to classify Red Rocket as personal, because it is small in scale and features non-actors and semi-pro actors. Sean Baker is a filmmaker making his 5th film about normal people who are living on the edge of the mainstream. Denis and Dune are harder to put into that pot with a $200m budget and a ton of CG and a famous book and top-line actors. But I would argue, without restraint, that the fingerprints of Denis Villeneuve are unmistakably on every frame of Dune, even in the grand homage paid to other films like Lawrence of Arabia, Apocalypse Now, and Star Wars.
In both cases, to sit in front of a movie screen, which dwarfs your home TV, and to be immersed in the visions of these two directors is a powerful experience, whatever your like or dislike of the material is. Not everyone is into political machinations and the coming of age of a boy who might be The One in space. And many fewer will be happy to watch a middle-aged ex-porn-star and junkie try to drag himself off the cement and reemerge with the involvement of an under-18 girl. But that is not the point.
Among my favorite experiences in this window of intimacy were Mia Hansen-Løve’s Bergman Island and Mike Mills’ C’Mon C’Mon. Again, these are filmmakers from whom their audiences expect this kind of intimacy. But both bring a universality to the experiences that would capture the hearts of much of the vast audiences who aren’t seeing their films, especially on a screen. Many would love these films, if they could get past the awkward need to market the films.
As it happened, Hansen-Løve’s Bergman Island landed in the same period as the HBO remake of Scenes From A Marriage, which inspired me to watch Bergman’s original Scenes (available on Criterion Channel in its full made-for-TV form) as well as a 2010 doc by Marie Nyreröd called Bergman Island (also on Criterion Channel). And deep, rich subjects do, they all fed one another. Hierarchy aside, Hansen-Løve’s film took me someplace the other films did not… as was their choice. Tim Roth and Vicky Krieps bring an simplicity of humanity to their work (almost always) that is just astonishing and Hansen-Løve manages to reflect on Bergman’s work while never leaning it to the point of kitsch. It didn’t hurt that I was already on a journey with Tim Roth via Sundown, the fascinating Michel Franco film that I saw on-stream from TIFF, in which he plays a man seeking space from his life in Mexico. Franco is another rising star filmmaker who is fearless as he works through some of the most fearful experiences of human life.
C’Mon C’Mon is not as moody as Bergman Island, but it is deeply reflective. Mike Mills, who is known as an artist, though this is his 4th feature in 16 years and none of them have arrived under the radar. (His first feature film, Thumbsucker, premiered at Sundance with Keanu Reeves, Tilda Swinton, and Vincent D’Onofrio amongst the cast.) This film is about a man and a boy and a moment. The man is played by Joaquin Phoenix and he is a high-functioning lost boy, weighed down by his past. The 9-year-old boy is played by Woody Norman, a child of distinct intelligence and kindness, taking away moment away from the mother raising him (Gaby Hoffman) and his absent genius broken father. In a month or so on the road together, uncle and nephew will feed each other’s deepest, unknown needs, surprising themselves and each other. It’s a beautiful film, shot in black and white, and loaded with non-pro young people who are being interviewed about life by the uncle, who is a radio producer. It is the best kind of road trip movie. And while I will surely watch it many times on my TV, the experience of the film in a movie theater, with the lights down and a lack of distraction allowed me to experience the intimacy of the work, at least for the first time, in a way that would never be as rich at home.
There was a bevy of (still unmentioned) Oscar hopefuls on this month’s filmic journey. In alphabetical order; Belfast, Cyrano, The French Dispatch, The Harder They Fall, The Last Duel, Spencer, The Tender Bar.
Each of these films is clearly a work of love by the filmmaker. And there is so much value in that, even if the films don’t all quite land.
The only great film, for me, in this group, is The French Dispatch. It is relentlessly Wes Anderson, like a sauce cooked down to its absolute essence. No compromise. Now, I don’t blame you if that flavor is too strong (or too twee) for you. This is the nature of taste. And I would not argue if you said that one of the segments was clearly stronger than the others and that the film chooses to close with its least spectacular effort. But I found delight from start to finish, in the experience of the brushstrokes, even when the moment wasn’t in full blossom.
Alternately, there is The Harder They Fall, from Jeymes Samuel. It’s his first feature, though he did a 50-munute short western in 2013. And you can feel Samuel’s enthusiasm for The Western, The Racial, and The Music in his work. It is in many ways a remarkable piece of work. The ambition is seething. And I loved watching this great cast, which also happened to be an almost entirely black cast, in a western. But where I lost my faith in the work was in consuming the overall stew, not the individual flavors. When Mr. Samuel makes his 3rd or 4th film, it may be a masterpiece. He will not only up his skill set, but he will have a more gentle hand on the knobs of the thing, not pushing from the top of the energy to the bottom over and over and over. More rollercoaster, less mousetrap.
A filmmaker who has had a lot more time up at bat than Samuel is Kenneth Branagh. His first film, Henry V, offered a sense of him possibly being one of the multi-hyphenate greats of all time. He has had a remarkable career, more behind the camera than in front in recent years. But still, much success and quality. In Belfast, he tries to offer up his own heart. The result is a good film. But is it great? Well, on the first level, Branagh suffers by comparison. Steve McQueen’s Small Axe just last year. John Boorman’s Hope and Glory and The General. Neil Jordan’s The Butcher Boy and Michael Collins. Paul Greengrass’ Bloody Sunday.
But what really struck me about Belfast is that this is a perfect representation of Mr. Branagh. What is lacking - if you feel something lacking - is what is lacking in the man. For some reason, what comes to mind is the old story about Olivier and Dustin Hoffman, “Why don’t you just try acting?” He is, as an actor and filmmaker (and human), very charming and smart and interesting. But he is not a pain guy. One doesn’t get the feel he is plumbing the depths of his soul in his work. He keeps a distance. And while there are those saying that Belfast is from the kid’s P.O.V., so it’s not as painful… I’m not buying. There are many beautiful, wondrous moments in the film. But I wanted to feel more. Still, I was comforted by the thought that this is who Branagh is… and I appreciate that deeply.
Spencer is another film that only this filmmaker could have made. Pablo Larrain is the film. He could have made it with found footage and he would have found what he was looking to express. It is the main reason why I don’t think that Kristen Stewart wins a Best Actress Oscar here. It’s the same non-problem problem with Natalie Portman’s performance in Jackie. The movie is so much the director that there never is a sense of ownership by the star.
Spencer is a very specific flavor of film. It is high kitsch. But it is also like a classic silent, German expressionist film. Larrain’s statement couldn’t be clearer. But in his vision of Diana Spencer, she is not a Barbie, so much as an old school print cut-out doll, with endless new outfits to put on and take off.
At one point of the film, there is a shot of Diana in her changing room (one of so many) and she was clearly suffering the humiliation of being an object as the issue of what could be seen through her windows was chewed over by other. It struck me that in that moment, Stewart/Spencer needed to simply drop her garment and the camera needed to move up and over her body and capture every inch of her naked self, flaws and all. And it wasn’t because I wanted to see Kristen Stewart’s vagina. It was because that is what I felt Larrain’s filmmaking was screaming for, even if it was never on option for a real-life movie star to indulge… proof of being human… real… not just an object. Of course, had he done this, there would have been a giant wrestling match over whether by exposing her, he was objectifying her in a different, perhaps worse way. I get it. But sometimes, you just need to go the whole Judy Chicago.
Jackie had the shocks of the other characters dealing badly with JFK’s death. All Spencer really has in that regard is our thoughts about Lady Di and how she must have suffered. And I’m sure she did. But a gilded, diamond-studded prison… tough sell in 2021. (The movie I’d love to see is a fantasia of this Diana meeting up with Mikey of Red Rocket. Now that tandem would deliver shock and awe to the world!)
Cyrano is movie about a man in love with a girl, both on screen and off. Peter Dinklage is a brilliant Cyrano. Joe Wright’s love of his Roxanne has now bore a movie and a baby. I am always happy to see Wright’s work, as he pushes the envelope and himself. Sometimes he hits. Sometimes he misses. But I have learned, over time, from the work and from the man, that this is always quite intimate. And actors follow him into the breach because they feel that intimacy. My first deep dive into Wright, like most Americans, was Atonement, and I still remember being enraged by that oner that he pulled off across the beach of Dunkirk. Hated it! But it distracted me from the intimacy of the other moments of the film, which were truly exceptional. I have since found my peace with his bravado as a filmmaker and look forward to it. The music in Cyrano just isn’t magical for me and as such, distracts from Dinklage’s performance, which should have been earth-shaking.
The Last Duel had the ambition of the very personal. Three perspectives on a rape. But in the end, all 3 perspectives were very similar. And all the good acting in the film - though Affleck is atrocious playing a role he could easily kill in, but like Madonna in Evita, won’t let us see how close to home some of the negative traits are - and all the master filmmaking by Sir Ridley and his always-amazing team, could not put this Humpty Dumpty of an idea back together again. One piece of advice… if you are going to show an audience a rape of a woman they like and admire twice, there better be a good Goddamned reason.
The Tender Bar is all Clooney heart. It’s obviously not his story. But it has that warm, looking back at your wacky family feel that has made us love movies over and over through the decades. Okay. There is not a bad performance in the film. But as pleasant and heart-first as it is, it just doesn’t add up to much. It’s… nice. I know that’s damning with faint praise. And I don’t even have a real suggestion of how I would specifically try to improve it. (I’d really need to see it again.) But it has the feel of a number of COVID projects that came together because it was pleasant and it was a small cast and a small crew and it could be made before there was a vaccine and everyone would love spending the time working and being together. Lovely.
I should mention Halloween Kills briefly. David Gordon Green is a rebel. He is looking in every nook and cranny in his work. Sometimes it seems very commercially considered. Sometimes, completely disinterested in anyone ever seeing it. But he is a very grounded guy. And though I have not confirmed it, I am still dead convinced that Halloween Kills, the middle movie between the reintroduction of Laurie Strode and the finale’ in which Michael Myers finally dies forever (or a decade, when they reboot again), was outlined and almost completely improvised. I look at the locations, the actors, the non-actors, the things that made no sense in the context of the series… and I think, David just let them have at it. He gave Jamie Lee Curtis a strong actor, Will Patton, to work with… even though he had to make up a whole new arc to have him there. And those speeches… madness! Shoot 3 or 4 takes and cut the best one into the film. Judy Greer can improv. Anthony Michael Hall is going to have to go to the dentist to get the scenery out of his teeth. “Everyone, he is upstairs… start running!” “Wait… he is outside… start banging on the windows!” They even decided to kill Michael McDonald, improv guy, along with Scott MacArthur, a comedy guy who is a friend of the Gemstones, another DGG/McBride family project. So I see this as a very personal party for David… which was guaranteed to make money… so why not? Not every personal passion needs to end up saving the universe. Sometimes, it’s just making the movie where you get to flex your muscles because why the hell not?
Until tomorrow…
THB #16: For The Love of Personal Filmmaking