My mother was a music teacher for decades, and had a special love of movies featuring the lives of the classical composers. I remember multiple viewings of "Amadeus," "Immortal Beloved," and "Impromptu," to name a few. I happily hunted down some of the obscure ones for her, but she warned me away from a "terrible" Tchaikovsky biopic, which I later discovered was Ken Russell's "The Music Lovers." Russell did a series of films about composers, all of which I'd never heard of until I started poking around his filmography a few years ago. And no wonder my terribly polite mother avoided them - Russell is a notorious provocateur, fond of filling his films with sex and nudity and other blasphemies.
I, however, am not opposed to blasphemies with the right presentation, which brings us to Russell's "Lisztomania," a pseudo-biopic of pianist and composer Franz Liszt, who was a major celebrity in his time. Played by Roger Daltrey of "The Who," Liszt is reimagined as a nineteenth century pop idol in platform shoes, living a life of hedonism and excess as he tours around Europe. His lover Countess Marie d'Agoult (Fiona Lewis) raises their illegitimate children, including the fiesty Cosima (Veronica Quilligan). Among Liszt's circle of musical colleagues is a newcomer named Richard Wagner (Paul Nicholas), soon to become a rival with sinister ambitions. And then there's Liszt's newest lover, the Princess Carolyn (Sara Kesteman), a Russian vamp who quickly assumes too much control over his life.
I should also mention that Wagner is revealed to be a vampire who creates an army of proto-Nazi children all garbed as Superman, and ultimately turns himself into a gun-toting Franken-Hitler. And there's a hallucination scene where Liszt grows an eight foot tall erection that fair maidens dance around like a maypole before Princess Carolyn comes after it with a guillotine. By the time Ringo Starr shows up as the Pope to bring Liszt into the Church, it feels appropriate. So does the ending, involving the defeat of Wagner with a rocket ship made out of pipe organs and a piano with built in flamethrowers. Everything in "Lisztomania" is loosely based on historical fact, but presented in these surreal, campy, outsized terms. The plotting is often nonsensical and illogical, occasionally devolving into chaos.
Whatever Russell is trying to say about Liszt's work or celebrity gets totally lost under all the excess, but what excess! The set design is absolutely gorgeous, full of bright colors and obvious phallic symbols everywhere. The costuming is grandiose, mirrored after the stagewear of modern rockers. And I love the little background touches, like having the religious icons all feature modern pop stars like Elton John and the Beatles instead of the saints. There's so much gratuitous content: the abundance of naked female breasts, the character assassination of Wagner, and the silly cameos. And yet, it's all so genially, energetically done, I found it delightful. Even the raunch, which can get stale in a hurry, was awfully entertaining because everyone involved seemed to be enjoying it so much. Even if the film is incoherent, it's fun to just sit back and watch all the audacity unfold.
One of the biggest reasons why the film works as well as it does is Roger Daltrey . He easily fits the celebrity musician profile, as expected, but he also makes an excellent comic lead. He fearlessly throws himself into the absurdity, and gets more to do here than he did in his other famous collaboration with Ken Russell, "Tommy." He swashbuckles against a cuckolded husband in the opening scene, pantomimes in a Charlie Chaplin homage, and cavorts with that giant erection in the most endearingly goofy fashion. He also lends his vocals to the soundtrack, which consists of several progressive rock songs that incorporate Liszt and Wagner's music. Rick Wakeman of the band Yes was responsible for the mangling of the classical works, but the resulting new tunes are quite catchy.
"Lisztomania" has bigger problems, however. I think the first half actually works very well as a spoof, but the more it tries to address bigger themes, the more it struggles. Ken Russell is much too eager to tie together certain ideas without any nuance, especially blowing Wagner's German nationalism and antisemitism into full goose-stepping Nazi hijinks. The whole third act is a mess, because the darker material is relayed in such comic book terms (sometimes literally) that it all feels too silly and irreverent. Franken-Hitler gunning down the Jews is too lurid and mindless, and the redemptive final number too bland. There really is nothing to top the famous giant erection that shows up around the halfway point, so it feels like the movie peaked too early. Ahem.
Anyway, I'm off to watch "The Music Lovers," and to never, ever mention the existence of "Lisztomania" to my mother.
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Friday, June 23, 2017
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
"The Americans" Year Four
Spoilers ahead for the entire series.
After the bombshell that was dropped at the very end of the third season, I expected that the fourth season would begin with the Jennings family finally having to definitely deal with Pastor Tim. However, that's not how this show works. Instead, Pastor Tim becomes yet another precarious Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, another secretive relationship that needs to be carefully maintained. Eventually the sword will fall and someone is going to be severely damaged by the fallout - probably Tim and anyone close to him - but not yet.
Several other swords did fall this year, or are in the process of falling. I've come to appreciate that "The Americans" doesn't wait until final few episodes of the season to strike major blows. The finale was actually rather quiet and anticlimactic this year for the Jennings, but everyone else saw massive changes. I was completely caught off guard by Nina's quick execution in the fourth episode. And then there was the quick dispatching of Lisa in the eighth episode and Agent Gaad in the tenth. Martha's exfiltration was probably the best of all possible outcomes for her, but it all felt so cruel, and clearly took a massive toll on Philip. In the end, five major cast members have been dispatched in one form or another, and there are new faces at both the FBI and the Rezidentura calling the shots. And worse is surely coming.
I wasn't a fan of the EST storyline last year, but as Philip continues to try and grapple with his emotional health, it's been a great catalyst. Everything with Matthew Rhys and Alison Wright during the exfiltration storyline was great, as Philip and Martha brought their relationship to a bitter end. It's heartbreaking to watch Martha's world crumble, and to watch Philip try and fail to keep any semblance of control over the situation. Elizabeth had a much more satisfying arc this season too , becoming friends with a Korean woman named Young Hee (Ruthie Ann Miles) in order to get to her husband Don (Ron Young). And like Philip, she also resists having to torpedo the relationship, and deeply harming her targets in the process. She bargains, she evades, and ultimately she does exactly what she's supposed to, while the audience cringes. We don't see the repercussions, but we know they're coming. Even with Gabriel's attempts at diffusing the tensions in the household, and offers of escape, there's no getting away from the storm we know is coming.
With four seasons done and two to go, "The Americans" is clearly moving towards its endgame, which I'm happily anticipating. Nowhere is this clearer than with Paige, who has inched a few steps closer to complicity in her parents' work, charged with keeping tabs on Pastor Tim and his wife Alice (Suzy Jane Hunt). At first I thought that Henry and Stan hanging out together was going to be a problem for the rest of the Jennings in and of itself. I didn't see the Paige and Matthew (Daniel Flaherty) connection coming, but it makes sense. The last thing Philip and Elizabeth need is for Paige to get herself into another emotionally charged relationship that she's going to have to manage, the way they manage their agents, and will probably end in tears, if not bloodshed.
As always, "The Americans" boasts great work from a big ensemble. Richard Thomas had his best year, giving Agent Gaad some real poignancy as he faces the end of his career. Frank Langella is pressed to do much more, wrangling Martha and falling victim to the nasty bioweapons smuggled out by Dylan Baker's new spy character William Crandall. Baker is excellent, painting a portrait of a career spy who gets the short end of the stick over and over again. Noah Emmerich remains in a difficult position, as Stan has little to do this year beyond being an easy antagonist, but he still delivered a lot of great little moments - explaining his reasons for stopping the meetings with Burov, and unable to hide his glee when he catches Paige and Matthew.
For next season, I'm looking forward to more Young Hee and more of Paige and Matthew canoodling. Not sure what to think of Mischa yet, and I wonder if, with so many characters in the USSR or on the brink of going there, we might be due for a change of scenery soon.
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After the bombshell that was dropped at the very end of the third season, I expected that the fourth season would begin with the Jennings family finally having to definitely deal with Pastor Tim. However, that's not how this show works. Instead, Pastor Tim becomes yet another precarious Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads, another secretive relationship that needs to be carefully maintained. Eventually the sword will fall and someone is going to be severely damaged by the fallout - probably Tim and anyone close to him - but not yet.
Several other swords did fall this year, or are in the process of falling. I've come to appreciate that "The Americans" doesn't wait until final few episodes of the season to strike major blows. The finale was actually rather quiet and anticlimactic this year for the Jennings, but everyone else saw massive changes. I was completely caught off guard by Nina's quick execution in the fourth episode. And then there was the quick dispatching of Lisa in the eighth episode and Agent Gaad in the tenth. Martha's exfiltration was probably the best of all possible outcomes for her, but it all felt so cruel, and clearly took a massive toll on Philip. In the end, five major cast members have been dispatched in one form or another, and there are new faces at both the FBI and the Rezidentura calling the shots. And worse is surely coming.
I wasn't a fan of the EST storyline last year, but as Philip continues to try and grapple with his emotional health, it's been a great catalyst. Everything with Matthew Rhys and Alison Wright during the exfiltration storyline was great, as Philip and Martha brought their relationship to a bitter end. It's heartbreaking to watch Martha's world crumble, and to watch Philip try and fail to keep any semblance of control over the situation. Elizabeth had a much more satisfying arc this season too , becoming friends with a Korean woman named Young Hee (Ruthie Ann Miles) in order to get to her husband Don (Ron Young). And like Philip, she also resists having to torpedo the relationship, and deeply harming her targets in the process. She bargains, she evades, and ultimately she does exactly what she's supposed to, while the audience cringes. We don't see the repercussions, but we know they're coming. Even with Gabriel's attempts at diffusing the tensions in the household, and offers of escape, there's no getting away from the storm we know is coming.
With four seasons done and two to go, "The Americans" is clearly moving towards its endgame, which I'm happily anticipating. Nowhere is this clearer than with Paige, who has inched a few steps closer to complicity in her parents' work, charged with keeping tabs on Pastor Tim and his wife Alice (Suzy Jane Hunt). At first I thought that Henry and Stan hanging out together was going to be a problem for the rest of the Jennings in and of itself. I didn't see the Paige and Matthew (Daniel Flaherty) connection coming, but it makes sense. The last thing Philip and Elizabeth need is for Paige to get herself into another emotionally charged relationship that she's going to have to manage, the way they manage their agents, and will probably end in tears, if not bloodshed.
As always, "The Americans" boasts great work from a big ensemble. Richard Thomas had his best year, giving Agent Gaad some real poignancy as he faces the end of his career. Frank Langella is pressed to do much more, wrangling Martha and falling victim to the nasty bioweapons smuggled out by Dylan Baker's new spy character William Crandall. Baker is excellent, painting a portrait of a career spy who gets the short end of the stick over and over again. Noah Emmerich remains in a difficult position, as Stan has little to do this year beyond being an easy antagonist, but he still delivered a lot of great little moments - explaining his reasons for stopping the meetings with Burov, and unable to hide his glee when he catches Paige and Matthew.
For next season, I'm looking forward to more Young Hee and more of Paige and Matthew canoodling. Not sure what to think of Mischa yet, and I wonder if, with so many characters in the USSR or on the brink of going there, we might be due for a change of scenery soon.
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Monday, June 19, 2017
Rank 'Em: "The Storyteller"
"The Storyteller" is one of my favorite fantasy series, created by Jim Henson in the late 1980s. Only nine episodes were produced, each scripted by Anthony Minghella and based off of traditional fairy tales and folk tales. A later spinoff series would add four more stories based on Greek myths. With John Hurt acting as our host and narrator, each story was told with a mixture of live action and puppetry, with some gorgeous effects work that still impresses to this day. After debating over the best format to discuss the series, I settled on a "Rank 'Em" post, so I could talk about each episode.
"Hans My Hedgehog" - Embodies everything I love about the series: the use of mixed media, the willingness to explore dark (but not too dark) themes, and the excellent performances. I really felt for the characters here, which I wasn't expecting from a story about a giant hedgehog and a princess. There's also the the visual style, which would carry through all the episodes, full of frame-blurring asides, beautiful transitions, and clever optical tricks.
"The Heartless Giant" - Jim Henson directed this one himself, and no wonder. This may be the most effect-heavy episode thanks to the many scenes dealing with differently scaled actors and props. I also found it to be one of the most affecting, since there's a price for the hero's victory and the ending is bittersweet. I wonder why more of the "Storyteller" installments didn't feature younger actors, since Elliott Spiers was so fantastic in this one as the lead.
"The Soldier and Death" - I love every version of the "Godfather Death" and "Soldier Jack" stories that I've come across, and this episode combines the two with some inventive puppetry work and excellent writing. The childlike version of Death who appears here is utterly unique from any other version I've ever seen, and the little red devils are weirdly hilarious. There's also a melancholy quality to the episode, particularly the ending, that I found very appealing.
"Sapsorrow" - My favorite episode when I was a kid, this is the the "Storyteller" take on the Cinderella story, that also borrows bits and pieces of other familiar tales. I love the little subversions here, especially how the glass slipper turns out to be a test for the prince, rather than the princess. And thanks to an elaborate disguise, the princess also gets to be the episode's creature. Comedy fans should note that French and Saunders play the Ugly Stepsisters.
"The Three Ravens" - Based on "The Six Swans," the most star-studded episode of the set features Miranda Richardson as a fantastically evil stepmother and witch and Joely Richardson as the Princess. The imagery in this one is particularly strong, with its dramatic spellcasting and transformations. It was the shock of the disappearing babies that stuck with me, though, and I always thought of "The Three Ravens" as one of the most horrific installments of the series.
"The True Bride" - This was the first episode I saw, when it aired as part of "The Jim Henson Hour," and when I hunted the series down many years later, I was delighted that it had lost none of its charm and appeal. There are three different featured creatures here, all of them wonderful in different ways. The story and the actors are terribly endearing, including Sean Bean in a role where he doesn't die. The ending only works by fairy tale logic, but that's a very minor flaw.
"A Story Short" - The Storyteller himself becomes the hero of this episode, which cobbles together a couple of different folktales to make a story about telling stories. It feels a little disjointed at times, is tonally all over the place, and the final gag is pretty terrible. Oddly, it also has few special effects and almost no creatures. However, the performances are excellent, and John Hurt is as wonderful as always. It's really the storytelling itself that gets the spotlight here.
"The Luck Child" - Really, the only good thing about this episode is its monster, the Griffin, one of those really ambitious, full-sized muppet creations that the Creature Shop made into something special. The story is basic hero's journey stuff, and not very interesting. However, the monster really is a charmer, with his sing-song speech (provided by Brian Henson) and silly temperament. If it weren't for him, this episode would be ranked at the bottom of the list. Instead...
"Fearnot" - A boy leaves home to learn about fear, and has various adventures. And the adventures are fun, allowing the creature shop to show off some striking characters, but the none of them are as engaging as the Griffin from "The Luck Child" and frankly the ending here always struck me as very weak. It doesn't help that I've also seen a much better version of this story done by "Faerie Tale Theater" - "The Boy Who Left Home to Find Out About the Shivers"
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"Hans My Hedgehog" - Embodies everything I love about the series: the use of mixed media, the willingness to explore dark (but not too dark) themes, and the excellent performances. I really felt for the characters here, which I wasn't expecting from a story about a giant hedgehog and a princess. There's also the the visual style, which would carry through all the episodes, full of frame-blurring asides, beautiful transitions, and clever optical tricks.
"The Heartless Giant" - Jim Henson directed this one himself, and no wonder. This may be the most effect-heavy episode thanks to the many scenes dealing with differently scaled actors and props. I also found it to be one of the most affecting, since there's a price for the hero's victory and the ending is bittersweet. I wonder why more of the "Storyteller" installments didn't feature younger actors, since Elliott Spiers was so fantastic in this one as the lead.
"The Soldier and Death" - I love every version of the "Godfather Death" and "Soldier Jack" stories that I've come across, and this episode combines the two with some inventive puppetry work and excellent writing. The childlike version of Death who appears here is utterly unique from any other version I've ever seen, and the little red devils are weirdly hilarious. There's also a melancholy quality to the episode, particularly the ending, that I found very appealing.
"Sapsorrow" - My favorite episode when I was a kid, this is the the "Storyteller" take on the Cinderella story, that also borrows bits and pieces of other familiar tales. I love the little subversions here, especially how the glass slipper turns out to be a test for the prince, rather than the princess. And thanks to an elaborate disguise, the princess also gets to be the episode's creature. Comedy fans should note that French and Saunders play the Ugly Stepsisters.
"The Three Ravens" - Based on "The Six Swans," the most star-studded episode of the set features Miranda Richardson as a fantastically evil stepmother and witch and Joely Richardson as the Princess. The imagery in this one is particularly strong, with its dramatic spellcasting and transformations. It was the shock of the disappearing babies that stuck with me, though, and I always thought of "The Three Ravens" as one of the most horrific installments of the series.
"The True Bride" - This was the first episode I saw, when it aired as part of "The Jim Henson Hour," and when I hunted the series down many years later, I was delighted that it had lost none of its charm and appeal. There are three different featured creatures here, all of them wonderful in different ways. The story and the actors are terribly endearing, including Sean Bean in a role where he doesn't die. The ending only works by fairy tale logic, but that's a very minor flaw.
"A Story Short" - The Storyteller himself becomes the hero of this episode, which cobbles together a couple of different folktales to make a story about telling stories. It feels a little disjointed at times, is tonally all over the place, and the final gag is pretty terrible. Oddly, it also has few special effects and almost no creatures. However, the performances are excellent, and John Hurt is as wonderful as always. It's really the storytelling itself that gets the spotlight here.
"The Luck Child" - Really, the only good thing about this episode is its monster, the Griffin, one of those really ambitious, full-sized muppet creations that the Creature Shop made into something special. The story is basic hero's journey stuff, and not very interesting. However, the monster really is a charmer, with his sing-song speech (provided by Brian Henson) and silly temperament. If it weren't for him, this episode would be ranked at the bottom of the list. Instead...
"Fearnot" - A boy leaves home to learn about fear, and has various adventures. And the adventures are fun, allowing the creature shop to show off some striking characters, but the none of them are as engaging as the Griffin from "The Luck Child" and frankly the ending here always struck me as very weak. It doesn't help that I've also seen a much better version of this story done by "Faerie Tale Theater" - "The Boy Who Left Home to Find Out About the Shivers"
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Saturday, June 17, 2017
Netflix v. Cannes
Netflix has been having quite a year in the movie business. First, they went on an acquisition spree at Sundance to help shore up its original offerings, nabbing the rights to Dee Rees' "Mudbound," Marti Noxon's "To the Bone," and a slew of documentaries. It already had the rights to Macon Blair's "I Don't Feel at Home in This World Anymore," which wound up winning the Grand Jury prize, and was released on Netflix's streaming services in February. That same month it signed its most high profile acquisition deal yet - for Martin Scorsese's upcoming "The Irishman," which will reunite Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, and Joe Pesci.
However, the real fireworks would come in May, when the Cannes film festival decided to make a significant rule change in response to two of the films in competition having been produced by Netflix: Bong Joon-ho's "Okja," and Noah Baumbach's "The Meyerowitz Stories." The new rule states that entries have to have French theatrical runs starting next year, which means that Netflix may be forced to keep its films out of future competitions. Unlike in the US, France has stringent rules that require a 36 month delay between a film's theatrical and subscription service streaming releases. Netflix's current practice is to release its films simultaneously in theaters and online, if it releases the films theatrically at all.
Cannes jurors and commentators have debated the move, while there have been reports of Netflix's production credit being booed during the festival's screenings of its movies. American theater owners have been pushing back against the various studios' efforts to cut into theatrical exclusivity with SVOD services and other changes to the current distribution model, but the Cannes reaction has been far more vocal. This year's jury members, including Pedro Almodovar and Will Smith, made a few headlines as they debated the merits of theatergoing versus streaming. The response didn't carry over to the movies themselves, however. "Meyerowitz" has received excellent notices, while the response to "Okja" has been more mixed.
This has been the most visible example of the clash between the boosters of traditional theatrical distribution and Netflix, which has been the most extreme of the content producers pushing for a distribution model that bypasses or greatly reduces the theatrical window. Amazon has also been acquiring and producing films lately, including "Manchester by the Sea" and "The Lost City of Z," but have generally followed the existing distribution models, holding back their streaming premieres until after the usual theatrical and rental windows have passed.
Netflix, however, very pointedly doesn't follow the established rules. And this is going to continue to be an issue as bigger and bigger films start coming out of the Netflix pipeline. As it gets harder to fund or sell certain projects in the traditional way, Netflix's pocketbook keeps attracting more talent. It's going to be difficult to ignore all the star power of "The Irishman" at Oscar time, but what happens if Netflix won't give it more than a cursory qualifying theatrical run? What if theaters refuse to play it, as some did with "Beasts of No Nation"?
I'll admit that my first reaction to hearing that "Mudbound" had been acquired by Netflix was to hope that it wouldn't affect the film's award season chances the way I felt it had impacted some of their past films. "I Don't Feel at Home in This World Anymore" had almost no press whatsoever when Netflix released it, except for a round of complaints from some critics, who thought that that it was too difficult to find on the service. "War Machine," despite all the attention and big names, also came and went very quietly.
However, as director Macon Blair spelled out, the benefits of a Netflix release are obvious: more eyeballs having more access to a film faster than anyone else. In the end the distribution fight is really about money, and the theaters worried about losing it if the audience decides to stay home. When it comes to the talent, ultimately the filmmakers are going to go wherever they'll be able to make the films and shows that they want to make, and have them seen.
These days, that's as likely to be with a streaming services as it is a traditional studio or distributor. The festivals and the rest of the moviemaking world are just going to have to adjust expectations.
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Thursday, June 15, 2017
My 1978 Problem
I'm still working my way through the films of the 1970s for my Top Ten project, which involves me making sure I've seen at least fifty films for each calendar year in order to help fill in some gaps in my movie-watching experience. So far it's been going great, and I have roughly a hundred films left to go for the decade. I'm taking a much more relaxed approach this time, not going strictly year by year, but just watching new titles as I find them. I've compiled lists of titles that I'm looking for, but haven't been prioritizing any so far. However, I've found a pretty significant problem on the horizon: 1978.
I still need to watch at least eighteen films from 1978, which is more than any other year. And unfortunately, I don't have many films I actually want to see that came out that year. 1976 is the next closest, with sixteen films, but I have a list of a dozen films already that I want to track down. It's not that great films didn't come out in 1978. It was the year of "The Deer Hunter," "Grease," "Animal House," "Superman," "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," "Dawn of the Dead," and art house classics like "The Tree of Wooden Clogs" and "Autumn Sonata." But it was also the year of "Jaws II," "The Omen II," and the improbably named "The Other Side of the Mountain 2."
Currently I have a list of eight 1978 films I actually want to see, three of them old martial arts films, one involving Clint Eastwood and an orangutan. And this list actually took me some significant effort to compile, going through filmographies, "Best of" lists, and box office charts. It's looking likely that I'll have to watch a few things like "Pretty Baby" and "Hooper," that I really have no enthusiasm for. Well, who knows. They might be better than they look. I really, really hope I won't have to resort to the notorious ice skating weepie "Ice Castles" or "Debbie Does Dallas" by the time this is all over. Realistically that won't happen, since I can always fall back on my usual tactics like watching all the Foreign Language Oscar nominees from that year, or watching anything that one of the major directors did that year. Rainer Werner Fassbinder released three films in 1978 alone.
Still, I haven't had to resort to these kinds of tactics for any other year so far. I find it strange that there's such dearth of culturally and critically impactful films from just this one year. Part of me wonders if there was some confluence of factors that caused the drought. New Hollywood and the auteur era were winding down. "Star Wars" would have still been playing in most places, prompting the studios to start eyeing more blockbuster commercial fare. I suspected before that my own viewing habits might play a part. As a kid I watched loads of crummy '80s movies that helped pad out my viewing numbers for some of those years. I shouldn't be surprised that my numbers are lower overall for the '70s. Still, that doesn't explain why I need to see twice as many films for 1978 compared to 1979, 1977, 1974 and 1973.
I want to emphasize that I absolutely am still enjoying this crazy cinematic trip through the 1970s, and the oddity of 1978 will be a good opportunity for me to dig up some old, forgotten gems for reevaluation. Just because I'm not immediately familiar with the titles or the talent involved doesn't mean these movies deserve their obscurity. It's already been proven to me time and time again that it can be as illuminating to watch the films that didn't become well-loved classics as it is to watch the ones that did. And apparently there is no shortage of those movies from 1978.
So bring on "California Suite," "Same Time, Next Year," and "The Buddy Holly Story." Bring on "The Demon," "Violette Nozière," and "Who Is Killing the Great Chefs of Europe?" There's bound to be some good cinema in here somewhere. And I didn't embark on this project just to watch the great movies I already knew about.
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Tuesday, June 13, 2017
My Favorite Francis Ford Coppola Movie
I remember bits and pieces of Coppola films more than I remember the full films - the iconic opening of "Apocalypse Now," the ending of "The Conversation," and poor Fredo on that boat in "The Godfather Part II." I'm picking "The Godfather" to write about because it's the one that's managed to stick in my mind in the most cohesive fashion. I was lucky to have first seen it without many preconceptions of the film it was supposed to be - the iconic mafia masterpiece that launched a thousand catchphrases and imitators. Maybe that's why I always think of it first and foremost as a film about a family.
"The Godfather" underlines from its opening lines that it is a film about the American dream, the promise of new possibilities to the hopeful immigrant. And from this point of view, its romanticized portrayal of organized crime is made more palatable, elevating its potent mythology of the wise Godfather and his loyal sons and underlings. The audience is seduced by the lifestyle and its more brutal system of morality right along with Michael Corleone. Unlike other gangster films, there were no overt judgments made on the criminal characters, no punishments meted out by a higher authority. Instead, outsiders are only allowed glimpses, and only the final shots convey a true sense of tragedy.
Coppola's many, many contributions to the film were largely driven by a desire to imbue it with authenticity. In addition to directing, he also co-wrote the script with Mario Puzo. He fought the studio over casting choices, filming locations, the composer, the budget, the running time, and more. He wanted "The Godfather" to look and feel recognizably Italian-American, to reflect an immigrant experience that we hadn't seen in American film before. He fought for Al Pacino to be cast in the lead role, despite his relative obscurity. These choices were unpopular with the studio, Paramount Pictures, and Coppola claims he was constantly afraid of being fired during production.
However, Coppola prevailed. And it's thanks to him that the film shot on location in New York and Sicily, that it featured Nino Rota's elegant score, and that it cast so many wonderful actors of Italian descent alongside non-Italian ones. The production was chaotic at times, thanks to behind the scenes drama with the studio and the real-life mob. On screen, however, there was no trace of any difficulties to be found. Instead, it was easy to get lost in Gordon Willis's evocative lighting and cinematography, considered unusually "dark" for a mainstream film of the era. And it was easy to get wrapped up in the lives of the characters, driven by the dynamics and traditions of a big Italian family, more than the usual criminal shortcomings like greed, lust, and ambition.
Though it's often billed as the ultimate gangster picture, "The Godfather" is at its best when it's a family drama. The father son relationships in particular are vital. Brando purposefully played against expectations, portraying Don Corleone as a powerful, but gentle and intelligent man of great complexity. He's become so caricatured by popular culture that it's something of a surprise to discover just how charismatic and how touching Brando is in the role. I've come to appreciate James Caan's brash Sonny more as I've gotten older, and Pacino and Cazale suffer only in comparison to the career-defining work they would do two years later in "The Godfather Part II."
And it's difficult to talk about "The Godfather" without talking about its sequel, which is often treated as part of the same narrative. Much of what we see set up in "The Godfather" doesn't pay off until "The Godfather Part II," where Michael Corleone is confronted with the price of power and sees the rest of his family disintegrate. However, I've always seen them as different films, even if they are intimately connected. The original "Godfather" is about capturing a specific time in the lives of the Corleone family, a moment of transition from the old generation to the new. Though "Part II" is still about Vito and Michael, it's a very different kind of story.
It's fitting, then, that "The Godfather" became one of the key transitional films of the 1970s, emblematic of New Hollywood counterculture supplanting the older, established order. As for Coppola, though he never found the same level of success again, he never stopped making wildly ambitious, boundary-pushing films. And he never stopped doing things his way either.
What I've Seen - Francis Ford Coppola
The Godfather (1972)
The Conversation (1974)
The Godfather Part II (1974)
Apocalypse Now (1979)
The Outsiders (1983)
Rumble Fish (1983)
Peggy Sue Got Married (1986)
The Godfather Part III (1990)
Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992)
The Rainmaker (1997)
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"The Godfather" underlines from its opening lines that it is a film about the American dream, the promise of new possibilities to the hopeful immigrant. And from this point of view, its romanticized portrayal of organized crime is made more palatable, elevating its potent mythology of the wise Godfather and his loyal sons and underlings. The audience is seduced by the lifestyle and its more brutal system of morality right along with Michael Corleone. Unlike other gangster films, there were no overt judgments made on the criminal characters, no punishments meted out by a higher authority. Instead, outsiders are only allowed glimpses, and only the final shots convey a true sense of tragedy.
Coppola's many, many contributions to the film were largely driven by a desire to imbue it with authenticity. In addition to directing, he also co-wrote the script with Mario Puzo. He fought the studio over casting choices, filming locations, the composer, the budget, the running time, and more. He wanted "The Godfather" to look and feel recognizably Italian-American, to reflect an immigrant experience that we hadn't seen in American film before. He fought for Al Pacino to be cast in the lead role, despite his relative obscurity. These choices were unpopular with the studio, Paramount Pictures, and Coppola claims he was constantly afraid of being fired during production.
However, Coppola prevailed. And it's thanks to him that the film shot on location in New York and Sicily, that it featured Nino Rota's elegant score, and that it cast so many wonderful actors of Italian descent alongside non-Italian ones. The production was chaotic at times, thanks to behind the scenes drama with the studio and the real-life mob. On screen, however, there was no trace of any difficulties to be found. Instead, it was easy to get lost in Gordon Willis's evocative lighting and cinematography, considered unusually "dark" for a mainstream film of the era. And it was easy to get wrapped up in the lives of the characters, driven by the dynamics and traditions of a big Italian family, more than the usual criminal shortcomings like greed, lust, and ambition.
Though it's often billed as the ultimate gangster picture, "The Godfather" is at its best when it's a family drama. The father son relationships in particular are vital. Brando purposefully played against expectations, portraying Don Corleone as a powerful, but gentle and intelligent man of great complexity. He's become so caricatured by popular culture that it's something of a surprise to discover just how charismatic and how touching Brando is in the role. I've come to appreciate James Caan's brash Sonny more as I've gotten older, and Pacino and Cazale suffer only in comparison to the career-defining work they would do two years later in "The Godfather Part II."
And it's difficult to talk about "The Godfather" without talking about its sequel, which is often treated as part of the same narrative. Much of what we see set up in "The Godfather" doesn't pay off until "The Godfather Part II," where Michael Corleone is confronted with the price of power and sees the rest of his family disintegrate. However, I've always seen them as different films, even if they are intimately connected. The original "Godfather" is about capturing a specific time in the lives of the Corleone family, a moment of transition from the old generation to the new. Though "Part II" is still about Vito and Michael, it's a very different kind of story.
It's fitting, then, that "The Godfather" became one of the key transitional films of the 1970s, emblematic of New Hollywood counterculture supplanting the older, established order. As for Coppola, though he never found the same level of success again, he never stopped making wildly ambitious, boundary-pushing films. And he never stopped doing things his way either.
What I've Seen - Francis Ford Coppola
The Godfather (1972)
The Conversation (1974)
The Godfather Part II (1974)
Apocalypse Now (1979)
The Outsiders (1983)
Rumble Fish (1983)
Peggy Sue Got Married (1986)
The Godfather Part III (1990)
Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992)
The Rainmaker (1997)
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Sunday, June 11, 2017
My Top Ten Film Scores
I've been wanting to do a film score post for a very, very long time. However, I always ran into trouble when it came to picking entries. I am vastly affected by nostalgia where music is concerned, and grew up listening to Disney songs and John Williams soundtracks. If I did a traditional Top Ten list, I was going to end up with a list of Spielberg movies. I think I found a good happy medium by limiting myself to one score for each composer.
Entries are unranked and presented in no particular order below. Enjoy.
"Conan the Barbarian" by Basil Pouledouris - One of the earliest films I remember seeing was "Conan the Barbarian," and the opening scene with Mako's narration leading into the full "Anvil of Crom" theme remains one of my favorite in all of cinema. With it's use of violent drums, choral pieces, and an operatic scope, the "Conan" score remains my favorite for any fantasy movie. And it's a rare 80s score that still doesn't sound remotely dated.
"The Pink Panther" by Henry Mancini" - There's such playfulness and charm to Mancini's work, and it's perfect for the "Pink Panther" film series about bumbling thieves and detectives. The success of the eponymous cartoon character, originally a silent pantomimer, owes so much to the jazzy music, which helped to define his attitude and cool charisma. My favorite version of theme is the expanded, big band version from "Return of the Pink Panther."
"E.T.: the Extra-Terrestrial" by John Williams - There were an overwhelming number of options, and I nearly went with Williams' score for "Hook." However, if I'm being honest, there's nothing that captures the excitement and innocence of those old Spielberg adventure films like the "E.T." theme. It's not only the perfect music for nighttime flying, but about as perfect an encapsulation of giddy childhood wonder as you could ever wish for.
"Cinema Paradiso" by Ennio Morricone - Again, I had far too many good choices for Morricone, and was very certain I was going to pick something from the "Dollars" trilogy. Then I remembered he had also composed the heartbreaking score for "Cinema Paradiso," which has one of my absolute favorite scenes in all of cinema. And that scene wouldn't be a tenth as effective without the score. So there was no way that I could leave it off the list.
"Psycho" by Bernard Hermann" - Hitchcock was loathe to have music in many of his scenes of suspense, but the effectiveness of Bernard Hermann's "Psycho" score could not be denied. To this day, it's impossible for me to think of the shower scene without those screaming strings, or the final shots of the movie without those accompanying harsh, final notes. Hitchcock would later claim "33% of the effect of 'Psycho' was due to the music."
"8 ½" by Nino Rota - He's best known for "The Godfather," but the Rota piece I can't get out of my mind is from the finale of Federico Fellini's "8 ½." After juggling multiple musical styles and forms throughout the film, here at last was the riotous circus music appropriate for a fully "Felliniesque" Fellini movie, a joyous celebration of love and life. And even after the majority of the players have left the stage, the music continues on, into the night.
"Edward Scissorhands" by Danny Elfman - The Gothic groaning, the manic violin solo, and those transcendent choral pieces all help to make the disparate parts of "Edward Scissorhands" fit together into one lovely whole. The film is a fractured fairy-tale, but one with so much soul, reflected by some of Elfman's most beautiful work. Nothing else he's done has ever hit me as hard as "The Snow Dance," the moment our hero finally wins over his love.
"The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" by Michel LeGrand - Everyone knows "I Will Wait For You," even if they don't know that they know it. I actually prefer the LeGrand and Jacques Demy musical "Young Girls of Rochefort" of all their collaborations, but the music from "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" can't be topped. Whatever language you heard it in, and in whatever context, from "Umbrellas" to "Futurama," the yearning melancholy always comes through.
"Out of Africa" by John Barry - This is one of the few pieces on this list that I was a fan of long before I knew that it came from a movie, and if I'm being honest this is one of the big reasons I bothered to watch the movie at all. The main theme, "I Had a Farm in Africa," is an absolute aural pleasure, a serene and romantic and utterly transporting piece of music. In the end I didn't like the movie much, but the score remains one of my favorites.
"A Clockwork Orange" by Wendy Carlos - I'm not a big fan of electronica music, but there's something so inescapably unique about Wendy Carlos's work for Stanley Kubrick. Her "Clockwork Orange" soundtrack in particular is full of these eerie, mesmerizing pieces that incorporate and transform other musical works into something sinister. I've never heard anything else quite like it, and it stands out as one of the most unique, iconic scores of all time.
Honorable Mentions: Rocky (Bill Conti), Koyaanisqatsi (Philip Glass), Shaft (Isaac Hayes), How the West Was Won (Alfred Newman), Back to the Future (Alan Silvestri), Beauty and the Beast (Alan Menken), Deep Red (Goblins), The Silence of the Lambs (Howard Shore), The Piano (Michael Nyman), Glory (James Horner), Doctor Zhivago (Maurice Jarre), The Magnificent Seven (Elmer Bernstein), Princess Mononoke (Joe Hisaishi), The Company of Wolves (George Fenton), West Side Story (Leonard Bernstein), Amelie (Yann Tiersen), Return to Oz (David Shire), The Dark Crystal (Trevor Jones), Sherlock Holmes (Hans Zimmer), The Incredibles (Michael Giacchino), and Under the Skin (Mica Levi)
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Entries are unranked and presented in no particular order below. Enjoy.
"Conan the Barbarian" by Basil Pouledouris - One of the earliest films I remember seeing was "Conan the Barbarian," and the opening scene with Mako's narration leading into the full "Anvil of Crom" theme remains one of my favorite in all of cinema. With it's use of violent drums, choral pieces, and an operatic scope, the "Conan" score remains my favorite for any fantasy movie. And it's a rare 80s score that still doesn't sound remotely dated.
"The Pink Panther" by Henry Mancini" - There's such playfulness and charm to Mancini's work, and it's perfect for the "Pink Panther" film series about bumbling thieves and detectives. The success of the eponymous cartoon character, originally a silent pantomimer, owes so much to the jazzy music, which helped to define his attitude and cool charisma. My favorite version of theme is the expanded, big band version from "Return of the Pink Panther."
"E.T.: the Extra-Terrestrial" by John Williams - There were an overwhelming number of options, and I nearly went with Williams' score for "Hook." However, if I'm being honest, there's nothing that captures the excitement and innocence of those old Spielberg adventure films like the "E.T." theme. It's not only the perfect music for nighttime flying, but about as perfect an encapsulation of giddy childhood wonder as you could ever wish for.
"Cinema Paradiso" by Ennio Morricone - Again, I had far too many good choices for Morricone, and was very certain I was going to pick something from the "Dollars" trilogy. Then I remembered he had also composed the heartbreaking score for "Cinema Paradiso," which has one of my absolute favorite scenes in all of cinema. And that scene wouldn't be a tenth as effective without the score. So there was no way that I could leave it off the list.
"Psycho" by Bernard Hermann" - Hitchcock was loathe to have music in many of his scenes of suspense, but the effectiveness of Bernard Hermann's "Psycho" score could not be denied. To this day, it's impossible for me to think of the shower scene without those screaming strings, or the final shots of the movie without those accompanying harsh, final notes. Hitchcock would later claim "33% of the effect of 'Psycho' was due to the music."
"8 ½" by Nino Rota - He's best known for "The Godfather," but the Rota piece I can't get out of my mind is from the finale of Federico Fellini's "8 ½." After juggling multiple musical styles and forms throughout the film, here at last was the riotous circus music appropriate for a fully "Felliniesque" Fellini movie, a joyous celebration of love and life. And even after the majority of the players have left the stage, the music continues on, into the night.
"Edward Scissorhands" by Danny Elfman - The Gothic groaning, the manic violin solo, and those transcendent choral pieces all help to make the disparate parts of "Edward Scissorhands" fit together into one lovely whole. The film is a fractured fairy-tale, but one with so much soul, reflected by some of Elfman's most beautiful work. Nothing else he's done has ever hit me as hard as "The Snow Dance," the moment our hero finally wins over his love.
"The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" by Michel LeGrand - Everyone knows "I Will Wait For You," even if they don't know that they know it. I actually prefer the LeGrand and Jacques Demy musical "Young Girls of Rochefort" of all their collaborations, but the music from "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" can't be topped. Whatever language you heard it in, and in whatever context, from "Umbrellas" to "Futurama," the yearning melancholy always comes through.
"Out of Africa" by John Barry - This is one of the few pieces on this list that I was a fan of long before I knew that it came from a movie, and if I'm being honest this is one of the big reasons I bothered to watch the movie at all. The main theme, "I Had a Farm in Africa," is an absolute aural pleasure, a serene and romantic and utterly transporting piece of music. In the end I didn't like the movie much, but the score remains one of my favorites.
"A Clockwork Orange" by Wendy Carlos - I'm not a big fan of electronica music, but there's something so inescapably unique about Wendy Carlos's work for Stanley Kubrick. Her "Clockwork Orange" soundtrack in particular is full of these eerie, mesmerizing pieces that incorporate and transform other musical works into something sinister. I've never heard anything else quite like it, and it stands out as one of the most unique, iconic scores of all time.
Honorable Mentions: Rocky (Bill Conti), Koyaanisqatsi (Philip Glass), Shaft (Isaac Hayes), How the West Was Won (Alfred Newman), Back to the Future (Alan Silvestri), Beauty and the Beast (Alan Menken), Deep Red (Goblins), The Silence of the Lambs (Howard Shore), The Piano (Michael Nyman), Glory (James Horner), Doctor Zhivago (Maurice Jarre), The Magnificent Seven (Elmer Bernstein), Princess Mononoke (Joe Hisaishi), The Company of Wolves (George Fenton), West Side Story (Leonard Bernstein), Amelie (Yann Tiersen), Return to Oz (David Shire), The Dark Crystal (Trevor Jones), Sherlock Holmes (Hans Zimmer), The Incredibles (Michael Giacchino), and Under the Skin (Mica Levi)
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