Jim Sheridan is pretty much the go-to guy when it comes to movies about Ireland. The Dublin-born director started things off with the brilliant My Left Foot, establishing a working relationship with Daniel Day-Lewis at the outset. The two would collaborate again with 1993’s In the Name of the Father. Their third collaboration, The Boxer, stands as a bleak and desolate piece about change and the hunger for peace in Ireland.
Day-Lewis is Danny Flynn, a member of the IRA with a promising boxing career. His life was put on hold when he was imprisoned at the age of 18 for his terrorist associations. The film picks up with Flynn finally leaving prison after 14 years. He refused to name his fellow IRA men, increasing the length of his prison term. Upon his release, Flynn is sent into a community that is attempting to negotiate peace with the British. Head IRA man Joe Hamill (Brian Cox) is trying to work out a peace agreement.
The process is far from easy, though, and Hamill has his hands full with various members of the IRA. He especially struggles with a militant faction of the group, led by Harry (Gerard McSorley). Flynn, meanwhile, rekindles a past relationship with Maggie (Emily Watson) despite her marriage to another imprisoned IRA member. They embark on a dangerous relationship, with the IRA watching their every move and threatening death for any man caught having an affair with a prisoner’s wife.
Flynn has no interest in the activities of the IRA, having long ago paid his debts and spent his energy on the “cause.” He just wants to fight and pick up his tattered boxing career, so he joins with his old manager Ike (Ken Stott) and reopens a local gym for young boxers to train. Flynn’s sense for “getting on with it” soon becomes a motivating factor for many in the community and boxing becomes an outlet for much of the pain and violence of the past. The gym is opened for both Protestants and Catholics, but it soon becomes a lightning rod for Harry’s militancy.
The fights are great fun to watch, presenting with a sort of gritty hope. Day-Lewis was trained by Barry McGuigan (the Clones Cyclone) and it shows. He is in great shape for the picture, adding a sense of realism and explosiveness to his normally subdued character. His Danny Flynn speaks in hushed tones, for the most part, choosing his words carefully even when in the presence of the love of his live. He is reserved and appears to have learned his lessons well, so the boxing becomes the real fountain of any lingering angst.
Sheridan’s movie is very carefully constructed and very bleak, very gray. The dialogue is often delivered softly and secretly, as though there is always someone watching. Sheridan effectively captures the tone of uncertainty, spreading his story out as though sudden moments of violence can disrupt the whole damn thing. We get the sense that the love affair, the fighting, and the violence in the streets are all interconnected.
The Boxer is not a perfect motion picture. It sometimes struggles with its own ambition, as though it weighs out the importance of each scene and is forced into making a choice. Sometimes the boxing can feel like a superfluous act, as though the film’s three fights really aren’t needed to develop the character of Danny Flynn. Nevertheless, Sheridan does attempt to instil the scenes with importance. One fight that ends with Flynn showing mercy on his opponent serves to showcase the true nature of this changed man.
The Boxer is an effective, bleak narrative that tells an important story of tentative peace and those who act against it for nothing but their own interests. It is a story of both selfishness and selfless love. It is well-acted, well-directed, and well-scored by Gavin Friday.
Hayao Miyazaki’s dazzling 1997 film Princess Mononoke is an enthralling meditation on humanity’s inevitable conflict with nature and, to a lesser extent, one another. For Miyazaki, Mononoke was a 16-year journey that partially began with his 1983 manga The Journey of Shuna. The story for Mononoke became more cohesive for the writer/director after a visit to the ancient forests of Yakushima Island.
Upon its release, Princess Mononoke was the most expensive anime ever made. It is mostly hand-drawn and Miyazaki meticulously went through each of the animation cells personally, redrawing several of them himself. There is computer animation for about five minutes of the motion picture, with another ten minutes of digital paint utilized as well. The computer animated portions work to augment the hand-drawn traditional animation; they do not overshadow or stand out.
Princess Mononoke is timeless. As a tale discussing the conflict between humanity and nature, it finds special relevance during our time. When American politicians and moronic talk show pundits argue over the possibility, cause, and effects of “global warming,” the changes to our planet are observable and very real. We cannot go about living the way we do without some form of consequence drawn upon the earth. That is simple common sense and it does not matter what buzzword or talking point you attach to that.
Miyazaki is mindful of this and it shows with the grandeur of Princess Mononoke. Set at the dawn of the Iron Age in medieval Japan, the story centres around some individuals living in harmony with nature and others asserting dominance over it. We are introduced to Ashitaka first. He is a prince destined to become the leader of his tribe, but an encounter with a demonic boar god leaves him afflicted with a curse that will ultimately kill him. He is forced out of his village, so he heads to locate the source of the cursed boar and to possibly find a cure.
Ashitaka discovers a human settlement called Iron Town in the English version of the motion picture. Iron Town is the site of the blossoming iron trade and it is filled with workers clearing the nearby forests for charcoal. The leader of Iron Town is Lady Eboshi and she informs Ashitaka that the giant boar that cursed him was once a forest god. The gods of the forest and the beasts are trying to defend their home from human encroachment, leading to many conflicts between man and animal.
There is also San, a young woman raised by the wolf goddess Moro. She is concerned with protecting the forest at all costs and wishes to kill Lady Eboshi. This leads to several strikes on Iron Town. She has lost the majority of her humanity, but Ashitaka becomes infatuated with her and she begins to also yearn for harmony over the course of time.
Princess Mononoke is compelling in its refusal to simply draw certain characters as black and white villains. Take Lady Eboshi, for instance. In a Westernized movie she would have been sketched as a sort of Cruella de Vil character. Miyazaki offers her sympathetic characteristics, for instance. She has a deep concern for her people, for instance, and wishes to use the charcoal and iron to build weapons to secure independence from enemies. She also employs lepers and treats them with rich humanity.
Indeed, Miyazaki’s motion picture is primarily concerned with exploring our conflict with nature. Is it unavoidable or can we, as Ashitaka wishes, live in peace? As human beings, we tend to view ourselves above and beyond nature. It is something we keep “out there” while we stay indoors. Yet we are a part of nature, all of us, and it is a part of us. We are one and when we damage nature and the earth, our only home, we damage ourselves. This principle goes beyond the idiotic right and left politicking of the United States and to our very future and wellbeing. Miyazaki’s understanding of this basic principle forms the foundation for Princess Mononoke and the majority of his work.
Princess Mononoke contains dazzling animation as one would have to expect from Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. It is a surprisingly violent motion picture at times, which adds to the staggering experience. There is also Miyazaki’s humanism to consider here, as he develops a love story that no Hollywood movie version would ever have the balls to put to film. In the end, Princess Mononoke is a truly unique, compelling, engrossing, magical movie that should be experienced by all serious lovers of cinema and, indeed, this world.
Finally, an update! Sorry for the wait, I’m back watching movies again!
Fandom, obsession, change, and psychological issues are explored in Satoshi Kon’s brilliant 1997 film Perfect Blue. Kon is quickly becoming one of my favourite filmmakers and is certainly making a name for himself in the anime genre, weaving intelligent tales that blur the lines between fantasy and reality without coming across as pretentious or patronizing. Perfect Blue has all the makings of a Hitchcockian thriller and features tremendous animation, excellent pacing, and some truly nerve-wracking sequences.
Essentially Kon has crafted a psychological thriller that is ahead of its time, especially in a Western sense. We meet Mima, our heroine, as she is leaving the pop group CHAM! after a successful career. Mima wants to be an actress and this news does not sit well with her countless fans. Her first job is in a drama series. Mima begins as a sort of background actress, but quickly becomes a major character after a pivotal rape scene grants her a larger part and subsequently undoes her pop princess image. Sound eerily familiar?
Mima learns of a website online called “Mima’s Room” on which somebody impersonates her and describes her feelings, daily activities, and other personal information. The person behind the website begins to plant the idea that Mima is unhappy with her new career choice and decides that Mima is actually an imposter. A run of grisly murders begin to take place and the targets are involved with the drama series’ rape scene. As Mima becomes confused with her new role, her fixated fans, and a strange stalker named Me-Mania, her grasp on reality fades.
Perfect Blue presents a surprising account of fandom and the idea that fans of a particular performer hold a personal stake in his or her actions. This notion was a surprising thought in the late 90s, when the internet wasn’t so trite and the initiative of celebrity didn’t seem to be at such a fever pitch. In today’s world of reality shows and the New American Dream seeming to be a raw lust for fame of any kind, Kon’s motion picture has audacious and terrifying new weight.
Take for instance the alarming sense of betrayal that the fans of Mima feel when she takes a different route with her career. I have seen countless message board posts and pieces of fan mail from crazed individuals obsessed with keeping stars and famous people as they are. One slight change, such as the decision by Avril Lavigne to adopt a slightly sexier way of presenting herself, and the shit can truly hit the fan. Ask Anne Hathaway about the backlash for doing Havoc after a series of “princess” pictures.
Kon’s exploration of the concept of fame is remarkable, as he is pitch-perfect in presenting his scenes and unfolding the drama. The story is startling enough as an account of fans, stalkers, and Mima’s struggle with a new career direction. But on top of this, Kon adds another layer and has Mima questioning reality. She is shattered from the rape scene, yet feels a need to take this new direction. One thing leads to another and Mima is taking nude photographs and presenting an even sexier representation of herself.
Kon explores her mystification and anxiety with lucidity, offering marvellous depth to the character while still keeping the other plot arcs moving. He does an awful lot within the film’s 80 minutes, creating more raw emotion and frightening sequences out of animation than many current directors could hope for out of “real actors.” As such, Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue is an absolutely stunning psychological thriller. Its exploration of fans, stardom, celebrity obsession, and culture is incredibly pressing and fascinatingly pertinent.
James Cameron’s career-defining picture is as powerful a film about excess as the modern cinema era created. Titanic is impeccably structured, beautifully designed, brilliantly acted, and magically directed. The monstrous movie is one of the highest grossing pictures of all time and scooped eleven Academy Awards after whispers that it would fail and cause the downfall of Paramount.
Titanic is Cameron’s labour of love, a lyrical piece of art produced on a massive scale utilizing elements of romance, loss, excess, and social class to tell a story of mankind’s attempt to triumph over the elements. In effect, that is what the story of the Titanic represents. It is the ultimate tale of arrogance, as the “unsinkable ship” still remains a grim reminder of how little we know and how little chance we stand against nature, accident, and ourselves.
In the middle of this, Cameron smartly structures a love story. Leonardo DiCaprio is Jack Dawson, a drifter and artist who wins a ticket to board the Titanic in a poker game. He boards and is enamoured with the entire experience, feasting his eyes on the grandeur and experiencing the scope of it all. It isn’t long before he lays his eyes upon 17-year-old Rose (Kate Winslet) and is quickly swept up in her beauty. Rose is on board with her fiancé Cal (Billy Zane), a dreadfully evil and self-absorbed rich heir to a steel fortune. Needless to say, Rose isn’t particularly excited about her impending doom.
Rose feels hopelessly swept up in the boredom and repetitiveness of her life and feels that there is no way to avoid what’s coming, so she sets out to kill herself by leaping into the water off of the Titanic. Jack saves her and the two develop a relationship much to the chagrin of Cal and Rose’s unfortunate mother (Frances Fisher). Jack and Rose soon begin a love affair that takes them up until the fateful moment when the massive vessel runs into the auspicious iceberg and all hell breaks loose.
Titanic works because it is a richly detailed and filled with romance, adventure, and suspense. Cameron delivers the historical story sandwiched in the middle of a modern day connection. We meet 101-year-old Rose (Gloria Stuart) as she tells treasure hunter Brock Lovett (Bill Paxton) of her adventures on the ship. The use of this as a way to connect the story to modern times is clever and ultimately necessary, as it gives us a way to attach the ostensibly remote events of the past to our more immediate sensibility.
Cameron, tremendous ego aside, really did a marvellous job with the project. His obsessive detail shows in each scene, as his interest in shipwrecks really resonates on the screen. His use of Lovett as a character to grant an entry point to those without one is smart, as is his focus on the love story and the differing social classes. By granting several points of interest and layering his story well, Cameron’s screenplay is stylish and rich with detail.
The performances are grand, with Kate Winslet standing out with a phenomenal performance as Rose. She is desperately beautiful, infusing every scene with a combination of raw sensuality and beautiful grace. Even as she traipses through the waters below to save her lover from certain doom, even as her lungs freeze, even as she urgently attempts to escape her circumstances, Winslet is ever the picture of gorgeous beauty. Her emotional range is captivating and her eloquence is extraordinary.
Cameron’s Titanic is legendary and should be required viewing for, well, everyone. It is massive, gorgeous, romantic, suspenseful, and endlessly entertaining. While he may be a complete dick to work with (whether he’s firing people for going to the bathroom on True Lies or freezing poor Kate in for Titanic), his projects are almost always interesting and his military-style dedication is unquestionable. For a clear vision of what this asshole can do, Titanic is as good as it gets.
Kevin Williamson was tapped as the voice of “teenagers” in the mid-to-late-90s. Inspired by a magazine article about a serial killer, he penned the screenplay to what would end up as the movie Scream and sold it in 1995. Prior to that, Williamson had another screenplay on the burner. With the success of Scream, producers rushed the other screenplay to the forefront and I Know What You Did Last Summer was born. Williamson went on to write the sequel to Scream and also penned the Robert Rodriguez-directed The Faculty. Not content to ditch the teen genre, he eventually went to work on the television show Dawson’s Creek.
Williamson’s passion for teens being stalked by crazed killers is evident with I Know What You Did Last Summer. The film stars Jennifer Love Hewitt as Julie James, one of four friends who accidentally run down a pedestrian on their way home from a July 4th party. After Helen (Sarah Michelle Gellar) wins a local beauty pageant in the North Carolina fishing town, her boyfriend Barry (Ryan Phillipe), Julie, and pal Ray (Freddie Prinze Jr.) mow down a fisherman with their car. Hell, the guys in slickers are a dime a dozen anyway.
The problem begins when the crew decides to toss the body in the water, choosing not to report the crime for fear of some sort of parental reprisal. A year passes and Julie gets an anonymous note: “I know what you did last summer.” The teens have a suspect in mind, but that very suspect is ruled out when he is killed via hook. The terror begins as the man in the slicker begins to stalk the teens, one by one, with a hook and a serious death wish.
I Know What You Did Last Summer is standard teen slasher fare. There is nothing particularly special about this movie that sets it apart from the others. It lacks the self-awareness of the Scream flicks. The characters aren’t overly compelling, but Gellar and Love Hewitt provide plenty to look at throughout the film’s runtime.
The suspense is pretty much nil, with scenes constructed with all of the tension of a children’s movie. The gore is minimal, although the Fisherman does accomplish some decent things with that hook of his. But Full Hook Potential isn’t reached in the least, with an awful lot of slashing taking the place of what could have been some truly unique stuff. Fans of horror in general will likely be bored by this bland entry, although it does make for a nice walk down memory lane for those of us who were teens in the late 90s.
Williamson’s screenplay isn’t particularly compelling or catchy in any way. There are no snappy exchanges of dialogue and most of the situations are so eagerly contrived that the whole affair feels like an instantaneous cash grab on the back of a better movie. Of course, that’s because it is. Director Jim Gillespie was apparently hired to shoot the thing after producers saw a ten-minute short of his. Gillespie’s job is minimal, naturally, so perhaps ten minutes was enough time to see what this guy had to offer. Even so, a better director perhaps could have made more out of the attractive stars and the film’s gory potential.
Overall, I Know What You Did Last Summer is a feeble entry in a relatively poor genre. The teen slasher film genre contains far more misses than hits, so expectations for this one shouldn’t be particularly high. Still, almost everything in this one falls flat. It is utterly tedious, weak, and simply uninteresting, but some may find something persuasive thanks in large part to Jennifer Love Hewitt. I’m not ashamed to admit that I did.
Contact is a 1997 science fiction film based on a Carl Sagan novel. Directed by Robert Zemeckis, the film is hopeful and echoes many of the sentiments of Sagan’s book. I think he would have been proud of the final project, but sadly he passed away seven months prior to the film’s release. Sagan had always intended Eleanor Arroway’s story to be a movie and even had visions of it before his book was finished in 1985. The book took its origins from a treatment that Sagan wrote with his wife in the early 1980s. Originally, Sagan had talked with director Francis Ford Coppola about making a film about alien contact, but those discussions fell apart.
Sagan began discussing the project with other film producers and spent hundreds of hours going over the details of how his novel could be adapted for the screen. The makers of Contact worked with Sagan and science think tanks to hammer out just how scientifically complex the film could be. The accuracy of the science was very important to Sagan, as he would often point out scientific errors in other films as being problems. The project went through its usual issues of production, with one director being approached and another being hired altogether. Eventually, Zemeckis was attached to direct, Jodie Foster signed on for the lead, and things were underway to turn Contact into a feature film.
Foster stars as Eleanor Arroway, a free-thinking radio astronomer. The first shots of her are shown as she is growing up as a child fascinated by amateur radio. Her father fosters her with a healthy knowledge of science and Ellie grows up as a various curious girl. She becomes an astronomer with a curiosity for other planets and the possibilities of alien life. In her late 20s, Ellie is a researcher working on the SETI (Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence) program. She meets young theology student Palmer Joss (Matthew McConaughey) and has a brief encounter with him before heading off to the radio telescopes in New Mexico. While there, at the Very Large Array, Ellie detects a powerful signal of extraterrestrial origin unleashes a firestorm of publicity with her exploration of the results.
The entire world descends on Ellie and her discovery, which takes place four years after her meeting with Palmer Joss. Ellie and her team analyze the data from the signals, as the signals grow stronger, and certain plans are revealed. The United States government becomes involved and eventually the revealed plans are put into motion to construct a sort of spacecraft to take someone to the mysterious realm from which the alien signals came. Various religious groups both protest and support the project and government officials become equally engrossed in the project. Contact explores these ideas more than it explores the idea of extraterrestrial life, so the film really becomes about the human stories behind a scientifically fantastic discovery.
What works best in Contact is its honesty with its subject matter. While it does have some roots in the genre of science fiction, the film is much more of a drama that illustrates our fascination with the universe, our fear of discovery, and our ideas of faith and their intersection with science. The compatibility of religious views and scientific views is explored, but unlike most of the common discourse of the idea, these views are given reasoned discussion and respectful tone. The movie is about Ellie’s search for life in the universe, true, but it is also about Ellie’s mind and her personality.
Contact is interesting because of the rarity of having science fiction that works as exploratory. The human condition of belief, faith, and trust in science is examined. Science fiction films have a tendency to go for the special effects and leave the questions in the dust for preference of a big, flashy finale. With Contact, those questions enter at the start of the film and leave at the finale still intact. Ellie’s questions are valid, as are those of Palmer Joss. The characters are treated with dignity and respect, which is a refreshing change in a genre that can all too often get the subtleties wrong. Joss and Ellie, despite having opposing views, find commonality and even love with one another.
Zemeckis is often thought of as a sort of effects director, a label which he may well have earned. His exploration into the technology of filmmaking makes him a very bright talent to keep an eye on, but with Contact he proves that he has the ability to tell the human story as well. With precision and an eye for detail, Zemeckis directs the characters and the visions with good measure. There are many stunning visuals, both natural and supernatural, and Zemeckis’ exploration allows us to experience the wonder with the characters.
Contact is a strong film. It does have some issues, as some of the performances and moments are slightly schlocky. Overall, however, Foster’s performance is a good one and the questions the film raises are unique in terms of Hollywood sci-fi. John Hurt is great as Hadden, a Howard Hughes-type billionaire with an interest in Ellie’s affairs and James Woods is an always entertaining character actor. The characters come together seamlessly, for the most part, and the supporting performances are all relatively good. Contact is a well-directed, thoughtful, and meditative film about extra-terrestrial life, love, and the existence of belief. It is a challenging and rewarding film.
Steven Spielberg is one of my favourite filmmakers. His broad range is certainly on display, whether turning his attention to adventure classics such as Raiders of the Lost Ark or tackling important historical issues in films such as Schindler’s List. Amistad is another film in which Spielberg tackles an important issue: slavery and the law. The film is often built around courtroom scenes and unfolds drama within the hearts of men arguing a case over men whose language they do not speak, but this dichotomy is quickly swept up in the human story that Spielberg’s grandiose filmmaking nature captures so well. The film plunges its viewer from moments of despair to moments of triumph and, whether those moments are looming or minuscule by a historical outlook, the moments translate eloquently on film into a full-blown epic.
Amistad, like Schindler’s List, does not need to exist to tell us that slavery is wrong in some sort of morality play. That’s not Spielberg’s intention here. Instead, Amistad is like Schindler’s List in the way that it is about good men trying to function realistically within a corrupted system to attempt to release some of its victims. Within Amistad, it is the legal tactics that must work to free the slaves, as it were. Within Schindler’s List, the tactics used were more subversive and ultimately dangerous, with more at stake. While that does not lessen the overall effect of Amistad’s narrative, it does create a different framework under which Spielberg works. Amistad functions best around courtroom speeches as they contrast to the visions of slavery and the slave trade.
Slavery itself it not the issue within Spielberg’s Amistad. The film, rather, takes its concerns from within the legal framework under which people operated. As we learn, seven of the nine Supreme Court justices in 1839 were slave-owning Southerners. This stacks the deck against Spielberg’s heroes within the film and creates an interesting dichotomy, too. See, Amistad is about the express legal status of Africans who rise up against their captors and are eventually brought to trial for “freeing themselves” on the high seas. The court must decide whether the defendants were born of slaves or illegally brought in from Africa. If it is the former, the defendants are guilty of murder. If it is the latter, the defendants were merely defending themselves from kidnapping. The international trade law had outlawed international slave trading in 1839, the year of the La Amistad incident, so the distinction here is a portion of the legal revision that denotes that those were who already slaves remained that way, as did their children.
Amistad begins on the ship, La Amistad, as Cinque (Djimon Hounsou) is able to free himself and his fellow prisoners in a violent, bloody uprising in which they take over the slave ship and kill many of their captors. The two men who bought the slaves are spared under the promise that they will take the ship back to Africa, but the men deceive the slaves once more and guide it into United States waters where they ship is seized and the slaves are arrested for their “crimes.” A trial ensues and the slaves are given the defense of real estate lawyer Roger Baldwin (Matthew McConaughey), who struggles with the notion of the slaves as being people rather than property. The cause is also supported by two abolitionists, one a former slave named Joadson (Morgan Freeman) and the other an immigrant named Tappan (Stellan Skarsgard).
As the trial continues, it gains the attention of darn well everyone in the country. The entire trial appears to be either the starting point or the diffuser of the looming Civil War. This leads to the involvement of various members of government as they come to argue the case, along with the Spanish monarchy and Queen Isabella II (Anna Paquin). The involvement of various government figures eventually leads to the arrival of former president John Quincy Adams (Anthony Hopkins) who must make his presence felt and sheds some much needed light on the aspects of this case. The victory in Amistad is bittersweet in a historical sense, mainly because while it means the freedom of this group of individuals, it still does not mean the liberty of the millions of held slaves overall and, to many, the ultimate finale in Amistad may seem sadly inconsequential in terms of the big picture. Yet, Spielberg has a story to tell and he tells it rather well.
There are moments of rousing and incredible emotion in Amistad, the likes of which are rarely seen in filmmaking. A horrifying scene involving a food shortage aboard the ship and men and women being thrown overboard is incredibly saddening in its scope. Sequences that examine the true mechanics behind slave trading, from start to often brutal finish, are looked at with a poignancy and respectful sadness, giving true weight to the characters we are coming to know as the film continues along. It is this that remains as Spielberg’s greatest strength in Amistad, as the victory of the tale is really no match for his ability to carve us some brilliant characters with these men. That is what makes Amistad good.
I have heard this film critiqued for oversimplifying the slave trade, for giving the slave issue a glossy coat, and for being manipulative. I’d like to take a moment to answer those charges. In terms of oversimplifying the slave trade, perhaps the charge here was that the moral dilemma of Amistad was too subdued. This would be an effective critique had the nature of Spielberg’s film been to provide moral courtesy and give us a reason to hate slavery. As it is, the majority of people going to see Amistad will likely already think slavery is terrible in every moral way. If that is not the case, I suggest head examinations. Nonetheless, this absolves Spielberg from having to make the fairly obvious point that slavery is bad and, instead, gives him leave to concentrate on his focal point of the story: the people and the challenges faced by the people in this grand tale of overcoming the ruthless system.
To answer the second critique, there is no gloss to the slave trade here. The scenes involving Cinque (Hounsou) and his fellows are far from easy to watch. As we see the slaves paraded around in ruthless order, whipped and beaten, and thrown below decks like forgotten dogs, “gloss” is the furthest thing from how Spielberg conducts these careful scenes. These scenes are maddening. The third critique is really silly and applies to almost all films. The task of a filmmaker is manipulation, really. The basic premise behind a film like Amistad, or any other, is to manipulate the audience using plot devices, characters, performances, camera shots, and anything else including the kitchen sink to manipulate an understand of the context of the material. If Spielberg wasn’t a master manipulator, he wouldn’t be a very good filmmaker. As it stands, he’s one of the best.
Amistad functions very well for what it is, but one can’t help but feel a certain degree of cynicism towards the end as the victory is more for the men and not overall for the cause. While this is not the fault of Spielberg or the film, it does demonstrate the overall scope of the narrative and how the removal of one piece of the puzzle exposes that there is still a lot of work to do in terms of the subject matter. Spielberg’s Amistad does not attempt to show how slavery was combated. It attempts to show how the hearts of men can do wondrous things in moments of corruption, fear, and danger. It’s about bravery, compassion, and hope. History is left to play out the remainder.
This 1997 comedy about friendships, unapologetic materialism, and high school reunion hype was a major letdown from start to finish. Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion looks like a vehicle for Lisa Kudrow, by and large, as she gets to play a ditzier version of her character from “Friends” and gets a tag team partner in blond ambition in Mira Sorvino. Woo hoo! I might as well lay it down on the line right now. I dislike Lisa Kudrow – the whole “um” style of comedy she does is appallingly unfunny and overwrought with tepid banality – and I dislike the majority of reunion-type plot lines. There are a few films that can provide a little saving grace here, but for the most part the idea of a “look how different we are after just ten years” typology for a film’s framework is just off-putting to me. I’m not sure why, but it just is.
Enter Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion. It’s not that I was sitting there with my arms crossed waiting to be impressed by Sorvino and Kudrow, I can tell you that. In fact, the first 30 to 45 minutes were actually rather charming and funny. I found myself getting into the characters and enjoying where the film was heading. I thought that it wouldn’t be too bad after all, thank heaven! But then, like a bolt from the blue, the film instantaneously demeans itself, loses track of its senses, and crash lands for the final half into a pile of tripe so bland and overwrought with idiotic sentimentality and materialistic glee that it became hard to stomach.
Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion was directed by David Mirkin, the directorial genius behind Heartbreakers and a pile of TV shows. The guy likes his women, I guess, but he has no idea how to direct them with any enthusiasm. I suppose that’s not the point. Anywho, the film follows the story of two women that are gearing up for their 10-year high school reunion. In Canada, we barely have those. My graduating class just had one and it was comprised of about ten people in a pub. So right off the bat, this extravagant idea of these two Los Angeles girls driving to Tuscon in Arizona for a reunion has lost me. Meh, whatever. If I can dig foreign films, I can dig this, right?
So, like, yeah. The two Los Angeles girls are, of course, Romy (Sorvino) and Michele (Kudrow). They live together after being completely inseparable throughout high school, as it so often the case. Romy works as a receptionist as a Jaguar dealership and Michele makes her own clothes. They are the pinnacles of success and think they’ve shown their high school class what’s what by moving out of Sticksville and hitting the big time. Sadly, as the girls look at their lives, they realize they aren’t all that great and they embellish a little tale of their imagined lives to share at the reunion. Along the way, Romy and Michele hit a little snag in their friendship when Romy reveals to Michele that she’s the brains in this operation and, without a sneeze, we enter one of the longest and most idiotic dream sequences in recent film memory. The film, from that point on, is reduced to a moronic sideshow.
The chemistry between Kudrow and Sorvino is admirable enough, but it becomes really difficult to pay attention when the film is being systematically ruined by the dialogue and directorial choices. Sure, it’s a late 90s comedy and sure, most comedies from that period suck. But this had promise and potential to exceed through the characters and through the message. Unfrotunately, by the time the dust settles and the makeup dries, Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion has told us to buy into the materialism and the glitz of the experience and ignore the substance. The whole thing was really hollow, after all, and Mirkin ends up blowing it again, just like Heartbreakers.
