FilmVomit

Rats are ticklish, apparently. And I may have to steal that sound for something. Also, I love Radiolab.

The Rat Tickler

I cannot decide if this film is an example of Herzog attempting to appease Hollywood, or Herzog trying to be Hollywood. Bits of classic Herzog abound, but they have been glossed and spit-shined into something Bigger. And cleaner. Whereas Kinski’s Dieter would have crawled from the forest covered in so much filth as to be barely recognizable as human (though, of course, Kinski never was actually human); Bale’s Dieter comes out with artfully placed gashes, his skin still visible through the grime. The film is mystifying in that it seems so very familiar, and yet I cannot seem to grab hold of it. It is slithery and slick in a way that feels so very un-Herzog. I am accustomed to feeling ill after I watch a Herzog film, to being unable to rid myself of it no matter how hard I try. This one won’t stay with me though I want it to.
Bale as Dieter, however, was profoundly distressing. And not simply for the lengths to which he will go, physically, to achieve a role.

Rescue Dawn

There is little that is wrong with this film, really. It’s funny and sweet and the right kind of clever. But it is an anachronism. The jokes get laughs not necessarily because they are funny now, but because they were funny then and we know it. The style so perfectly mimics something decades old, with scenes that are a bit longer than their contemporary counterpoints might be, and with a wink and a smile the actors pay homage to actors long gone.

Leatherheads

I don’t even know what to say. Sometimes YouTube actually makes me laugh, really hard. Fortunately, when it comes by way of other sources, I don’t have to wade through the massive amounts of vomit-inducing (the bad kind) crap. Anyhow, I’ve seen student films that were much, much worse. At least they didn’t waste precious celluloid.
You can watch this one for yourself.
Floating Head

I incorrectly stated that the Austrians are insane. It is, in fact, the Polish who are bonkers this time.

Sztuka spadania

I am easily overwhelmed by technical virtuosity. I cannot help it, my heart is weak.

Pan with Us

One brief incandescent moment when the photographs overcome themselves. One breath, a small smile, the static becomes dynamic.

La Jetée

It is funnier to be dying than to not be dying. It is friendlier and more beautiful, and you will meet more people and have more interesting conversations. If you are dying, people are nice to you. People permit you to see strange things and don’t laugh at you when your teeth fall out or you fall to pieces on the bus. When you aren’t dying anymore, your flowers are taken away.

everything will be ok

Who would come to a balloon’s funeral? And why do children’s movies no longer have souls?

Le Ballon rouge

(seen on 5/5. was too disgusted to publish until now.)

I watch Gus Van Sant films entirely out of a desire to decipher their popularity. They do nothing for me, really, except confuse me and diminish my already dwindling faith in humanity. And this time was precisely the same as every other- it’s baffling and I am not sure what to say about it. The shots are framed in a largely meaningless and haphazard manner, the editing is poorly paced, the music is a fiasco.
Van Sant does not seem capable of directing actors who know what they are doing, so when he uses amateurs it is painful every time someone opens their mouth. Which is especially trying, as I know what can be accomplished with amateur actors. Two of my favorite directors made frequent or exclusive use of amateur actors.
My gut lurches in strange ways and I cannot seem to grasp what it is he is saying. If he is commenting on ‘youth’ he has failed because naught that he has said has not been said before. I do not know where he expects me to look, and what he expects me to see. Perhaps he expects me to see the vast nothing he presents me with, perhaps he is being a deconstructionist asshole.
Perhaps I should kick him in the teeth.
The frame is wasted on things that are impossibly unappealing in all ways, and the music ruins one of two decent scenes - I will always appreciate dispassionate teenage fucking.
I believe that Van Sant ought be sent back to film school and taught to use a camera again, so he stops wasting precious silver.
If Van Sant is going to make a commentary on filmmaking itself, then he ought to prove to me that he can make a film first. Godard, as much as I despise him, at least did the dirty work first. And thus I can appreciate his worth, while loathing his films. Van Sant can’t even manage to keep his corpses in the correct position. Someone ought to do him a favor and find him a script girl. And then maim him in such a way that he can never handle a camera again.

Paranoid Park