Prometheus (2012)

Prometheus (2012), directed by Ridley Scott, 3 stars

I tried my best not read anything about “Prometheus” before seeing it because I was so looking forward to being blown away by the return of Ridley Scott to the Alien franchise.  I still remember sitting in the front row on the day that “Alien” opened at the Uptown Theater in Washington, DC and being thrilled and chilled as the crew desperately tried to combat a terrifying, seemingly indestructible creature that neither they nor the audience had ever seen the likes of before.  I knew nothing at all about “Alien” going into that film other than its catchphrase: “In space, no one can hear you scream.  About “Prometheus,” I knew nothing other than Noomi Rapace (“Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”) and Charlize Theron (“Monster”) were in it and that Michael Fassbender (“Shame”) played a robot.  Although I did a pretty good job clearing my mind of any preconceptions, my gut reaction to “Prometheus” both as I watched it and almost immediately afterward was a feeling of disappointment.  I haven’t given up on the Alien franchise by a longshot, but I think it needs more of an infusion of creative energy than this film gave it to keep the series going.

It begins with a humanoid drinking a putrid-looking liquid which almost immediately dissolves him down to his DNA.  His molecular structure washes into the river below where it mingles with the fast flowing waters.  Cut to a cave where an ancient painting discovered somewhere in the Isle of Skye includes a familiar pattern of stars.  Although invisible to the naked eye, apparently, this configuration has been seen in preserved drawings from Egyptian, Mayan, Babylonian, and other ancient cultures (but not from the recently discovered imprints from Spain, which some are theorizing to be Neanderthal in origin—hold that thought).  How could ancient humans know about this?  The answer to that and other fundamental questions of species origin are first and foremost on the minds of scientists and soul mates Elizabeth Shaw (Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green).  So persuasive are they in their arguments that these are clues to the dawn of humanity that an aged tycoon, Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce in less than becoming or convincing makeup), finances a trip to the stars.  Or so we are led to believe.

As should come as no surprise, upon arriving at their destination, the crew discovers that the world they have landed on is fraught with danger, and their reactions in general are, unfortunately, less than cool, calm and collected.  Two easily freaked-out scientists head back to the mother ship only to get lost and then wind up trying to befriend a cute little slithering creature that, true to form, welcomes them with open mouth.  David the android concocts his own mischief and the results are about as bad a breakup as possible between doctors Shaw and Holloway.  Ships and chests explode violently and no one—including me—is any more the wiser by the end of it all.  Check out this video after watching the film to hear from some equally confused, kindred spirits.

I wanted something smarter.  Sure, the characters in the original “Alien” were pretty much decimated, but they really were trying to do the right (and smart) thing given the circumstances.  In “Prometheus,” it’s not really clear what motivates anyone.  You'd think that on a mission as critical and as well-financed as this one, the crew would not start coming apart so quickly.  Also, I found I really liked the space jockeys (now referred to as “engineers”) much better dead than alive.  They were much creepier that way.  The 3D and Microsoft-inspired computer effects were nicely-done, and petite Noomi Rapace does a great job following in the gigantic footsteps of Sigourney Weaver’s mythic alien-buster Ripley.

There are many (many) sites out there that attempt to explicate far better than I the critical elements of the film.  This FAQ is a good place to start.  I'm guessing that most fans of the original series (or some subset thereof) will like but not love this film.  I suspect, too, that viewers who haven't seen any of the earlier films won't miss much if they see this first, but I certainly hope that, if nothing else, "Prometheus" inspires this group to see "Alien," which without question remains one of my favorite horror films.  Watching it again even now can make me (with apologies to Paul Simon) still queasy after all these years.

Peter Pan (1924)

Peter Pan (1924), directed by Herbert Brenon, 3.5 stars

There’s really no need to recount the plot of Peter Pan; the original stage play, written by James Barrie in 1905, his expanded novel several years later, and the many subsequent incarnations on stage and screen are so well-known that the story has become part of the cultural fabric throughout most of the English-speaking world.  The 1924 silent film starring Betty Bronson as Peter in her first starring role was the earliest filmed version that I’m aware of, and it alternately closely follows and freely takes liberty with the source material.

George Ali in his only appearance on film (according to IMDB) is wonderful as Nana, the faithful watchdog, who is sent to the doghouse on the night of Peter’s arrival and, thus, is unable to intervene on the children’s behalf.  Not that they would have wanted her to.  They are positively rapt with the prospect of flying off to Neverland to cavort with pirates and mermaids and Peter’s band of lost boys.  Betty Bronson captures all of the charm of the self-absorbed Peter, perhaps, borrowing from Maud Adams, who first played him on the Broadway stage.  Bronson is no doubt also a model for later stage performers, most notably, Jean Arthur (in 1950 with Boris Karloff as Captain Hook and music by Leonard Bernstein), Mary Martin (in 1954 and is probably the best known musical adaptation), Sandy Duncan (1979), and Cathy Rigby (throughout the 1990s).  In one minute she’s leaping about the room, crowing with confidence and serene smugness, and in the next, she’s soaring gracefully from wall to wall joyfully teaching the children to fly.

Director Herbert Brenon and cinematographer James Wong Howe, both of whom would team up again for one of Lon Chaney’s greatest performances in the film, “Laugh, Clown, Laugh,” insert numerous magical effects, including Tinker Bell’s flickering flights around the children’s darkened bedroom, and later, the fairy in miniature, holding on for dear life to the huge handle of a cabinet drawer as her skimpy raiment blows fiercely about her.  Rather peculiar is the Americanization of the lost boys, who upon routing the pirates, sing “My country ‘tis of thee” and take down the Jolly Roger, raising in its stead the Stars and Stripes.  This seems bizzare given Barrie’s Scottish heritage and the manifestly London location--Bloomsbury, according to Barrie’s notes in the stage play.  Perhaps, this is an alternate version made specifically for U.S markets.

As with “The Little Princess,” I was fortunate to attend a screening of “Peter Pan” with harp accompaniment and a lovely, original score by Leslie McMichael.  A well-written, well-executed, live musical performances really enhances a silent film, and McMichael's paean to Peter Pan is  proof positive that this is so.

The Little Princess (1917)

The Little Princess (1917), directed by Marshall Neilan, 3 stars

Ten year old Sara Crewe (played by Mary Pickford, “America’s Sweetheart” and 25 at the time) is left at Miss Minchin’s boarding school by her father who is heading off to war.  A widower, he adores his only child and has pampered her like a little princess.  In the boarding school she is also treated well—until the news comes that he has died and left his daughter penniless.  With no funds, poor Sara is now forced by Miss Minchin to act as a virtual servant, cleaning and cooking and seeing to whatever menial chores require her attention.  She lives in the attic with the housemaid, Becky (played by Zasu Pitts), and make the best of the situation until, miraculously, it gets better on its own due to the fortuitously serendipitous appearance of a rich benefactor.  The film, a simple, highly-synopsized version of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s 1905 novel, relates the riches to rags to riches story, 250-plus written pages worth, in just over an hour.  And that includes a twenty minute or so digression during which Sara recounts to her schoolmates the story of “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” which I don’t recall from my ages-ago reading of the book.  While the Arabian fable is charming and delightfully directed, it is completely irrelevant and adds nothing but filler to the film.  It’s as if the studio decided to make a short, and rather than release it on its own, cut and paste it into “The Little Princess.”  I would have preferred to devote the time to additional character development—or, maybe some cute tricks performed by the pet monkey who lives next door.

One visual element that is immediately apparent and, at times, unsettling is the fact that Mary Pickford is tiny by comparison to some of the household furniture and towered over by several of the actors and actresses, particularly mean Miss Minchin, played by Katherine Griffith.  I haven’t been able to find out how tall Ms. Griffith was, but Mary Pickford stood 5’1” according to my Google query (“How tall was Mary Pickford?”), and Griffith stands at least a foot taller.

The film also contains a few, brief but lovely little fantasy elements, far less grandiose and far more to the point than the insertion of the tale of Ali Baba.  One of these is the sequence in which Sara’s dolls play with one another in stop-motion when no one is in the room.  Another is the ghostly image of her father, helplessly watching through the window before vanishing into the night as Sara tells Becky that she has just learned of his death.  Both are nice touches that underscore Sara’s creative imagination.

There’s nothing like seeing a silent film on the big screen and it’s better still with live accompaniment.  I was fortunate to attend a screening in a local theater with a performance and an original score by harpist, Leslie McMichael, who certainly gave the audience its money’s worth and stuck around after the film to answer questions.  She’s also written a score for the 1924 version of “Peter Pan,” a film I’ll be talking about next.

Whisper of the Heart (1995)

Whisper of the Heart (1995), Yoshifumi Kondô, 4 stars

Yoshifumi Kondô’s first and, unhappily, only full-length feature of Japan’s Studio Gibhli is a wonderful blend of teenage angst and imaginative escapist fantasies that make coping with the awkward rebelliousness of young adulthood bearable.  Shizuku, the film’s heroine, has committed to reading 20 books during the summer and notices that every one she selects has been previously checked out a person named Seiji Amasawa.  Her idealized fantasy of this person is shattered when she discovers that he is a classmate and an egocentric braggart—at least that is her initial opinion of him.  Her journey toward reevaluating this first impression begins when she encounters a cat on the subway and follows it through back streets and alleyways to an exclusive area high above the city where it leads her to an eclectic antique shop.  She enters and is immediately entranced by a small sculpture of a dandified, two-legged cat.  The proprietor, an elderly gentleman who turns out to be Seiji’s uncle, informs her that this is the Baron.  For years, the shop owner has been searching for the Baron's companion piece, whom he has named Louise. This story fuels Shizuku's imagination, and she decides to write an elaborate novel featuring Louise and the Baron.

 

Featured prominently and, I must say, a bit bewilderingly in the film is the John Denver song, “Country Roads,” an extremely popular hit in the U.S. in 1971 and apparently in Japan a few years later when covered by Olivia Newton John.  But why this tune pops up as a central motif in a Japanese anime more than 20 years later is a mystery to me.  Its relevance to the plot revolves around Shizuku’s various revisions to the lyrics, which reveal her initial penchant and talent for writing.  I discovered an interesting tidbit while trying (unsuccessfully thus far) to find out if the song also figured in the original manga on which the film was based.  In early 2012, a railway company in Japan decided to use the song in a train station in the town that acted as a model for the film to alert passengers that a train is approaching.  (Click here for more details.)

“Whisper of the Heart” is yet another wonderful, understated contribution by Studio Ghibli in the tradition of “My Neighbor Totoro” and “Only Yesterday.”  These coming of age films all use imaginary elements—wondrous, forest monsters, fading memories of childhood, the statuette of a cat transformed into a high-flying muse—to gently nudge their young female protagonists into the next phase of their lives.  The films are sweet, smart, whimsical, and poignant--family entertainment (and fodder for discussion) at its best.

Pom Poko (1994)

Pom Poko (1994), directed by Isao Takahata, 3.5 stars

It’s the 1960s and Japan is experiencing unprecedented growth.  The once verdant Japanese hillsides surrounding Tokyo are being turned into huge apartment complexes and the wildlife that formerly inhabited these dense forests is being forced out or worse.  Bands of raccoons that have traditionally fought each other come together to form a unified front whose purpose is to fend off further incursions by man.  One such band has learned the ancient raccoon art of transforming into other objects, including humans.  The elders teach as many of the other groups who are able to learn to shapeshift in order to perform terrorist activities whose purpose is to thwart any new construction, thereby preserving what’s left of the receding forest.

Like many animated films from Japan’s Studio Ghibli, this feature has a strong environmental focus.  The destroyers of the natural habitat are not depicted as evil, simply as misguided and incapable of restraining their escalating population growth.  Of course, the raccoons have the same problem.  They, too, cannot contain their sexual urges and exacerbate their own situation by having to share with greater numbers a dwindling supply of food.  The humans are simply the superior species, and the raccoons must adapt or die.  But not without at least one last display of their abilities.  Under the tutelage of three great shapeshifters from afar, they perform a spectacular nighttime display, filling the city sky with dragons, skeletons, ancient spirits, flying squids, fire-breathing tigers, and other ghostly visions.  The scene is an animator’s dream, combining vivid Japanese iconography with wacky characters right out of a Bob Clampett Warner Brothers’ cartoon.

Unfortunately, the spectacle backfires.  Instead of instilling fear and dread, the humans take great delight in the display and want more.  Some raccoons go back to their old ways, some join the humans, others coexist dangerously on the fringes.  The film bears witness to conflict between young and old, old ways and new, war and diplomacy, and the endless cycle of life and death.  Not having much of an appreciation of Japanese art, history, or culture, I’m sure that many of the nuances were lost on me.  Although I liked the film quite a bit—better on this, my second viewing than on my first—I’m sure it would have been a much more rewarding experience seeing it in the company of native speakers with a true understanding of the cultural references, rich symbolism, and folk tales scattered throughout.

Laugh, Clown, Laugh (1928)

Laugh, Clown, Laugh (1928), directed by Herbert Brenon, 4 stars

Lon Chaney plays Tito Beppi, who with his partner Simon, comprise a two-person clown act that travels the pastoral Italian countryside entertaining townsfolk and eking out a modest living.  They stop along a riverbed where Tito stumbles upon a young girl who has been abandoned.  He decides to adopt her as his own, dubs her Simonetta to ingratiate her to his partner Simon, and the pair raises her until she grows up to be a very pretty teenager played by Loretta Young.  Seeking out a rose for her hair, she is ensnared in a barb-wire fence where Count Luigi Ravelli (Nils Asther) rescues and is immediately smitten by her.  It turns out that Tito, her foster father, is, too, so Simonetta must navigate the slippery slope between the wealthy count who is more her own age (she was only 15 in 1928) and her aging foster father (45 at the time).  Tito is afflicted by intense sadness; Luigi has a nervous habit of laughing inappropriately and being unable to stop.  They are actually well-matched with respect to Simonetta’s affection, except for the fact that the odds are significantly stacked against Chaney.  Despite his stellar performance, he’s never gotten the girl in any of the films I’ve ever seen him in.

Chaney’s acting is wonderful throughout his progression from a free-wheeling young clown performing tricks using sleight of hand to a seasoned professional with star quality undergoing a fairly severe mid-life crisis.  He displays the jaunty exuberance of a carefree youth, the recklessness and oversized antics of a circus clown, the deeply-felt joy he derives from parenting, and the pathos of a man so truly in love that he is willing to sacrifice all for the happiness of his adopted daughter.  The film intermixes sequences that are almost Felliniesque in their energetic carnival-like abandon with others that are quiet and still.  The scene in which Tito discovers Simonetta by the river reminded me very much of the scene in “Frankenstein,” filmed a few years later, during which the monster discovers the young girl playing with flowers by the lake.  The outcomes are very different, but it would not surprise me to discover that director James Whale modeled his camera setups in “Frankenstein” on his memory of this lovely moment from “Laugh, Clown, Laugh.”  This is Chaney at his best.  It’s a tragedy that he would die of throat cancer at the age of 47 just two years later.

Drive (2011)

Drive (2011), directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, 3.5 stars

A quiet young man (Ryan Gosling) who drives fast cars for mobsters and movie producers meets a lovely young lady (Carey Mulligan) with a small boy.  As luck would have it, they happen to live on the same floor of their apartment complex.  He and she are both attractive, so it is no surprise that they are immediately attracted to one another, but complications soon arise.  The lady’s husband (Oscar Isaac) returns from prison, and three (or four if you include the boy) gets a bit crowded.  Fortunately, they get along pretty well given the circumstances.  The husband’s got a good soul.  It turns out that he just fell in with the wrong crowd (Ron Perlman, Albert Brooks, etc.)  Now he wants to go straight, but the bad guys say “no way.”  Driver, the young man who drives fast cars, volunteers to help the husband take care of his financial obligation to the criminal element.  This appears, is his only way out, but it requires performing one last job for the mob.  He and the husband are sent on a mission to rob a pawn shop.  Sadly, the heist turns out to be a set up and things go south quick.  Driver, still a man of few words, emerges from the abyss transformed into one tough motor scooter and sets out to wreak vengeance on the bad guys.

This admittedly playful plot synopsis doesn’t nearly do justice to the film, which was highly regarded by critics and the festival circuit, winning a Best Director award and a nomination for the Palme d'Or at Cannes.  It has an overall feel very similar to a 1980s Michael Mann thriller, with a relentless pace that is propelled forward by the action, editing and Cliff Martinez's driving rhythmic score.  Many parts of the film, in particular the sequences that take place in moving automobiles, feel very claustrophobic.  An overall sense of anxiety results from the fact that very little dialogue is exchanged among the major characters.  The audience must seek out motivational cues in reaction shots, which may or may not reveal the very slightest furrow of an eyebrow. The selective use of slow motion creates additional tension.  Though the film certainly has its fair share of violent outbursts, the more extreme brutality takes place off screen, leaving our imagination (with the help of sound effects) to do the dirty work.

“Drive” is a well-paced, well-acted thriller that falls within and pays homage to a long line of laconic-outsider-metes-out-his-own-brand-of-justice films.  Driver may have traded in a steed for a sedan, but like the many slow-burn strangers in town before him, he chooses to live by and risk dying for his personal code of ethics.  And, also like his predecessors, when he’s leveled the playing field, it’s time to move on.