by Oscar O’Sullivan

Monday – On The Waterfront

On The Waterfront is a feature-length parable about standing up for yourself in the face of social pressure. Protagonist Terry Malloy has spent his whole life following the orders of his older brother and, by extension, his brother’s corrupt union boss. Terry has done this because it’s the easy option, because he lives in a culture that stigmatises telling tales or ratting out your fellow man, and because he’s happy to accept the short-term profit that can come from selling out your morals. When the film was released in 1954, the parallels with McCarthyism were obvious, especially because director Elia Kazan had testified to the House Un-American Activities Committee, identifying several former colleagues as Communists to avoid damage to his own career. Kazan said later that this film was something of an apology or explanation on his part for why he chose to testify, which unlocks an interesting perspective on his intentions. When Terry in the film finally gives in and fingers Johnny Friendly in a court of law, it’s a heroic act, and when his community shuns him for it they are being shown as cowardly and backwards-thinking, though they eventually come around and back Terry up. While the internal and external politics of the story may be in question, what’s certain is the emotional strength of the tale. Brando’s famous “I could have been a contender” speech perfectly encapsulates the tragedy of the character. He could have been somebody, he had the potential to do great things, but he took the easy way out, took orders from others instead of following his own instincts, and realises too late that he let his opportunity pass because he couldn’t see any further than what was right in front of his nose. Brando is exceptional, embodying performance in a way rarely seen in this era of Hollywood film. The only other actor here who can keep up is Lee J. Cobb as Johnny Smiley, cavorting across the screen with alternating glee and fury. While most of the other actors are sticking to the traditional routine of hitting their mark and delivering the lines as written, Brando and Cobb are truly inhabiting the space, and Kazan is quick enough to capture all the intricacies and improvisations that make these performances brilliant. Also of note is the score by Leonard Bernstein, the only non-musical film score he composed, a pounding and vibrant creation that elevates the dockland drama to mythic proportions. 9/10.

Tuesday – Stalker

Tarkovsky is such a difficult director to approach because his films straddle a strange boundary between narrative and poetry. They operate in a specific atmosphere that can be difficult to penetrate even if you want to. In fact, actively trying to absorb or understand a film like this can even make it more difficult to watch. I will say that I found this more successful than Solaris is it’s attempt to transcend the sci-fi genre. While that film felt trapped within the confines of hard, practical science, Stalker is essentially a mystical experience, it’s scientific premise a mere abstraction, indistinguishable from an act of God. A film that largely consists of three men in derelict locations arguing at length over the nature of the soul and desire, it raises enough concrete points of it’s own to feel intelligent and deliberate, but also functions perfectly as a blank canvas to project your own musing onto. The fact that the film has to end at all may be it’s biggest let-down, as the nature of the story and it’s ideas means that there could be no satisfying conclusion, but the ending here fails to even be cathartically unsatisfying. If that sounds contradictory, you’re beginning to get it. 8/10, the visual beauty alone would make this a classic even without a line of dialogue spoken.

Wednesday – Red River and School for Scoundrels

Howard Hawks’ western Red River is impressive for it’s scale and ambition in relation to when it was made. It’s wide-open landscapes are to be expected of a golden-age Western, but that doesn’t makes them any less breathtaking. What truly impresses is the production feat of wrangling over 9000 cattle for the central cattle drive of the story. Not only are major moments like the stampede tangibly terrifying, the presence of the herd in the background of simple scenes lends a tactile authenticity to the journey. The mob of supporting players fill out the crowd nicely, but leads John Wayne and Montgomery Clift are the beating heart of the story, a father-son relationship thrown into turmoil by the pressures of their shared business. Wayne plays a character almost two decades above his actual age, and manages to balance a certain amount of subtle vulnerability with his usual rigid hardiness. Wayne’s refusal to play the role as doddering or weak winds up contrasting nicely with Clift’s turn as his adopted son, a more level-headed, considerate breed of cowboy than audiences might have been used to seeing. It’s a classic conflict between a grown son and a father who doesn’t think his boy is ready to take the reins, and it’s eventual resolution is as compelling as it is obvious. Despite the treacherous nature of the journey, with death and disaster never far from the door, Red River is a fundamentally optimistic story, all about the American desire to build something from nothing, and the oft-forgotten truth of who the future is being built for. 9/10.

Todd Phillip’s School for Scoundrels is unfortunately typical of this era of comedy, where the films all trended towards a similar tone and visual style, with most of the classics being set apart by an exceptional cast or script. While this film has a solid premise going for it (lonely loser sucked into an aggressive self-help course), the cast is not up to snuff. Star Jon Heder was meant to be the next big thing after Napolean Dynamite, but this was one of two 2007 disappointments that put his career on ice. He proved to have very little range comedically, with his performance here being neither lovable nor goofy enough to elicit any emotion other than disdain. He’s matched by Billy Bob Thornton as the seminar’s teacher, another actor whose low-key style is not suited to a character that should be miles more charismatic and/or slimy to make this premise work. The rest of the cast here is a mix of recognisable face in sadly minor roles (my boy Ben Stiller is especially wasted on a bizarre cameo) and complete nobodies who fail to make any impression. The only members in the ensemble who would later break out, Aziz Ansari and Jim Parsons, are hilariously both non-speaking extras. Despite the script’s failure to click, Todd Phillips knows how to direct a picture, and the visual slapstick does mostly work. Interestingly enough, this is his fourth film in a row that he wrote the script for. He must have realised that his writing was stagnating, because for his next film he directed someone else’s script for the first time. That film? The Hangover. School for Scoundrels is a 4/10 at best. It’s not awful to the point of tedium, but it’s high points are few and far between. An interesting stumble by a director who was about to reach new heights.

Thursday – War for the Planet of the Apes

Watching the modern Apes trilogy for the first time in years, I was surprised to find that my long-held ranking of them has essentially been reversed. Granted, their isn’t much of a gap between them all, but it’s still a surprising turnaround for myself. While Rise remains in the middle as my second-favourite, my rankings of Dawn and War have been swapped. War is essentially a perfect elaboration upon what worked about Dawn. Caesar and his apes are allowed to bear the full weight of the story, with the only major humans being the unambiguous villain and a mute child. Ape society is made even more complex, the division between us and them more tangible than when we were asked to follow “sympathetic” human allies. The special effects and cinematography are also at a peak that may never be matched again in this franchise, with pristine snowscapes, floodlit prison camps and layered cave systems populated by apes that are so beyond photorealistic that it beggars belief at times. It’s also the most violent, emotionally raw entry in the trilogy. While the second film had a post-apocalyptic vibe, this one feels like a true end of days, all semblance of society stripped away, humanity reduced to dwindling factions killing each other in a final futile dispute, oblivious to the fact that no matter who wins, the apes will inherit the earth. 10/10, a bleak and heartbreaking film that I could watch forever.

Sunday – Zatoichi’s Pilgrimage

This entry, the 14th(!) in the Zatoichi series, offers a fresh idea for it’s premise after several iterations of the original “Zatoichi saves a village” plot. This time we open with Zatoichi setting out on a pilgrimage to visit 88 temples and atone for the scores of deaths he has caused. From the start this feels like a bold new venture, Zatoichi grappling with his past against a backdrop of varying destinations, perhaps being tempted back into his old vices on the path to redemption. But almost immediately, Zatoichi is attacked and forced to kill again, leading him to visit the dead man’s sister and become caught up in a local intrigue where he must defend a village from a conquering yakuza gang. Now my first thought was “Argh!”, but if we can put aside the disappointment of the unfulfilled title, what we have here is one of the most colourful, enjoyable iterations of the staple Zatoichi plot. For instance, his love interest of the week has a certain personality about her that is sometimes lacking in the formulaic entries, almost matching him in nerve and cheekiness. The villain is also a cut above the usual stock Yakuza boss, a swaggering beer-bellied lout with surprising cleverness and deadly aim. While Zatoichi may not resolve the internal conflict his pilgrimage was meant for, the external conflict is presented with enough flash and pathos to place this in the upper echelons of the series. 8/10.