INGLORIOUS BASTERDS: Not That Much Scalping, Really

Originally published 2/8/2010. Republished here to represent my own disinterest in the 2011 Academy Awards. Also, I'll have something special lined-up next week:

Screw the ceremonies. The Best Picture of 2009 was Quentin Tarantino's “Inglorious Basterds.” While a movie about World War II being nominated for Best Picture is like the San Diego Chargers making the playoffs (always there, but never winning), “Inglorious Basterds” speaks volumes about the film medium as a form of art and commercial entity. It also casts a new light on the historical film genre, how stories are told and the cinematic joys we can look forward to as long as filmmakers try to make water-cooler talkers actually say something.

“Inglorious Basterds” is a period piece set during WWII that contains as much historical accuracy as this sentence. But within that freedom, the film tells a story that is more cinematic than history. While many historical movies aim for accuracy, they inevitably falter in some fashion--to then be criticized, or torn-apart, by historians (professional and amateur, alike). Conversely, other period pieces keep their stories so small that they don't dare ripple the waters of time. These films (ex. "Titanic") hide behind the possibility that “this story could have happened.” “Inglorious Basterds” enters a realm that is not only unapologetically fictional, but that it changes what you think to be fact. This provides contextual knowledge, yet throws the audience into a barrage of surprises.

Only two Nazis get scalped? That's more restraint than I expected.

But more than separating what we know and what we want from history-based movies, “Inglorious Basterds” also separates what we know and what we want from movies themselves. The film within the film is a highly violent and historically inaccurate depiction of a WWII battle (while WWII is still raging). And like the Basterds' audience, the audience in the film is entertained by war fantasies. In fact, while the audience on screen is cheering on their heroes, the audience (you!) is cheering for Taratino's heroes. Movies in both cases provide an escape for audiences until, go figure, the fictional audience can not escape their theater--forcing the real audience (you, again) to remain in their seats also. “Inglorious Basterds” isn't a self-serving bloodfest; it's a very serious--though quite funny--dissection on why we watch movies and the effects they have on us.

But the movie isn't a parody or critique on films; it purposefully branches away from audience expectations. Unlike most films, “Inglorious Basterds” can't be broke up into 40 separate 3-minute scenes (or in Michael Bay's case, 120 1-minute scenes). “Inglorious Bastereds” is an unusual and undeniable string of 5 separate segments. This may make every scene seem "long" to the untrained eye, but it's really quite more than that. Script scribes are taught at every film school and seminar to start a scene as late as possible and end it as soon as possible--the overly-practiced theory being that the movie's momentum will stay fast and increase drama. Tarantino, here, goes the exact opposite direction and treats each scene like a rubber band. He stretches and stretches each scene and conversation until every aspect has been covered, and then some. In every case, this works beautiful, especially when the audience knows on some level how the scene is going to end and goes nuts waiting to get there.

They say the best directors can control the emotions of the audience. But I only half-agree with that. I say, the best directors control the emotions of the audience in a way they haven't seen before (thus in a more invisible way). If a bad guy burns down innocent people's home, yet again, it's too easy to hate him (I'm looking at you, Avatar!); but if a bad guy is just really good at a card game, you may end up fearing him in a very new way. It's about trusting your audience. If you see the bad guy do the most evil thing imaginable, then you know how dangerous he is--he's as dangerous as the previous character that did that. If you see the bad guy do something uniquely impressive, your imagination runs wild with what he is capable of in any larger sense. The best directors manipulate their audiences AND trust their audiences.

Photographically speaking, “Inglorious Basterds” paints a beautiful portrait of French landscape and city life that would be more expected in a...well, French film. The deliberate framing often allows as much action to happen on screen as possible, not unlike staging a play and just putting a camera in the fifth row center. But while this is refreshingly tame, it also draws even more attention to the camera movements that do occur. All of a sudden, how the camera move sells a joke or stirs a new thought in the audience's collective mind. This isn't about cramming two thousand CG jungle warriors into a shot, it's about making the real world beautiful.

But perhaps most subtly, audiences can tell when a movie is personal to the creator(s). The movie contains within it learning experiences of the creator. The evolution of an artist is a fun thing to see because it inspires hope for what they are capable of in the future. Similarly, witnessing growth in others inspires us to look for grow within ourselves. Nobody can just sit down and write the script for “Inglorious Basterds.” Even Tarantino couldn't--and didn't. It took him nearly ten years and half-a-dozen previous films before he was capable of what he did. And he knows it! Brad Pitt is little more than a tongue-in-cheek mouthpiece for Tarantino when he ends the movie with, "You know, this just might be my masterpiece." Smash cut to: "written and directed by Quentin Tarantino.

Tarantino, like fellow writer-director Judd Apatow, has evolved past his numerous imitators and his former self. Cinematic habits and stagnation are criminally rampant in this year's crop of Best Picture nominees. More damning though, this year more than any other year in recent memory, proved such artistic ambivalence is widely profitable. Why doesn't Wal-Mart just make more movies and be done with this world?

The Future of America: Steve McQueen Democracy

Steve McQueen is somewhat of a myth. A legend that people are pretty sure once was true but has since eroded to fiction or, worse, irrelevance. At the relatively young age of 50, Steve McQueen quietly died in Mexico in 1980—about a month before fellow counter-culture icon John Lennon was killed. Nowadays, film audiences can only grasp at the name they think they once heard their fathers talk about. Well, that, a creepy 2005 Mustang commercial and an annoying Sheryl Crow song. With the late-actor’s birthday coming up, I want to do more than commemorate under-rated classics and bash over-rated classics. I need to articulate how a new Steve McQueen could not save us from ourselves, but rather the entire nation needs to become 300 million Steve McQueens—okay, maybe half can be “Stephanie” McQueen. I don’t give a damn, the point is this: Steve McQueen solves our biggest national problems.

This isn’t about social issues, gun laws, corporate finance or how the American primary system should be structured on a rotating, 10-week calendar (obviously!). This is about America. Nearly 250 years ago, the United States became the largest ideological experiment the world has ever seen. We became a nation founded by ideals, not bloodlines. A nation inherently adaptable, amendable and responsive to humanity itself.

We experimented with democracy and with the different tools and nuances such a government necessitates. As expected, democracy took some blows during any war, but held true enough. And more surprisingly, democracy clung to the threads of legitimacy through the media age, and for that, the Founding Fathers can be appreciated. But now it’s over. Consumer culture, from the light bulb to the Internet, has run the gamut on possible fears and we’ve become too educated and lazy to fall for the fabrication of old classics (anarchists, Russians, etc.). Now let’s re-imagine the world. Re-imagine the future we need, if not the future we deserve.

Discipline:

Steve McQueen was a former Marine and for the rest of his life spent two hours a day, every day, exercising. Not palates, yoga or mediation-style exercising, but full-on weight lifting and running several miles. Also, he was a heavy smoker. He didn’t need a trainer, he just went around lifting heavy things and running to the next heavy thing, stopping only to light his cigarette with the smoldering stub of his previous cigarette.

I’m not saying all Americans need to exercise more, or smoke more cigarettes, but we need to embrace a sense of duty and sacrifice if we want to count ourselves among the patriotic. This means public office (Congress, President, etc.) needs to be a tour of duty, potentially required of everyone. One tour of public duty, four years. Like jury duty, everybody’s responsible for the outcome then. People couldn’t campaign for themselves because of the lottery system, nor would critics castigate those in power knowing 1) the position wasn’t by choice and 2) the replacement could be at a lot worse.

Courage:

Steve McQueen had to go to Mexico for his cancer treatment because the FDA is a bunch of sissies who thought Mexican cancer treatments would kill McQueen. As is, McQueen died but nobody on either side of the border was really helping him so at least he experimented with every option.

We need to embrace this kind of courage to think outside the borders. To test the unknown even at a personal risk. Not just eat at that new “Indian restaurant” but actually consider the practices, policies and politics of other nations.

Sense of Humor:

When Bruce Lee bragged that he was becoming a bigger name than any American movie star, Steve McQueen sent him an autographed photo signed: “To Bruce, my biggest fan.”

We win by having fun. Nobody is jealous of a terrified, angry America. We become the best by living the most, not living the longest.

Modern Practicality:

McQueen once said, “When a horse learns to buy martinis, I'll learn to like horses.” Though he starred in “The Magnificent Seven,” “Tom Horn” and other Westerns, McQueen didn’t give a fart about tradition. He didn’t need a horse and didn’t want a horse. Instead, McQueen garnered over 200 motorcycles.

Nostalgia just isn't what it used to be. We need more motorcycles.

Animal Rights:

Like most bad ass men, Steve McQueen had a soft spot for dogs.

As a country, this means we should ban cats as pets so more people might get dogs. The increase in dog-ownership would make people happier and we would reduce the amount of homeless dogs in this country. But Nick, some counter, wouldn’t there been even more stray cats then? Absolutely not. Cats would become part of the wild; we don’t talk about stray raccoons. Plus, less cats eating fancy cat food means more cats eating more mice and that ain’t too bad either.

Patriotism:

Steve McQueen was one of the highest paid actors in the world by 1970. His tax rate was about twice that of modern millionaires.

Saluting the troops, worshiping the Founding Fathers and wearing a flag pin are the easy ways out of supporting the country. Silently, even proudly, inconveniencing ourselves for the sake of our neighbor is far more noble.

Proper Power Abuse:

On film sets, McQueen was notoriously difficult to work with, often instigating petty rivalries. From his trailer, he would also demand absurd things like dozens of electric razors, bottles of shampoo, pairs of jeans and numerous other “necessities.” He would then give all the free crap to boys in under-funded juvenile halls. Despite his unusual accommodations, the movie studios still made money.

We need to find similar ways to directly help people, and preferably over the Internet so that people can read this blog, watch YouTube videos and help save their fellow man. Forget raising money. Connect suppliers directly to those who need supplies.

Embracing an Expertise:

Steve McQueen designed and patented a race car seat, as he frequently found himself in dangerously normal cars for his many action films. Before that, the man was actually a professional race car driver.

What would you do to help the world if given millions of dollars and a few years? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s something you care about and something you know about. People like feeling like experts and experts should be allowed to work in their chosen realms, if not for their expertise, at least for their passion. Specifically, we need to allow long-term repayment options on all our investments.

Humility:

Unable to emote on-screen, or much at all in real life, Steve McQueen turned down the starring role in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” Director Steven Spielberg suggested cutting the most emotional scenes out of his future-classic, but McQueen turned him down flat, again. McQueen knew those scenes made the movie and he wasn’t the right man for the job.

If public officials, drafted into public service, knew that nobody expects them to be experts in every field, we can stop with the factory tour photo-ops and let them differ to others’ opinions. And if public officials didn't spend twenty years of their life trying to get to the highest offices, then they wouldn’t be so immovable once there and more compromise could be brokered.

Steve McQueen wasn’t a phenomenal actor, or really even much of a good one; nor was the man perfect or even routinely sober. But, boy, wouldn’t something new be fun? And wouldn’t it be appropriate if we could create a new, more total form of democracy by embracing the spirit of a man once known as “The King of Cool.”

CHRONICLE: The Biggest Waste of Money

Here is a little, short YouTube video:

Kind of funny. Kind of dark. Cheap, but in a necessary kind of way. It’s of little surprise that the director of that video went on to direct the year’s first and only (or not) superhero film: “Chronicle.” Like the light saber video above, the general premise is that young people obtain superpowers by way of ‘nobody-cares,’ and the end result demonstrates that young people—if not all people—can be impulsive, reckless, vain and destructive. With barely articulate/realistic dialogue (“DUUUUDE!”), inventive cinematography and enough moral ambiguity to fill the Superdome, “Chronicle”—a movie whose total production costs topped out around Hugh Jackman’s fee-per-film—stirred the regrettable realization that I blew way too much money over the years on 5 separate X-Men movies.

Like any standard superhero film, a handful of teenagers develop their unusual powers and immediate test them out, pushing one another as if playing with their dad’s gun—or, in my personal history, a grandfather’s katana. Expectantly, the former-high school prey, Andrew, finds the most meaning in his new begotten powers and becomes the vengeance-seeking antagonist. And so in the same vein as Magneto, Michael Corleone, the Wicked Witch of the West and any other proper villain, the audience must ask itself: when is revenge justified and when is too far?

As much as any fantastical element of the X-Men character Magneto, the audience had to believe that he’d still harbor resentment from his time in a WWII concentration camp. “Chronicle,” though, showcases something far more terrifying to modern audiences, a picked-on student rampaging against his classmates. Justified or not (moral answer: it’s not), Andrew’s anger, loneliness and desperation seem natural enough to attempt citywide destruction. Also, the angst is helped along by way of living in Seattle.

So he's going to play a young Leonardo Dicaprio at some point, right?

Counter-balancing Andrew, are two socially successful students: Matt and Steve. Presenting one of the thousands of paradoxes in actual high school life, Matt and Steve were admittedly not friends with Andrew in their pre-super power lives, yet they aren’t necessarily bad people for it. At any school (or workplace) with more than 150 people, acquaintances will form and never be anything more. By the same psychological inevitability, we characterize people we don’t know into stereotypes or caricatures but regard our friends and ourselves as unique and complex individuals. Everybody being friends with everybody is an unfair and impossible expectation.

While “Chronicle,” repeatedly strengthens the depths of Andrew’s characterization, not so much as a single line is tossed in to justify the actions of Andrew’s numerous tormentors, including drug dealers, pretty people and a drunk, abusive father. The high school “weirdo” is a real person, but apparently that distinction doesn’t cut both ways. An unusually strong emotional core is built up for Andrew, but the efforts of empathy are slightly undercut by the hypocrisy. Indeed, nerds are people, too. But in real life so are bullies. And so are cheerleaders, jocks, singers, drunks, housewives, convenience store clerks, and policemen.

Now the film probably had to follow Andrew, as his rise, fall, rise and fall (again) is the most dynamic of the characters. His life started out the worst and so escaping into the unimaginable was easiest for him. Conversely, Matt and Steve had lived their lives as perennial winners to the point that winning the jackpot of superpowers was barely more than another checkmark on their to-do lists. Matt and Steve need no further attention, praise or added promises of success in life and so they can use their new advantage in the most restrained and appropriate ways.

Unlike comic book movies, “Chronicle” gives minimum background to the supernatural origins but the ending teases with a half-baked sequel in mind. Rather than alien technology (ala “Animorphs”), I think there is more narrative and symbolic evidence to say The Whatever Device was government-run. Basically then, the movie becomes an allegory for the government giving away financial aid to high school students.

Wait. What?

Coming from an occasionally spiteful, generally snide, quasi-ironic, sub-excellent student, the way in which millions of dollars worth of high education is given away makes little sense. The best performing students, in academics or athletics or in their community service are already on a good path and only use their financial gifts to either fill coffers or jump start coffers that will be packed in a few years anyway. However, as I previously argued, “Chronicle” is entirely about the previously successful boys copping with new powers much better than the previously denigrated boy. In that way, the movie is showing that poor and/or lonely people should not receive outside help because they’re likely to try to use said powers to help their loved ones, seek revenge, bother the police and otherwise reek havoc.

I, of course, disagree with such a thesis and harbor a certain, specific sympathy for Andrew. In what would barely crack the Top 30 Most Embarrassing Moments of my high school career, I—like Andrew in the movie—filmed fellow 12th grade students like some kind of pimple-faced paparazzi, in a poorly-conceived ambition to wow them all with a revolutionary documentary. Few social designations stick and sting the 21st Century American like “creeper.” Trumping that, though, would be being called “racist.”

Speaking of which, the film commits one of the most tired cliches in regards to the order characters die. I complained of such months ago while watching “X-Men: First Class” and so felt the same laziness in “Chronicle” shan’t escape notice.

Racist slights aside, “Chronicle” is still a refreshing recovery from January’s numerous cinematic disappointments. In fact, it deserves more kudos than even that. “Chronicle” is the most stylized high school movie since “Brick” and the most thoughtful superhero film since “The Dark Knight” and the overall best young-people-with-real-superpowers film since I can remember. And to get all that entertainment with a four-dollar matinee is one of the best buys I've made in a while. Dude, bro, totally.

THE GREY: Getting Dark

The urge to stay alive is a peculiar one. Thousands of people kill themselves every day and millions more want to kill themselves to varying degrees of sincerity when the line at the grocery store moves too slow or when a former love announces on Facebook that they’re getting married to a drug dealer on April 20th. Hypothetical? Yes. Philosophical? Indeed. Depressing? You bet your meaty ass. Surviving is not enough; one needs a reason to live. Liam Neeson's latest romp in a string of ultra-masculine, brutal, inwardly driven films, is “The Grey” and never has a search for purpose come up so empty.

Neeson, to his credit, rages gravitas and does his best to teach the others how to act and survive. But with so few resources and so many survival-movie cliches, any hope to improve either condition is kept at a minimal. Really, I think the film’s virtues start and begin with Neeson being a vastly improved action hero over the Brickface Brothers: Sam Worthington and Channing Tatum.

I suppose some comparisons can be drawn between “The Grey” and “Deliverance,” but few work to the advantage of the former. For instance, while both wolves and hillbillies hunt the protagonists, the wolves do not rape anybody, preferring instead to just mercifully kill stragglers and the wounded. In between the attacks, the men of “The Grey” huddle around a couple of campfires and try their damnedest to make the audience give two farts by promising that off-screen female characters like them.

In what will remain one of this year’s worst red herrings, Liam Neeson tells the others/audience that simply running from the wolves would be suicidal and so they must improvise weaponry and hunt the wolves as they are being hunted. With 7 wolves vs. 7 of my friends, God knows I’d take my chances fighting over running (assuming one of my friends is Neeson). As already regretted, this battle does not come to pass and we are all subjected to an individual Armageddon. In short, Liam Neeson punches no wolves and PETA’s condemnation of the film is infuriatingly unfounded.

With less reason to live than any other character, it seems paradoxical that the Neeson character would so much as keep breathing after the first inconvenience, but such a paradox is the human condition. We want control. If we can’t have control in our life, we want it with our death. No force of nature, human error or gang-banger wolves are going to tell us to die. We decide went to go out and being told otherwise is the last, if not only, reason to live. This isn’t a movie about redemption or survival; it’s a movie about final acceptance.

"I don't even want to survive a whole movie anymore."

And so at its core, “The Grey” is a deeply angry and spiteful movie. Most of the characters work on an oil refinery, indirectly draining the Earth of beauty, stability and resources. Neeson, though, employs a more direct route: professionally executing wolves. These characters openly do nothing to improve the planet they live on and when the planet seeks a reckoning, they retaliate with even more desecration. It seems unfortunate that humans are on Earth at all, as we’d clearly be better fit to deal with the empty landscape of Mars—atmosphere aside.

Fortunately, the film refrains from diving into extended monologues on the human spirit or other Hollywood gargle but no less than five peaceful flashbacks to “a simpler time” eventually become refreshingly redundant. The terrain itself is a knee-deep hindrance rather than the full-fledged antagonist of the superior, 2010 film, “The Way Back.” Equally, the Alaskan forest seems uniform and even repetitive when juxtaposed with the North Asian taiga. Again unlike “The Way Back,” the characters do not have enough time to starve and have shaky (at best) reason to travel in their chosen direction. Disorientation is never admitted, though, so only the astute observer will understand just how meandering, aimless and doomed the snow bound trek really is.

Real insight is abandoned, like so many backpacks apparently filled with irrelevant supplies. That Neeson and the others abandon a perfectly visible crash site in favor of slugging through miles of ill-prepared, discombobulating situations is the first of many leaps of faith in an otherwise atheistic film. Before the halfway point, it becomes all too clear that the group cannot accomplish the difficult and that they aren’t so much fighting to survive as they are fighting to be miserable just a little bit longer. There is no guilt, regret, blame, democracy, vengeance or hope. There is just being alive. Rarely has life been so demoralizing.

There’s a quote in the 1977 rom-com, “Annie Hall” that goes: “Well, that's essentially how I feel about life: full of loneliness and misery and suffering and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly.” And it’s to my own disappointment that Woody Allen was not among the cast in “The Grey.”

The master of stoicism, Liam Neeson guides us to a resolution that is acceptable but hardly worth running to. Like the first character to die on-screen, we must be coaxed into accepting the inevitable. It seems impossible that we paid ten dollars to reach this point, but Neeson drills us with his pair of ol’ icy blues to the point that fighting his reassurances is more exhausting than drifting off with thoughts of a better time.

NFL Predictions: The Big Game

The NFL likely employs as many lawyers as athletes, if only to draft up legal waivers that make Mephistophiles hesitate and enforce the warning that every football fan could eerily and unknowingly regurgitate upon prompting:

“This telecast is copyrighted by the NFL for the private use of our audience. Any other use of this telecast or of any pictures, descriptions, or accounts of the game without the NFL’s consent, is prohibited.”

Beyond that, public Superbowl parties can’t say “Superbowl” © and instead use euphemisms like “The Big Game.” The NFL, ever seeking to decrease fun, actually tried to copyright “The Big Game” a couple years back but the University of California and Stanford threw a fit, noting their own use of “The Big Game” for the last 120 years. Fortunately, there are no ads on this blog and certainly no other income so I think Mac and myself will escape the misbegotten hammer of corporate legality.

New York vs. New England (-2.5)

NICK:

A rematch of one of the best Superbowls in history, with many characters returning. Clearly, nobody has to worry about the Patriots unconscionably/tragically/hilariously overlooking the Giants this year. In 2008, Sith Lord Belichick couldn’t muster the decency to meet his counterpart on the field for a post-game handshake and I don’t think the humbling loss did anything to help Belichick grow as a person. He’ll just be more desperate.

Eli Manning gets to play in Indianapolis, strangely making him the best quarterback named Manning in Indianapolis. Or at least making him the Manning with the healthiest neck. Don’t worry, the city will be back down to zero before long. Sadly, Peyton Junior could probably win the Superbowl (trumping his older brother) and I still wouldn’t hesitate to pick Peyton proper in what would surely be an incredible pick-up game of football.

Problem is, Eli is still that clumsy, goofy kid in the high school film and wouldn’t be the main character in his own biopic. In the same high school film, Tom Brady would be the star quarterback. Nah, too obvious. Tom Brady is the cafeteria worker because incongruities in casting are hilarious. Eli Manning even makes a better sour face than Tom Brady when his team absolutely tanks once every other month.

Begrudgingly, I accept that Bill Belichick and Tom Brady make up one of the most powerful duos in the history of football, to the point that whether they actually win this game or not is a rather minor point. However, this would be as good as a point as any to point out the “revenge” aspect of the game. Is Brady playing with a chip on his shoulder, the same chip that powered him through his darkest days? Or perhaps the Patriots leaders will be just too consumed with anger and second-guessing that they’ll overplay their emotions.

In the hopes of a Giants-Patriots trilogy, I almost want the Giants to lose, giving us all that dark second movie vibe. Narrative-wise, that’s how it has to work. Then again, the second “Toy Story” movie wasn’t exactly ‘the dark one’ of that trilogy. It was the worst, though. Short running time, broad humor, repeated sentiments and kind of a rushed cash-in, really. Obviously this means the Giants will win. Obviously.

MAC:

"I consider myself in that class. Tom Brady is a great quarterback, he's a great player and what you've seen with him is he's gotten better every year. He started off winning championships and I think he's a better quarterback now than what he was, in all honesty, when he was winning those championships.” –Eli Manning, on August 16, 2011.

The response to this statement was something like “Hello, Earth calling Eli, Earth calling Eli, come in Eli.” and “Somebody wake this guy up. He’s dreaming.” The analyst scoffed at the notion that Eli was “Elite” and that he would compare himself to Tom Brady. The season saw Eli take this dysfunctional Giants team on his back and carry them until they finally hit their stride as the season ended. Eli is now looked at as the Giants’ slayer, taking down the Pats’ perfect season, Brett’s last Lambeau Leap, Rodger’s Repeat. This season, Eli played every game as if he was saying “I told you so.” Now to prove he’s in Brady’s class, he has to…well, beat Brady again.

So many fans are going to be rooting for the Giants simply because the Pats disgust us as an organization. They win too much, they’re too secretive, they cheat, Brady knocks up actresses and marries models, Belichick is too cheap to pay for dry-cleaning, the owner Bob Kraft is clogging America’s arteries, the name “New England” lacks precision in indicating team location. There are so many reasons why we can’t stand the Patriots. None of those reasons matter to me.

It comes down to 60 semi-consecutive minutes on Feb.5th. The first time they played for all the marbles, we saw one of the greatest QB battles in the history of the NFL. Now they are both better, they both have something to prove. In all honesty I just want to watch another great game. I also want to see revenge, I want to see the Patriots reclaim their glory. What’s the point of hating a team that hasn’t won a Superbowl since 2004? Patriots win and we still have a team to despise for the next decade.