A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Showing posts with label Charles Wood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Charles Wood. Show all posts

Friday, November 29, 2019

Avengers: Endgame (Anthony Russo, Joe Russo, 2019)


Avengers: Endgame (Anthony Russo, Joe Russo, 2019)

Cast: Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, Mark Ruffalo, Chris Hemsworth, Scarlett Johansson, Jeremy Renner, Don Cheadle, Paul Rudd, Karen Gillan, Josh Brolin. Screenplay: Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely. Cinematography: Trent Opaloch. Production design: Charles Wood. Film editing: Jeffrey Ford, Matthew Schmidt. Music: Alan Silvestri.

Back in September, I had this to say about Aquaman (James Wan, 2018):
"I sometimes feel with the comic-book-sourced superhero movie that we have moved not just into a separate genre but into an entirely separate medium: a fusion of video games, technology, and neo-mythology that's something other than traditional cinematic storytelling."
A few weeks later, Martin Scorsese said much the same thing:
“I don’t see them. I tried, you know? But that’s not cinema,” Scorsese told Empire magazine. “Honestly, the closest I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the circumstances, is theme parks. It isn’t the cinema of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being.”
I bring this up not to express some sort of solidarity with Scorsese, or to try to boast that I said it first, especially since Scorsese's remarks have been bouncing around the internet ever after. It should be pretty apparent from the films that I write about in this blog that my interests are centered largely in "the cinema of human beings," in Scorsese's phrase. But I think, too, that there's a place for movies like the ones Scorsese seems to be excluding from the canon of cinema. And I bring this up because last night I was faced with a choice: I could watch Scorsese's The Irishman on Netflix, or Avengers: Endgame on Disney+, to which a family member subscribes and had given me her password. 

I chose Avengers: Endgame because I was tired and full of Thanksgiving dinner, and I wanted to give Scorsese's movie my full attention. I also knew that there would be no surprises in the movie I chose to watch instead: There would be familiar characters, some jokes, some emotional moments, and lots and lots of action. I would not have to think, to puzzle out motives, to try to place the film in the canon of its auteur. 

And I was happy with my choice. I was entertained by actors doing fine work in their métier, with bright and colorful action, with a few sci-fi conundrums about time travel. I enjoyed seeing characters from other Marvel movies come together in new combinations. I was pleased with the richness of the casting -- dazzled, in short, by so many handsome stars. I turned off the movie relaxed and satisfied. 

Will I think about Avengers: Endgame and want to see it again? Probably not. Certainly not in the way I will think about and perhaps rewatch Carlos Reygadas's Japón, Hirokazu Koreeda's The Third Murder, Julián Hernández's Raging Sun, Raging Sky, or even Otto Preminger's The Man With the Golden Arm, to name some of the works from the "cinema of human beings" I've seen and written about recently. But that doesn't mean that blockbuster movies, the ones that cost and make millions of dollars and are seen by millions of people around the world, are unworthy of my attention. It's just that they serve a different need, they speak to a different part of the soul. 

Friday, August 9, 2019

The Bed Sitting Room (Richard Lester, 1969)

Dudley Moore and Peter Cook in The Bed Sitting Room
Cast: Rita Tushingham, Michael Hordern, Dudley Moore, Peter Cook, Ralph Richardson, Arthur Lowe, Mona Washbourne, Richard Warwick, Marty Feldman, Harry Secombe, Roy Kinnear, Spike Milligan, Ronald Fraser, Jimmy Edwards, Frank Thornton, Dandy Nichols. Screenplay: John Antrobus, Charles Wood, based on a play by Spike Milligan and John Antrobus. Cinematography: David Watkin. Production design: Assheton Gorton. Film editing: John Victor Smith. Music: Ken Thorne.

Seemingly every comic actor in 1960s Britain turns up somewhere in Richard Lester's The Bed Sitting Room, but they don't generate many laughs. The problem with most absurdist comedies is the absence of a grounding normality, and in the post-apocalyptic setting of the film, in which Britain has been turned into a vast trash dump by a nuclear war, there's not much to serve as a norm against which its silliness can play out. The point is to satirize our pre-apocalyptic complacency, and once you get that point the film mostly asks you to sit around and wait for your particular favorite actor to make his or her appearance. Oh, there's Ralph Richardson. Ah, that's Mona Washbourne. Good, that's Marty Feldman. And so on for 90 minutes. It only seems longer.