tantrarubs Reviews

Babylon (I) (2022)

Biting the Hand That Feeds Him

[2/10 · 31 July 2023]

Damien Chazelle's ghastly movie is a bitter attack on the industry that made him a prominent director. Since Sunset Boulevard,Hollywood has perversely sent poison pen letters to itself with films as diverse as Singin' in the Rain, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, Day of the Locust, Mulholland Drive, Barton Fink, S. O. B, Inside Daisy Clover, Trumbo and, from the European perspective, Jean-Luc Godard's Contempt, among others. But at least these films had something to say about the business and its impact on the lives of people--famous, yet-to-be famous, formerly famous, and obscure--who make movies, and the fans who watch them.

Babylon adds nothing new. Utterly lacking in originality, it's a mishmash of clichéd Hollywood characters and situations. By laying on revolting excess, Chazelle hopes we'll be too grossed out or bamboozled to notice the movie's staleness, its long past expiration date.

For those who like movies about movies, and the fascinating self-reflective insights they can offer on film-making, whether derived from the above-mentioned gut punches to Hollywood or from more affectionate homages to the movies like Day for Night, Cinema Paradiso, Hugo, 8 ½, or Chazelle's own La La Land, there are only two bright spots in this wearisome three-and-a-quarter hour opus: a sequence showing the frustrations for cast and crew of adjusting to the technical and artistic dictates of sound recording on the set, and a lovely speech that the waspish, but not unsympathetic gossip columnist gives to Hollywood's top star to explain that with the coming of sound his time before the camera is over, but he should be proud and grateful for his legacy that will make him known to moviegoers for generations to come.

These two episodes do not warrant sitting through the torturous contortions of the rest of this bloated film as it follows the fates of several stereotyped characters whom we first meet at a Bacchanal in a studio boss's home. The party is indeed wild but the by-the-numbers staging makes it the most lifeless whoop-de-do since the stilted "orgy" in Eyes Wide Shut. Only one of the characters' stories seems realistic, that of the the black trumpeter who realizes, despite his musical stardom, that his potential will always be limited by Hollywood's racial barriers, forcing him to comply with demeaning images that offend his dignity and expectations that distort his artistry.

The screenplay feels like the tantrum of a spoiled kid who didn't get his way at the carnival sideshow, The writing is scatological, rife with one clumsy plot contrivance after another. Mr. Top Star learns of the coming threat of sound from an executive who steps up beside him at a urinal. In another restroom revelation, the wild child who rocketed to stardom learns the studios no longer want her by overhearing people dissing her outside the loo. Shirley MacLaine once told an interviewer, "I'm much more naïve about this business than you think I am." Katharine Hepburn was famous for not following the trades. But to imagine the shining stars in "Babylon" would be this clueless about what's going on in their world strains credulity.

The climactic directorial blunder is inviting comparison with the zenith of Hollywood self-satire as clips from Singin' In The Rain appear near the end of Babylon. It's as if Chazelle is confessing his failure to capture the essence of vintage Hollywood. Singin' In The Rain's cheerful, merciless skewering of Hollywood's foibles leaves the viewer uplifted with its happy ending. Babylon, in contrast, is a downer--dispiriting, crude and hateful.

Rapa Nui (1994)

Rapa Nutty

[1/10 · 24 December 2015]

The inhabitants of Rapa Nui forged one of the great cultures of antiquity. They settled a small, utterly remote island in the South Pacific and developed a unique, centuries-old way of life known worldwide for creating monumental stone statues to evoke and venerate their ancestors. There is nothing like their astonishing achievement in the annals of civilization.

Writer/director Kevin Reynolds distorts and insults the noble heritage of this island and its proud people with this tawdry epic. RAPA NUI seizes on lurid myths—ecocide, internecine warfare, starvation, cannibalism, and genocide--to depict past life on the isolated isle as a dismal, dog-eat-dog existence of bottomless despair and cruelty.

Not so. To wit:

-There is no archaeological evidence of cannibalism on Easter Island.

-The Long Ears and the Short Ears, supposedly separate races or clans, probably never existed, and thus never engaged in genocidal warfare. On the contrary, Rapanui society must have been highly cooperative to carve, transport, and erect the colossal statues, as well as to cultivate crops given the island's harsh winds and challenging growing conditions.

-The infamous cutting down of the 16 million trees that originally covered the island was to clear space for agriculture and grazing. Once cut, wood was put to many uses. Rolling the gigantic statues on logs was not the sole or main purpose of clear-cutting, which took place over centuries.

-The religious/political cult of the birdman replaced the veneration of ancestors when the prodigious feat of making statues was no longer sustainable. Statue-carving and the birdman race were not contemporaneous.

-Likewise, the statues were not being toppled as they were simultaneously being manufactured. Probably 200 years passed between the end of statue production and deposing statues in clan rivalries.

Okay, viewers may not care about historical accuracy but just want some rousing entertainment. Alas, with RAPA NUI, they are still out of luck.

It's supposedly a love story, but the heroine is out of sight, shut up in a cave for most of the movie. She looks hideously disheveled when she finally emerges. Yum.

The Short Ears' seemingly voluntary enslavement makes no sense. Why do they put up with brutality and suffering to make statues for the priestly class? How accommodating they are! The Long Ears' power rests on the religious imperative to appease the ancestral spirits. But such moral suasion hardly offers a compelling motive for the Short Ears' elective servitude.

Rapa Nui's troubles are often regarded as a microcosm for the dangers of reckless exploitation of the environment. But the film's depiction of class struggle within an enclosed society with finite resources so lacks subtlety that it is hard to take seriously as a cautionary tale for today's world.

This picture contains one of the most preposterous deus ex machinas in film history. Everyone on the island wants to escape, to sail over the horizon to find a better, happier land. Ah, but there is no wood left to build boats. The answer for the delusional high priest and his gullible followers? Board an iceberg that suddenly appears.

An iceberg.

Really.

At latitude 27 degrees south--nearly tropical waters—they might just as well have found mermaids to carry them away.

As for the cast, the acting is on the see-and-say level. Everyone runs around in skimpy costumes, which at least makes for eye candy. Only Gordon Hatfield, as the heroine's father, creates a character with some depth who appears to possess emotions beyond rage, fear, and longing. His performance is the best part of the film, along with the birdman race, which seems quite authentic (except historically, the race was over when the first sooty tern egg was found on the offshore islet. The finder did have to bring it back up the cliff intact, but doing so was not part of the race).

Despite being filmed entirely on location, there's a sense of artificiality about the statues. The bogus meter starts running early withthe opening credits as the camera tracks up the cliffs of the Ranu Kau volcano to three statues (nonexistent in real life) standing high on the narrow crater rim. Ridiculous. That's the last place the islanders would ever have dragged them. Statues stood on low ground, facing inland on wide platforms. These Hollywood replicas teeter on lofty heights gazing out to sea. Makes for a dramatic shot but absurd archaeology.

Statues the Short Ears carve in the film look fake, big props lacking the contours and color of the originals. When the biggest one is vengefully toppled, the film cuts away the instant before it crashes. Styrofoam just doesn't shatter like rock when it hits the ground.

Production of this $20 million flop in 1994 has had lasting effects for today's inhabitants of Rapa Nui. The sudden influx of film money into a hardscrabble sheep ranching existence brought about a startling transformation in island life, shifting the entire basis of the economy to tourism with remarkable swiftness.

In a rather eerie redux of past ecological disasters, the island's resources now strain to accommodate 90,000 visitors per year. Discotheques rock until dawn and internet cafés dot the streets of Hanga Roa, the only town, which 30 years ago was a dirt road lined with shacks where there wasn't even a telephone. Now luxury hotels charge $1,000 per night. The standard of living in what was formerly a very sleepy place has improved exponentially.

RAPA NUI, this violent, almost sadistic movie that debases the island has, ironically, presumably made it a more livable locale. Producer Kevin Costner and Warner Brothers join smallpox-carrying European explorers, Peruvian slave traders, Chilean colonialists, rapacious sheep ranchers, missionaries, and archaeologists to create the latest turning point in this fascinating island's tumultuous history.

A Big Hand for the Little Lady (1966)

Watch and Enjoy!

[10/10 · 28 June 2013]

If you're not familiar with BIG HAND, I urge you not to read anything that even hints at a spoiler before you see it. It would be a shame to ruin the whopper of a surprise ending, or any of the other startling developments along the way in this fresh and inventive Western comedy. From the opening credits, the sure-footed plot grabs the viewer and just gets more and more engrossing, until that climactic twist. The story of a high stakes annual poker game that spins out of control, it boasts great dialogue in the repartee around the table, a cast of vivid characters, fine pacing, and impeccable performances by all, right down to the bit players. Paul Ford, that consummate scene stealer, here too carries off the picture as an irascible banker. But he gets plenty of competition from the rest of the cast. Henry Fonda, a master at portraying anxious, conflicted characters, grows increasingly frantic as a farmer with a gambling problem (strange that Hitchcock only used him once, as an innocent musician accused of a crime in THE WRONG MAN. Fonda would have been terrifying in Jimmy Stewart's parts in VERTIGO, in REAR WINDOW, in THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH. But I digress.). Kevin McCarthy, John Qualen, Robert Middleton, Charles Bickford, and Jason Robards, Jr. each play distinct and likable rogues as Fonda's adversaries in the game (although Robards is on full volume a little too much). Burgess Meredith does a memorable turn as the put-upon town doctor. As the little lady of the title, Joanne Woodward shines as Fonda's delicate, long-suffering wife who shows her steel when she must take matters in hand with these raucous men to save the family fortune. To divulge more would be criminal. Love this little classic, even on repeat viewings.

Kraft Suspense Theatre: The Trains of Silence (1965) Season 2, Episode 28

Worthwhile for Tippi Hedren's Performance

[7/10 · 16 June 2013]

This piece has little suspense but an interesting plot. As the title indicates, it has lyrical aspirations that nevertheless prove way beyond the scriptwriter's grasp. The writing seems clunky and disjointed. But production values are high, and the episode I saw had fine color and crystal-clear sound. Tippi Hedren is gorgeous and Jeffrey Hunter is handsome, and both come across with the charisma of big screen stars who respect the medium of television and take their work seriously, even when the script isn't helping them.

This 50 year-old episode's main interest for today is the Hitchcock tie-ins, the obvious one being the presence of Hedren, who had recently played back-to-back leads in The Master's THE BIRDS (1963) and MARNIE (1964). As the anguished assistant to a reclusive tycoon, the disturbing quality that Hedren possesses, which Hitchock used to full effect in his films, is put to good use here as well. From her opening laugh, we sense that this character is off-base, despite her sophisticated, in-charge appearance. She mocks and threatens the forthright hero while simultaneously protecting him and being attracted to him. Her cascade of emotions creates the poetic soul of the piece. In the climax we discover Hedren's off-kilter aura is not perversity but emotional underdevelopment as the result of being under her tyrannical evil brother's thumb.

Along the way, we get a scene of Hunter being forcibly intoxicated by the evil brother's henchmen that comes straight out of NORTH BY NORTHWEST, and Hedren demonstrates once again how effectively she can collapse in a psycho-sexual fever into the arms of the dashing leading man, as in MARNIE.