The Screengrab : susan sarandon

Jailhouse Rock: The Greatest Prison Films of All Time (Part Five)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 22:00:00 GMT

DEAD MAN WALKING (1995)

The funny thing about Dead Man Walking (and, admittedly, “funny” doesn’t come up a lot in discussions of Tim Robbins’ excellent but grim 1995 adaptation of the memoir by Sister Helen Prejean) is the way its tale of a nun (Susan Sarandon) driven to become an activist against capital punishment in the wake of her experiences with death row inmates (embodied by Sean Penn’s fictional composite, Matthew Poncelet) did nothing to change my own views on capital punishment at the time. In the film, Sarandon (as Prejean) is contacted by Poncelet, a convict facing execution who swears he was only an innocent bystander to the crimes he’s been charged with and needs help with his final appeal. Yet for all her Christian charity, it’s hard for Prejean not to see Poncelet for what he truly is: an arrogant, ignorant, self-pitying racist thug...not to mention, as it eventually turns out, a rapist and cold-blooded killer. When his appeal is denied and Poncelet eventually gets lethally injected for his senseless, brutal crimes, I remember my thought at the time was...good. True, with death staring him in the face (and after weeks of selfless work by Sister Prejean), Poncelet finally starts acting like a human being and feels bad for his evil behavior, but...so what? Without the catalyst of his own looming execution, it’s doubtful Poncelet would have shown any remorse at all, and his jailhouse conversion is too little too late: the victims are dead and even a last-minute call from the governor would only upgrade Poncelet’s remaining time on Earth to life in prison (while offering no closure for the victim’s families). Recounting my initial reactions, I realize I’ve mellowed a bit since 1995: given the inequities of the American legal system, I’ve come around to a generally anti-capital punishment perspective (except in extreme cases involving no-doubt-about-it Hall-Of-Fame assholes like Timothy McVeigh and...well, I'll get back to you on Cheney). But it’s a tribute to Sarandon, Penn, Prejean and Robbins (not usually known for his subtlety in political matters) that Dead Man Walking is even-handed enough to credibly illustrate both sides of a difficult issue without preaching exclusively to any particular choir.

BRUTE FORCE (1947)

Most film noir dealt with men doing everything possible to stay out of prison. But master noir director Jules Dassin was never one to do things the easy or predictable way, so he set Brute Force -- one of the most memorable, intense, and violent post-war crime dramas -- inside the walls of the big house. Crammed with character actors who had worked with Dassin in the theater (and who, like him, would soon be victims of the anticommunist blacklist), Brute Force is also noteworthy for making a star out of Burt Lancaster, in only his second film after The Killers. Lancaster plays a nihilistic con who stages a prison riot, putatively to escape, admittedly to get out from under the thumb of a brutal yard boss, but really just to feel alive in a prison that feels to him like a living death. Hume Cronyn, as the prison guard, is likewise locked in a power struggle with a reformist administrator, and the three-way clash sets up a denoument that is as brutal as it is surprisingly human. Unsurprisingly, the director and his actors find a way to cast the whole thing in a political light until its doomed finale. It’s a powerhouse film with gorgeous William Daniels photography that deserves to be counted with Dassin’s best.

SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS (1941)

Joel McCrea’s pampered director John L. Sullivan has his heart in the right place. He wants to make an epic about how tough it is for the little guy. He can see it all already. It will be called O Brother, Where Art Thou?, and it will tell the truth in a way that movies so rarely do. His producers, however, would prefer that he make another comedy, because let's face it, those make lots of money for everyone. All Preston Sturges comedies come with a swift punch to the gut, a remedy highly recommended for all moviegoers on occasion. We can be a lazy bunch when we’re not watching out for that fast right. When Sullivan finally gives up on his dream of living like a hobo, the movie spins on a dime and hard times catch up with him faster than he expected. He learns the hard way how tough it is to be the little guy. He winds up with a sentence of six years of hard labor in a Southern prison camp, a brutal and bitter place in which even Cool Hand Luke would work to avoid any failures to communicate with his captors. The scene in the clip above is from that sequence, where Sullivan figures out what charity really is and what people really want from the movies. Fat lot of good it’ll do him, though, unless he figures out how to get sprung from jail. Luckily for him, despite all his boneheaded doofery, Sullivan is a clever guy. At least, he's written by a very clever guy, that Preston Sturges.

THIEVES LIKE US (1974)

Thieves Like Us isn't a prison movie -- it's about criminals trying to stay out of jail -- but it does have one of the all-time great prison escape sequences. With Chicamaw (John Schuck) in the pen once more, it's up to Bowie (Keith Carradine!) to break him out. Bowie drives straight into the prison: it's the South in the 1930s, and with rampant inequality everywhere (Thieves Like Us presses way less heavily on this point than Bonnie And Clyde, which is all to the good), the warden is sitting down mid-day to a sweat-inducing fried chicken feast. The rail-thin Bowie has no trouble outfoxing and tying him up.

ESCAPE FROM ALCATRAZ (1979)

Don Siegel's second great prison movie owes a lot (maybe too much) to A Man Escaped, but it also owes a lot to Clint Eastwood's fully-developed badass persona. The best parts aren't the methodical depictions of how Eastwood breaks out of the unbreakable, but his laconic assertions of selfhood. If you haven't seen Gran Torino yet (and you should!) and wonder how Clint Eastwood being racist sounds, watch the (possibly NSFW) clip above. What Escape From Alcatraz doesn't do is offer hardly any social context; it's just Clint versus the world, and it happens, almost incidentally, to be set in a jail.

THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION (1994)

Depending on when you check the IMDB, The Shawshank Redemption is either the first or second greatest movie of all time as elected by we, the people. (It duels back and forth with The Godfather.) How this came to pass is one of those mysteries that will never be answered. No one really expects IMDB users to be our most reliable cultural curators (see the #5 greatest film of all time: The Dark Knight), but one of those things that drives my cinematic acquaintances nuts is trying to figure out how a movie that performed only moderately on initial release has managed to somehow assume top rank in many people's hearts. The movie's fine -- it's nice and slow, bolstered by patience, a generous dose of well-judged sap and a rare non-smarmy turn from Tim Robbins -- but it cribs egregiously from basically every prison movie ever made without offering a whole lot back. Still, the people have spoken: it's the greatest film of all time, hence easily the greatest prison film of all time. Enjoy yourselves, folks.

Click Here For Part One, Two, Three & Four

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Leonard Pierce, Hayden Childs, Vadim Rizov

Screengrab at Sundance: Review of The Greatest

bilge — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 16:00:00 GMT

Screengrab editor emeritus Bilge Ebiri reports from the frontlines of Park City.

Shana Feste’s The Greatest came to Sundance trailing a cloud of buzz, in part because of fest director Geoffrey Gilmore’s gushing descrip ti o n of the film in the festival guide. So imagine my surprise when the film turned out to be a variation on Ordinary People, only significantly less stylistically assured. (Fuck you. Redford’s film is stylistically assured.) Here, Susan Sarandon and Pierce Brosnan play the parents of an 18-year-old boy killed in a horrific car accident during the film’s opening scene. When his girlfriend turns out to be pregnant and with nowhere to go, they bring her in to their family. Wackiness most certainly does not ensue.

To be fair, grief is always a hard subject to tackle onscreen, always carrying with it the slight whiff of exploitation, and Feste’s story appears to come from an honest place. The tone varies sharply, perhaps by design – the main conflict in the film is a strange war of attrition between Brosnan and Sarandon’s characters. She wants to indulge her pain to the fullest, wanting to know as much about her son’s final moments as possible. In her quest to do so, she finds the man who crashed into the car (Michael Shannon), who himself is comatose, and begins to nurture and read to him. (In what appears to be an awkward narrative oversight, the film never explains how Shannon’s character went from being fully conscious and active following the accident, even going so far as to walk over to the boy, give him his coat and – we later learn – talk to him, only to somehow wind up in a months-long coma.)

In truth, though, Sarandon has done the grieving mother role before – many, many times – and it’s hard not to think of films like Lorenzo’s Oil or Moonlight Mile or Safe Passage while watching her. That sense of familiarity with her performance works against the film’s attempts to convey the upheaval in its characters’ lives. No, it’s actually Brosnan who makes the film, and without him in it, I’m not sure I would have been able to take it at all seriously. As a math professor who finds obsessive comfort in numbers, the actor turns his preternatural cool into a weapon; his aloofness here comes not from confidence but from a deep, unsettling awkwardness. When he does finally break down, it’s painful and clumsy, and we want him to go back to holding it all in. But that seems to be partly the point. His presence here takes what might have been an agonizingly obvious drama of grief and threatens to turn it into something altogether more surprising.

Honorable Mention: The Top Leading Ladies of All Time (Part Seven)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 23:00:00 GMT

LOUISE BROOKS (1906-1985)

It may seem odd to include an actress whose career spanned little more than a decade and whose reputation rests almost entirely on two movies on a list of the greatest leading ladies of all time. Yet in the case of Louise Brooks, no explanation should be required. A former Ziegfeld Girl, Brooks came to Hollywood at a time when the biggest female draw was “American’s Sweetheart” Mary Pickford, who continued playing girlish characters well into her thirties. With her trademark black bob, pouty mouth and decidedly adult sensuality, Brooks couldn’t fit the type if she tried, and her outspoken nature and resistance to the narrow range of roles offered her led her to walk out on her Paramount contract. Effectively blackballed by the studios, she quickly fell in with German filmmaker G.W. Pabst, a collaboration that resulted in her two most famous films, Pandora’s Box and Diary of a Lost Girl. Thousands of miles from Hollywood, Brooks was finally able to play roles perfectly suited to her persona -- sexually-liberated, independent, and defiant. Her two films with Pabst finally brought her real big-screen stardom, and surely enough, Hollywood lured her back. Alas, the studios still didn’t know what to do with her (turning down the female lead in The Public Enemy probably didn’t help) and Brooks’ career fizzled out by the end of the 1930s. But big-screen stardom was only one chapter in Brooks’ fascinating life -- after her retirement, she worked as a ballroom-dancing teacher and a salesgirl, and for a time she was the mistress of CBS founder William Paley before becoming a call girl. But perhaps Brooks’ greatest post-fame role was as a writer and vivid raconteur of the classic era of Hollywood, whose witty memoirs of her younger days contain some of the best writing in the genre. Even in her written work, she remained defiant and unapologetic -- unmistakably, quintessentially Louise Brooks.

VANESSA REDGRAVE (1937 - )

For more than forty years, Redgrave has kept surprising audiences. For a few years there in the late sixties, in such movies as Blow Up and Morgan, she seemed to be a budding movie star and sex symbol, albeit one who was an uncommonly tall drink of water. For most of her career, though, she's been undefinable: you might call her an institution, except that she's not boring. On the contrary, in many of the prestige literary adaptations of which she's been a part, she's often been the lonely pulse still beating in a work of taxidermy. Her primary concern in choosing her projects seems to be whether they give her the chance to try something new and challenging, which has led her to such unexpected choices as playing the transsexual tennis player Dr. Renee Richards on TV. And she makes great daughters.

SUSAN SARANDON (1946 - )

Sarandon aged as beautifully as anyone in the history of movies, both as a woman and as an actress. The Rocky Horror Picture Show wasn't all she did during the seventies, though it might be a mercy to pretend that it was. (She also took a bath with a hippie and got shot in the back by her hippie-hating dad in Joe, fell off the wing of Robert Redford's plane in The Great Waldo Pepper, sired Brooke Shields in Pretty Baby, and was the last woman standing at the end of The Other Side of Midnight.) Her real career began in earnest with her wide-awake performance in Atlantic City, applying lemons to her skin and giving Burt Lancaster something to think about in the winter of his years. Bull Durham and her string recital in The Witches of Eastwick solidified her standing as a tempestuous cloud of a romantic sex object, though her most distinctive role, in such movies as Lorenzo's Oil and Safe Passage and Little Women, may be that of the fieriest mother in pictures, in every sense of the term.

EMMA THOMPSON (1959 - )

In most of her earliest screen roles (Henry V, Dead Again, Peter's Friends, Much Ado About Nothing and the TV miniseries Fortunes of War), in which she was directed by and and co-starred with Kenneth Branagh, Thompson, who was married to Branagh at the time, was widely taken for a charming adornment to her husband's second-coming-of-Laurence-Olivier act. Today, thirteen years after the marriage ended, Thompson is an international treasure who appears too seldom in roles too small for her, while Branagh is recognized as that douchebag who thought it would be a good idea to cast Robert De Niro as Frankenstein's monster and model his makeup after my uncle Lido, the guy who fell off the construction site beam and landed on his head. Liberated, Thompson did fine work in The Remains of the Day, In the Name of the Father and Carrington, though she arranged for her own best opportunity by adapting Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility for herself to star in and Ang Lee to direct.

DEBRA WINGER (1955 - )

In the early 1980s, in Urban Cowboy, An Officer and a Gentlemen, Terms of Endearment, and the too-little-seen Mike's Murder, Winger made direct contact with audiences in a way that made it seem as if nothing could slow her career down, let alone stop it. In fact, she was slowed down, and stopped for a while, by an industry that lured her into lucrative traps like Legal Eagles -- for an actor like Winger, the cinematic equivalent of the La Brea Tar Pits -- until she felt that she had to withdraw to keep her sanity. Many of her daring big tries, such as her stab at incarnating Jane Bowles in The Sheltering Sky, broke down on the runway, and many of her most remarkable performances got tucked into movies like Everybody Wins that nobody saw. Between 1993 and 1995, she was paired onscreen romantically with both Anthony Hopkins and Billy Crystal, a new definition of flailing. In 1996, she married the actor Arliss Howard and began a long break from acting in movies. It was during that dry spell that Rosanna Arquette directed a documentary about the never-ending frustrations of being an actress and called it Searching for Debra Winger. It's nice that she's become a symbol of something; she's also started gingerly sneaking back onscreen (as in the current Rachel Getting Married), which is a damn sight nicer.

JEAN SIMMONS (1929 - )

She was one silky number. At seventeen, she played the young Estella in David Lean's Great Expectations, and dealt the movie an awful blow when her character grew up and had to be replaced in the latter half by Valerie Hobson. A year later, she played Ophelia to Olivier's Hamlet. Her luck in Hollywood was less steady, and she arrived in time to get sucked into a lot of dull epics, such as The Robe, The Egyptian, and Desiree, in which she got into romantic clinches with Marlon Brando, which might not have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that he was supposed to be Napoleon. (At least it wasn't like their later pairing in Guys and Dolls where she had to put up with him singing at her.) Still, if you ever find yourself too hung over to change the channel when one of these movies comes on, you might find yourself inordinately grateful that she's there, looking just embarrassed enough about what's going on around her to earn your sympathy but not so mortified that you feel kind of stupid for watching. Her best epic was certainly Spartacus, where the scenes in which Kirk Douglas is denied her company by the guy holding the whip serve as concrete evidence that it would really suck to be a Roman slave. (Her best performance in a Hollywood movie may be in the smaller scale but still hokey Home Before Dark.) In more recent decades, she turned up in enough network miniseries (The Thorn Birds, North and South Books One and Two, not to mention her role in the 1991 revival of Dark Shadows) to establish that her sense of humor was still in good working order.

Click Here for Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six & Eight

Contributors: Paul Clark, Phil Nugent

Morning Deal Report: Anne Hathaway in Wonderland

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 14:30:00 GMT

You probably already know that Tim Burton is directing Alice in Wonderland for Disney, and you most likely wouldn’t be terribly surprised to learn that Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter are attached (as the Mad Hatter and Red Queen, respectively). Now Burton has found his White Queen, and it’s Rachel Getting Married star Anne Hathaway. “The White Queen needs Alice to slay a creature known as the Bandersnatch,” The Hollywood Reporter reminds us. Ah, but who is frumious enough to play the Bandersnatch? We’re putting our money on Christopher Walken.

It turns out that October brings not only baseball’s playoffs, but really bad ideas for baseball movies. (I’m still haunted by the image of Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore dancing on the field when the Red Sox won the 2004 World Series.) Now we learn that Kevin Costner and Ron Shelton are cooking up a sequel to Bull Durham. Our first thought is that Costner and Tim Robbins are a little old to pass for baseball players (even older than some of the current Yankees), but according to this UPI report (via the New York Post), a solution has been found. “Real-life couple and Durham co-stars Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon, who played a pitcher and a baseball groupie respectively in the first installment, are also expected to return for the second film. This time around, they will play the married owners of a Major League Baseball team Costner's character manages, the Post said.”

Tennis, anyone? Frank DeFord’s novel Big Bill is coming to the big screen. It’s based on the true story of tennis legend Bill Tilden, who “dominated tennis in the 1920s, winning six straight U.S. Open singles titles and becoming the first American to win Wimbledon. He was also a contract bridge champ, musicologist, novelist, playwright and actor. On the other side of the ledger, Tilden was famously self-destructive, going to jail twice for sexual misbehavior with teenage boys and dying penniless,” says Variety. Sounds like the feel-good sports story of the year.

Related:
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Morning Deal Report: Kirsten Dunst is a Jealous Ghost

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 15:00:00 GMT

Its title makes A Jealous Ghost sound a lot like too many recent rom-coms about the recently deceased haunting their exes, like Over Her Dead Body or Ghost Town, due out Friday. That’s apparently not the case, however, as The Hollywood Reporter describes the upcoming Kirsten Dunst vehicle as a “literary horror movie.” Dunst will play “a young American woman who travels to London to write a dissertation on Henry James' classic ghost tale, The Turn of the Screw, only to find that her own circumstances begin to reflect the strange happenings of the story.”

Michael Douglas is keeping busy. In addition to his upcoming turn as Liberace for Steven Soderbergh, he’ll play “a car magnate with a runaway libido” in Solitary Man. That sounds more his speed. Per Variety, Susan Sarandon, Danny DeVito and Jenna Fischer are in talks to co-star.

Nicole Kidman is attached to The Eighth Wonder, which “centers on an archeological discovery that sets off a globe-spanning race.” Quoth The Hollywood Reporter: “The goal is to create a movie that will be to Raiders of the Lost Ark what the Bourne movies are to James Bond movies: a character-driven, treasure-hunting thriller.” Isn’t that what the Tomb Raider movies were supposed to be? Well, apart from the “character-driven” part, I guess. Those were more boobies-and-shorts-driven.

Related:
Soderbergh Does Liberace
Chick Hits: The Girl Power Top Ten

Morning Deal Report: Calling All Ghostbusters

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 14:30:00 GMT

Summer is definitely over as far as the weekend box office is concerned. When the top movie of the week is Nicolas Cage in Bangkok Dangerous, you know things are a little slow. Taking in only $7.8 million was still good enough for first place, as Tropic Thunder fell to second with $7.5 million. The total weekend gross is expected to be around $66 million, which is what The Dark Knight was taking in at lunch hour just a few weeks ago.

Who ya gonna call? Well, if Ghostbusters is the answer, I’m not sure I even want to know the question. But Variety reports that Columbia Pictures is serious about rounding up the old gang for another round of spook hunting. “The studio has set The Office co-exec producers Lee Eisenberg and Gene Stupnitsky to write a script for a film designed to bring back together the original cast of Harold Ramis, Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd and Ernie Hudson…The scribes just wrote Year One, a comedy that was directed by Ramis.” I can see Bill Murray being hard up for cash given the news of his divorce but, really, do they expect to be able to lure Ernie Hudson back?

Ed Norton, Susan Sarandon and Richard Dreyfus will star in Leaves of Grass. It’s not an adaptation of the Walt Whitman poetry collection, but rather “a comedic thriller actor-turned-filmmaker Tim Blake Nelson wrote and is directing.” Per The Hollywood Reporter, “Norton is portraying twin brothers, one an Ivy League philosophy professor, the other a small-time and brilliant marijuana grower. The professor is lured back to his Oklahoma hometown for a doomed scheme against a local drug lord (Dreyfuss) that unravels his life.”

Related:
Trailer Review: Bangkok Dangerous
Ghostbusters III, Sort Of

Chick Hits: The Girl Power Top Ten

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 20:00:00 GMT

After the big screen edition of Sex & The City exceeded the low expectations of industry gurus who were shocked...shocked...to discover that people were actually interested in a movie about, y'know, gurlz, Missy Schwartz wrote a depressingly familiar story for Entertainment Weekly: “It was an unqualified triumph...one the industry observed in a stunned, slack-jawed state. As the weekend rolled to a close, news outlets filed their reports with words like unexpected, surprising, and shocking. ‘What do you know?’ they all seemed to be saying. ‘Women go to the movies!’”

And if Sex and the City 2 (or The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 or Mama Mia!) or any other female-centric movie succeeds in the near future, Hollywood will be surprised all over again, and Entertainment Weekly and other publications will run similar articles about the American movie-going public’s "unexpected," "surprising" and "shocking" desire for strong female characters...a desire Hollywood will more or less continue to ignore as it continues its relentless pursuit of teenage boys, no matter how many Speed Racers crash and burn along the way.

Because, after all, many studio execs are just overgrown boys themselves. They dig gadgets, explosions and special effects, and CGI creations are easy to control and merchandise. Female-centered movies tend to rely on well-written screenplays, relatable characters, nuanced direction and...yecccch...feelings: all the things most studio execs pretend to champion but secretly hate.

But we here at The Screengrab aren’t afraid to get in touch with our feminine sides as we raise our Cosmos to these Top Ten “chick hits”: films that put their empowered female characters front and center (without resorting to stripper poles OR big gauzy Prince Charming/Bridezilla wedding porn).

THELMA AND LOUISE (1991)

Okay, so I’m not sure how empowering it is to drive off a cliff in real life, but this Ridley Scott film (based on an iconic script by wunderkind, zeitgeist-tapping Academy Award-winning screenwriter Callie Khouri) caused a sensation upon its release by (A) objectifying Brad Pitt as a hunky slab of beefcake (thus electrifying and pretty much launching his career) and (B) allowing Susan Sarandon’s Louise to gun down the scumbag who was raping Geena Davis’ Thelma (and later blow up the truck of a leering male chauvinist pig) without even feeling all that bad about it, just like any number of male actors in any number of male-centric revenge fantasies...except in films like Dirty Harry, Death Wish, Taxi Driver, etc., the male heroes didn’t have to die in the end to satisfy Hays Code-style notions of karmic retribution for stepping outside the lines of acceptable social conduct. Still, the film’s outlaw motif energized female audiences by (melo)dramatizing the common stereotypical perception of men as either (a) dangerous assholes or (b) hapless boobs while providing enough action and sex to attract audiences of every gender.

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA (2006)

There’s a beloved feminist koan that goes something like this: ruthless, aggressive men who go after what they want are called winners, while ruthless, aggressive women are called bitches. Of course, most thinking people realize that ruthless, aggressive men are actually called assholes...and it’s the universal, gender-blind nature of the eternally confusing success vs. happiness equation faced by Anne Hathaway’s aspiring fashionista “Andy” Sachs that helped to make the film version of The Devil Wears Prada a $300 million dollar monster hit. And, let’s see...two seconds of Googling and...yep! There’s a TMZ article from 2006 with a, shall we say, certain familiar ring to it: “Blah blah blah, female-centered film exceeded all expectations...yadda-yadda-yadda...industry analysts surprised,” etc., etc. etc. As Meryl Streep’s formidable Gordon Gekko-in-stilettos magazine mogul Miranda Priestly might say to those industry Suits who stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the existence of fifty percent of their audience, “Details of your incompetence do not interest me.”

BRING IT ON (2000)

This broadly played late-summer sleeper is actually packing a lot of heavy metaphorical lumber for a teen flick about a cheerleading competition. Kirsten Dunst is the new head of the Toros, who cheer for the (rich, white) Rancho Carne High School in Los Angeles; they're gearing up for the national championships, which they've won the past six years with the spectacular routines provided by departing team leader Big Red. But when a new girl with a gymnastics background and an attitude -- Eliza Dushku, who was too cool for Buffy the Vampire Slayer's school -- joins the squad, she has unsettling news. It turns out that Big Red was stealing her plays from the fly girls who cheer for the (black, poor) East Compton Clovers, thus making the Toros the cheerleading equivalent of Pat Boone to the Clovers' Little Richard. Dunst actually does her best to rationalize this cultural parasitism rather than destroy her cheerleading institution overnight, but the situation becomes intolerable after the Clovers attend a Toros game and mock their blonde plagiarists by performing the stolen moves in the stands. In the end, both teams attend the finals and show that they can use their brains and talents to compete honorably on the field of battle. There is, however, one scene that shows that contemporary standards of empowerment may be thornier, and weirder, than is commonly acknowledged. Dunst offers the Clovers, who have been prevented from attending the national competition by financial hardship, the chance to come by talking her father into getting his company to sponsor them, but the head Clover (Gabrielle Union) contemptuously rejects the offer, telling Dunst that they don't need her charity; they'll raise the money themselves, their own way. Their own way turns out to be going on an "Oprah"-like TV show and raising contributions by guilt-tripping viewers with their tale of woe. I guess it's honest labor and not charity if it helps "Oprah" kill an hour.

JACKIE BROWN (1997)

Such '70s blaxploitation films as Coffy and Foxy Brown may have made Pam Grier a cult star, but it was always a degraded form of stardom, and not just because the movies were cheap genre knockoffs; she may have had the chance to show that she could hold the camera and kick ass in the final reel, but she still also had to get her top ripped off before being raped by guys who looked like the Ku Klux Klan's answer to Uncle Fester, while being called things like "this big-jugged jigaboo." Jackie Brown catches up with Grier more than twenty years down the road, when she's at an age when Hollywood regards actresses as disposable. It's not a great age to be a flight attendant, either, which is why Jackie is working for a low-grade Mexican airline and acting as a courier for Los Angeles-based gun dealer Ordell Robbie (Samuel L. Jackson). Both Ordell and the federal agents setting up a case against him regard Jackie as a pawn who can easily be taken out of play at any moment. But -- and here's the key difference between this and Grier's '70s vehicles -- the movie respects her. The way she looks through Tarantino's lens, you sort of picture the camera shuffling its feet nervously as it tries to work up the nerve to ask her if she's been seeing anybody lately. And so Ordell, whose fearsomeness would cut him a lot more ice in a different Tarantino movie, is reduced to a comic figure; for all his bluster and firepower, his assumption that the middle-aged black woman with the low-paying job must be a bit player (which Jackie will use against him, and against the feds, too), makes him ridiculous. The only man in the movie who can see Jackie for what she is remains Robert Forster's bail bondsman Max Cherry, who, unlike the film's younger, strutting cocks, lacks the ego and capacity for self-deception that might get in the way of his seeing clearly what's in front of him. Tarantino included a riff (borrowed from Jules Feiffer's The Great Comic Book Heroes) on the arrogance of Superman in the second Kill Bill film, and Jackie Brown is in some ways a black, female Superman fantasy, except that Jackie doesn't have to put on a pair of eyeglasses to trick the dull-witted into thinking she's no match for them.

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (1992)

Long before Joss Whedon was a small-screen institution, he was just a fresh-faced young script doctor with a dream. That dream was to create a richly detailed fantasy world featuring nubile teenage girls. Sure, you’re saying: how does that make him any different than millions of other guys? Here’s how: his nubile teenage girls kicked ass. And not just any ass, but demonic vampire ass! Within a decade, Buffy the Vampire Slayer would find its way onto television and prove a major cult hit, giving the country a brand new definition of girl power and adding an entirely new dimension to teen angst as Buffy Summers and her Scoobies battled monsters and bloodsuckers at Sunnydale High. But it all started with this low-budget big-screen number. Whedon, once he’d decided he was a highbrow auteur, more or less disavowed the Buffy movie, but in many ways, it holds up a lot better than people give it credit for: it doesn’t take itself so deadly serious, it has tons of terrific comic turns from Paul Reubens and Stephen Root in supporting roles, and while Kristy Swanson’s Buffy may not carry the emotional weight that Sarah Michelle Gellar’s did, she looks mighty fine in a half-shirt, and she furthers the cause of female empowerment the way only a vampire slayer can. She’s rough, she’s tough, and she maintains her keen fashion sense: what could be more feminine than that?

Click here for Part Two!

Related Posts: Girl DisemPowering: Nine Films That Didn't Do Feminism Any Favors (Part One & Part Two)

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent, Leonard Pierce

CGI Must Die: 5 Reasons Why

Andrew Osborne — Mon, 12 May 2008 18:00:00 GMT

Plastic surgery is a good metaphor for CGI (a.k.a. "computer-generated imagery"): it works best when you’re least aware of it, adding value without calling attention to its glaring, unnatural fakery. A little and you’re marveling at the natural, age-appropriate sexiness of Susan Sarandon, Helen Mirren or Meryl Streep, wondering “did she or didn’t she?” with regard to nips, tucks and nose jobs. Too much, and you’re recoiling in horror at that freakish Cat Lady lady, gasping in shock over missing noses and airbag lips, or wondering why Nicole Kidman keeps wearing that creepy Nicole Kidman mask.

Hollywood has developed an unhealthy addiction to both plastic surgery and CGI, preferring the obviously fake to the convincingly real, whether in the form of grotesquely disproportionate rock-hard breasticles or pixilated atrocities like Speed Racer, the cinematic equivalent of watching other people's birthday brats play video games at Chuck E. Cheese for an endless 135 minutes.

Did Jar-Jar Binks teach us nothing? Call me old-fashioned, but I still prefer a little special in my special effects: cinematic images that make me go, “Oh my God, how’d they do that?” rather than, “Dude, that reminds me of this awesome World of Warcraft battle I just posted on YouTube!”

If you’re one of the CGI addicted who think all non-pixelated movie effects are inherently “cheesy,” consider the following clips an intervention as we here at the Screengrab present five examples of amazing movie moments that had (almost) nothing to do with computer-generated imagery.

Just about any Buster Keaton movie

See that car falling apart while Buster Keaton is driving it? See the front of that house falling and nearly crushing him? See that bridge collapsing with the train on it? All that shit actually happened in real life, not in post-production!

The Road Warrior

Why are high speed car chases with actual cars (and trucks and motorcycles and gyrocopters) better than computerized car action? Gee, I don’t know...maybe the same reason sex with an actual human being is better than internet porn?

The Thing (1982)

Sure, the shape-shifting alien action in John Carpenter’s The Thing may look as fake and unbelievable as CGI...but the viscous, tactile ooze has an icky, organic quality that's very hard to duplicate in the shiny world of greenscreen ones and zeroes.

Altered States

CGI scenes all tend to have a similar look, not unlike the legions of aging Hollywood starlets sporting “trout pout” and Spitting Image puppet faces after one too many visits to the neighborhood Botox dispensary. Directors and special effects coordinators forced to get a little more creative, however, may come up with distinctive, fucked-up and memorable images like those found in this one-of-a-kind Ken Russell phantasmagoria.

Star Wars

And speaking of tactile...one word: models. The star destroyer in the opening scene of Star Wars (along with all the nooks and crannies of all the ships in 2001, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Alien) were and remain more iconic and dramatic than all the CGI pod-racers, Naboo royal cruisers or Trade Federation frigates the computers at Skywalker Ranch have ever rendered.

Don’t get me wrong. CGI has achieved some amazing things: the bullet-time sequences in The Matrix, Gollum and that buck naked Angelina Jolie in Beowulf. But enough is enough, people. It’s time for Hollywood to go cold turkey.

For the betterment of all humanity...CGI Must Die.

The Screengrab Top Ten: The Baseball Movie All-Stars, Part 1

Phil Nugent — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 20:00:00 GMT

Spring is here! Okay, not in my apartment, but I've read that it's here, some places, apparently, and with it, the return of what's left of baseball, the American game. Sports in general, and baseball in particular, have a spotty history in the movies. I think I've been reading that sports movies are box-office poison since before I'd ever seen a sports movie and maybe before I had any clear grasp of the concept of "box-office poison." (Then I saw a trailer for Catwoman.) But anything that inspires the kind of passion, excitement, despair, and apoplexy that baseball inspires in its hardcore adherents has got to inspire some great characters. Here's a bullpen's worth of them.

Ty Cobb (Tommy Lee Jones), COBB (1994)

In this poorly received and actually rather amazing movie, Jones gives a fine, fire-breathing performance as a man who, perhaps more than any other figure in the history of his sport, gives fans cause to weigh the value of his contribution to the game against the less positive effects of having had to share a planet with him. In his prime, Cobb competed as if he thought that the members of the losing team, and the less productive half of the winning team, would be rounded up after the game and beaten to death with sticks; seen in his comfortable, lonely old age, he's still a man who can only relate to the world as something to be fought, but crowds will no longer pay to see him fight on the baseball field and most people would rather not get close enough to fight him off the field, not even for ready money. Most of the movie is set in the early 1960s, when Cobb hired a sportswriter with the sportswriterly name of Al Stump (played here by Robert Wuhl) to ghostwrite his memoir, promised to let him tell the truth, and then bullied him into composing a sanitized version called My Life in Baseball. More than thirty years later, in conjunction with the movie, Stump published a more honest version of his encounter with the monster, Cobb: A Biography. Stump died a year to the month after the movie and book came out. One hopes that during that last year of his life, his dreams were a bit more peaceful.

Annie Savoy (Susan Sarandon), BULL DURHAM (1988)

It's easy to love baseball if you're a hot prospect riding a greased rail to the show. It's another entirely when you're a woman living a going-nowhere life in a minor league town. Most female baseball fans in this position would be content to be groupies, frequenting the games and keeping the players company. But Annie Savoy, played by Susan Sarandon, is another case entirely- a true devotee of the game who has as much passion for baseball as any character (male or female) ever to grace the silver screen. As she states at the beginning of the film, ""I believe in the Church of Baseball." And she takes her faith seriously, singling out a promising player with a chance to make it to the big leagues, and providing him with spiritual guidance- and yes, sex- for an entire season. Her methods (reading poetry in bed, making her men wear women's underwear under their uniforms, and so on) may be unorthodox, but they seem to work. As she says, "there's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career." In the season chronicled in Bull Durham, her man of choice is young pitcher "Nuke" Laloosh (Tim Robbins), an undisciplined kid with a killer fastball, and he gets the full Annie Savoy treatment. Yet despite her monogamous-for-a-season principles, she's thrown for a loop when she comes face to face with her male counterpart, journeyman catcher "Crash" Davis (Kevin Costner), a veteran who's been brought in to teach Nuke some lessons of his own. Crash's experiences have given him a hardened shell, but deep down he's just as much of an idealist about baseball as Annie is, and his presence in the film only underlines how pure Annie's love for the game truly is. At the end of the season, Crash is gone and Annie is still in Durham, but they will always worship at the same altar.

The Whammer (Joe Don Baker), THE NATURAL (1984)

This Robert Redford movie mostly makes a hash of the Bernard Malamud novel on which it's based, but it does have the niftiest film portrait ever of Babe Ruth, a monumental figure whose onscreen portrayers have included John Goodman, William Bendix, and, in the Lou Gehrig biopic The Pride of the Yankees, Babe Ruth. As in the book, he's called simply "the Whammer", as if it would be a blasphemous insult to refer to this celebrity demigod by the mere name his mama gave him. Joe Don Baker, who may have been the third least likely American actor to be cast as a great baseball player (after John Goodman and William Bendix), tears into the role as if it were what he'd been practicing for when he spent all that time swinging a homemade bat upside the heads of misguided lawbreakers in Walking Tall. Swaggering around the fairgrounds with a crowd of reporters at his heels and a babe in his line of sight, he captures the self-satisfied, bullying entitlement that many have attributed to the actual Babe, along with the magnetic, childlike delight in himself that made them love him anyway. Redford, in the title role, is supposed to be the new kid on the block, a country naif who's so green and self-assured that he doesn't know better than to regard himself as the old pro's equal. Getting a load of this idjit, the Whammer regards him with a sadistic, teasing dismay--as well he might, given that Baker and Redford were actually only born six months apart.

Charlie Snow (Richard Pryor), THE BINGO LONG TRAVELING ALL-STARS AND MOTOR KINGS (1976)

For the first half of the twentieth century, America's national pastime had a little problem: most of the nation wasn't allowed to play it. Not professionally, not in the big leagues, where the racial barriers overseen by the first Commissioner of Baseball, Kennesaw Mountain Landis, held so firm that they didn't budge even during World War II, when crowds turned out to watch the short-lived women's leagues play. (For more, see A League of Their Own, or rather don't, because it sucks.) Bingo Long, which stars Billy Dee Williams as a pitcher-manager of a barnstorming all-black team during the pre-segregation period, is perhaps the only Hollywood movie to take as its subject the baseball of the Negro Leagues, and the mixed feelings experienced by those stars who had the chance to delight audiences with their superb play and showmanship but sometimes felt degraded both by being excluded from white baseball and by the clowning that their fans came to expect. (It also captures the mixed feelings experienced by the Negro Leaguers when the color bar dropped and the all-black teams died off.) Pryor has one of his better movie parts in the supporting role of Charlie, a player who schemes to break into the big leagues by posing as a Cuban (named "Carlos Nevada") and then, after that doesn't pan out, as a Native American. For his later hustle, he adopts a Mohawk haircut, just like Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver, which was released a few months earlier. We would further explore the long-hidden connections between this engaging light period comedy and Scorsese's febrile urban masterpiece, except that there aren't any.

Ring Lardner (John Sayles), EIGHT MEN OUT (1988)

John Sayles has often allowed as how he takes acting roles in the movies he writes and directs because that makes for one less actor he has to pay, but in the right role, his cameos are sometimes the best thing in his movies. Here he found the role of his lifetime in the saturnine, long-faced sportswriter, casually wisecracking his way to a permanent place in American letters. Though it's the Chicago newspaperman Hugh Fullerton (played here by Studs Terkel) who actually breaks the story of the Black Sox scandal, it's his sidekick Lardner, glumly observing the chicanery and nodding in recognition of the crass absurdity of it all, who gives the proceedings a carefully judged moral weight that modern-day observers of the baseball scene will look for in their sports pages in vain. In his show-stopping big number, he entertains the crooked, self-hating ballplayers by performing, a capella and to tune of "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles", a little song of his own composition that begins, "I'm forever blowing ball games..." and ends with the (inaccurate) line, "And the gamblers treat me fair." All the while, the players can only sit there in self-incriminating silence, though there's no mistaking how much they wish they could kill him, or maybe kill themselves. Maybe a little from column A and a little from column B.

--Paul Clark, Phil Nugent

Click here for Part 2!

Rep Report Supplement: The New York International Children's Film Festival

Phil Nugent — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Tomorrow marks the opening of the tenth annual New York International Children's Film Festival, which runs through March 16 and spreads its bounty across four venues: IFC Center, the Directors Guild of America (DGA) theater, Symphony Space, and the Cantor Film Center. The festival was launched a decade ago by Eric Beckman and Emily Shapiro, who immediately discovered that they faced an uphill battle from those who associate the term "children's film" with "inoffensive pap." It's a measure of just how ingrained that idea has become that the festival founders had to address it even in their discussions with filmmakers who were reluctant to have their films shown, lest they become tainted with the dread "family friendly" label. As Beckman told S. James Snyder in an interview for the New York Sun, "Over and over, I found myself talking to filmmakers who reacted along the lines of 'I'm not sure this is a movie for children.' And I just started to become this broken record: 'Don't judge it through the lens of whether this will be nice for children. If it's a great film, then it's a great film for all age groups.'"

Beckman and Shapiro hung in there, and by now, they've begun to reap the respect and rewards befitting their mission to provide young viewers with some movie excitement untainted by condescension, pandering, cheesiness, Slurpee cup tie-ins, and all the other general hatefulness that goes with the family "entertainment" mass-produced with the goal of teaching future consumers that it's never too early in life to start scaling your expectations downward. In the teeth of that machinery, the Children's Film Festival's mission statement — "to promote intelligent, passionate, provocative cinematic works for ages three to eighteen and to help define a more compelling film for kids" by presenting "a highly selective slate of the best animation, live action, documentary and experimental film from around the world" is clearly a heroic one. (The festival also includes filmmaker Q & As and workshops designed to light a fire under aspiring moviemakers. You can buy tickets, get more information, or watch a few films on-line at their website.) This year the schedule includes seventy-five features and shorts (carved out of a mountain of some 2500 entries) and a festival jury that includes Gus Van Sant, James Schamus, Susan Sarandon, and Adam Gopnik. As Beckman points out, the festival's awards selection helps to point up the need that the festival serves in the lives of budding young movie geeks, "As part of the audience award," he says, "we give ballots to both children and the adults, and in the early years, we started seeing this strange trend, that almost without fail parents would vote for the movie that seemed sweetest and nicest, and kids often chose the more challenging and interesting material. For us, it wasn't just interesting, it was educational. The parents picked the happy option, and the kids picked the films that respected them enough to go serious."

One Last Shot: Romance and Cigarettes

Peter Smith — Fri, 21 Dec 2007 22:00:00 GMT

John Turturro's third film as director, Romance and Cigarettes, got canned by its distributor and suffered some of the worst reviews around this year (even from some of my favorite outlets, like The Onion AV Club), as well as a handful of the best. Count me in the "best" category; I loved it and was lucky enough to interview Turturro about it, an experience that really cemented my admiration for him and his work. I'm not sure what other critics disliked about it so much, though I could see it being a movie you either love or hate. A blue-collar musical, it follows James Gandolfini through a torrid affair with Kate Winslet, and an estrangement from his wife (Susan Sarandon) and his daughters (Mandy Moore, Mary-Louise Parker and Aida Turturro). It's sweet, sad, hilarious and dirty — a great date movie, if your date has a good sense of humor.

Turturro has distribution rights to Romance and Cigarettes until January 17th, at which point Sony will ignominiously dump it to DVD and run for the hills. It's done really well given its limited distribution, but in this last push — well, I can't speak for my Screengrab colleagues, but at least a portion of Screengrab encourages you to see this lovely film before it leaves the screen. Here's a clip (illustrating Turturro's juxtaposition of bawdy humor and fantasy) I hand-picked to whet your appetites. (Right-click to save.) Hit the jump for a list of theaters opening Romance and Cigarettes in the coming weeks; it's also currently playing at a number of others, including, for New Yorkers, the Quad on 13th St.

CALIFORNIA
12/21/2007 Encino, CA Town Center Five
12/21/2007 Irvine, CA University Town Center 6
12/21/2007 Los Angeles, CA Landmark Theater
12/21/2007 Los Angeles, CA Sunset 5
12/21/2007 Pasadena, CA Playhouse 7
12/21/2007 Pasadena, CA One Colorado
12/21/2007 Sacramento, CA Crest Theatre

COLORADO
12/7/2007 Denver, CO Chez Artiste

FLORIDA
1/4/2008 Sarasota, FL Burns Court
1/11/2008 Gainesville, FL Hippodrome Cinema

GEORGIA
12/7/2007 Atlanta, GA Midtown Art Cinema

ILLINOIS
12/7/2007 Chicago, IL Music Box Theatre
12/7/2007 Wilmette, IL Wilmette Theatre
12/7/2007 Highland Park, IL Landmark's Renaissance Place Cinema

KANSAS
1/11/2008 Kansas City, KS Tivoli Manor Square

MAINE
1/4/2008 Waterville, ME Rail Road Square Cinema
1/11/2008 Portland, ME The Movies on Exchange Street

MASSACHUSETTS
12/14/2007 Northampton, MA Pleasant Street Theater

MARYLAND
12/21/2007 Baltimore, MD Charles Theater

MICHIGAN
12/14/2007 Detroit, MI Main Art Theatre

MISSOURI
12/14/2007 St. Louis, MO Plaza Frontenac Cinema

MINNESOTA
12/7/2007 Minneapolis, MN Edina Cinema

NEBRASKA
1/4/2008 Lincoln, NB Ross Media Arts Center

NEW JERSEY
12/7/2007 Washington Township, NJ Washington Township Cinema

NEW YORK
12/7/2007 Albany, NY Spectrum 8

OHIO
1/4/2008 Cleveland, OH Shaker Square

OREGON
12/14/2007 Portland, OR Cinema 21

PENNSYLVANIA
1/4/2008 Pittsburgh, PA Regent Square

RHODE ISLAND
12/7/2007 Providence, RI Avon Cinema

TEXAS
12/7/2007 Houston, TX Angelika Film Center

UTAH
1/4/2008 Salt Lake City, UT Broadway Centre

WASHINGTON
12/14/2007 Seattle, WA Varsity Theatre

WISCONSIN
12/14/2007 Madison, WI Sundance Cinema

Robert Goulet, 1933 - 2007

Peter Smith — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 17:00:00 GMT

Robert Goulet has died, after a sudden illness, while waiting for a lung transplant. He was seventy-three. Goulet struck gold in 1960 when he was cast as Lancelot in the original Broadway production of the musical Camelot. That triumph led to a successful recording career and a string of TV appearances, notably as a favorite guest of daytime talk-show host Mike Douglas. He also returned to the Broadway stage, most recently in a revival of La Cage aux Folles.

But to movie audiences, Goulet had his own special niche: he was one of the pioneers of the straight-faced, ironic cameo appearance by the celebrity who may or may not be in on the joke. Goulet, who appeared in several "straight" dramatic roles on such TV series as Police Woman and Fantasy Island, never developed much skill as an actor, but whether playing the villain in a Naked Gun movie or getting shot through the roof in Beetlejuice or parodying himself by name in Scrooged or a memorable episode of The Simpsons, he seemed like a nice guy and a good sport. He may have been a sacred object to many a fan of Broadway ballads, but to a generation of movie lovers, he came to be fondly regarded as the Chuck Norris who sings. The two halves of his career came seamlessly together in the high point of his movie career, the great moment in Louis Malle's 1981 Atlantic City where, again playing a clueless version of himself, he presides over a publicity event in a casino lobby and attempts to serenade a woman (Susan Sarandon) who has just been informed that her husband's been murdered. — Phil Nugent