The Screengrab : the big lebowski

April Fools: The 35 Funniest Movie Characters Of All Time (Part Seven)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 22:45:00 GMT

BILL MURRAY AS JEFF SLATER IN TOOTSIE (1982)

Bill Murray is one of those people with such a long, varied career of starring and supporting roles in so many beloved mainstream and indie films -- from Carl Spackler in Caddyshack to “Bill Murray” in Coffee and Cigarettes -- that he could easily fill up this week’s list almost single-handedly. But of all his roles, his understated, largely improvised performance in Tootsie has always been my favorite: a toned-down version of his cocky '80s persona that hinted at the bemused, melancholy range of his later work, his Jeff Slater is the perfect roommate and wing-man: a wise, mellow pal who gently informs you when you’re "getting into a weird area" with your career or social life, yet who doesn’t scold or judge when he walks in to find you in a dress being groped by a horny old soap opera star. The yin to Dustin Hoffman’s neurotic actor yang, he’s the kind of playwright who’d prefer a half-empty theater filled with people who just came out of the rain to a packed house (and yet somehow doesn’t sound pretentious saying it). And best of all, I actually got to have a roommate very much like him once (hi, Hari!), during a year I still recall as fondly as my memories of Tootsie and the late, great Sydney Pollack. ("You were a tomato!") (AO)

MICHAEL KEATON AS BEETLEJUICE IN BEETLEJUICE (1988)

Keaton made this movie with the director Tim Burton at a time when Burton had more experience working with cartoon characters than live actors. It was a sweet gesture on Keaton's part to meet him more than halfway. At the time, Keaton was six years past his impressive movie debut in Night Shift (as a pimp who operated out of a morgue and preferred to be called a "love broker") and overdue to take his career to another level, but even those who guessed that he had untapped potential couldn't have guessed that maggoty would be such a great look for him. Few actors have turned themselves into a special effect with such happy results. (PN)

KEVIN KLINE AS OTTO WEST IN A FISH CALLED WANDA (1988)

It’s a testament to John Cleese’s generosity as a comic author that he gave the absolute best role in A Fish Called Wanda to someone else. That someone else was Kevin Kline, who, in a performance he’d never again equal, took the ball and ran with it: his grasp on the character of Otto West, a short-tempered, virile, violent, and not altogether bright criminal and Ugly American par excellence is vice-tight. The great thing about Otto is that he’s not a typical dumb goon: he’s a fairly skillful criminal, a stone cold killer, and best of all, he’s very slightly aware of how dumb he is. While most stupid characters milk comedy out of their obliviousness, the genius of Otto’s stupidity (and Kline’s astute assessment of same) is that he knows he’s not the brightest bulb on the marquee, and it drives him crazy. Hence his one great taboo – he can’t stand it when people call him stupid. What’s more, Kline milks gallons of comic frustration out of Otto’s inability to wrap his head around complex problems; he’s never angrier than when he senses someone has the advantage of him, but since he’s not smart enough to fake it, he just gets angrier (and stupider). One of the best throwaway gags in A Fish Called Wanda comes when an elaborate plan starts to go awry and Otto is called upon to help think of a solution; obviously infuriated, he pointlessly fires a couple of rounds from his silenced pistol into a steel safe and bellows “I’m THINKING!”. (LP)

STEVE ZAHN AS GLENN MICHAELS IN OUT OF SIGHT (1998)

Steve Zahn specializes in characters who have a negative genius for being in the wrong place at the wrong time; in That Thing You Do!, things got dramatic while he was off enjoying a rollercoaster ride. Here, he takes it so far that he barely seems to be in the right movie, though you're glad he stopped by. After arriving to help bust George Clooney out of prison -- a favor for which Clooney thanks him by threatening to throw his sunglasses "off the overpass while they're still on your head" -- he hooks up with Don Cheadle's mob just in time to participate in a massacre that soon has him sneaking around in search of the back exit. If all petty criminals were more like Zahn's Glenn, the world would be a much more entertaining place, and practically a crime-free one. (PN)

JEFF BRIDGES AS JEFFREY “THE DUDE” LEBOWSKI IN THE BIG LEBOWSKI (1998)

Although he’s not the most clownish figure in the Coen Brothers’ endlessly quotable cult comedy – that title belongs to gun-toting, dog-sitting Vietnam vet Walter Sobchak, played with gusto by John Goodman – you’d be hard-pressed to find a figure more hilariously suited to the archetype of the Holy Fool than Jeff Bridges’ Dude. Conceived as a stoner upturning of Raymond Chandler’s hard-nosed detective Philip Marlowe, the Dude, a perpetually out-of-it former roadie whose life revolves around bowling, weed, and White Russians, is caught up in a web of mistaken identity, kidnapping and blackmail. While Marlowe stubbornly refused to be warned off a case, doggedly pursuing the truth for its own sake, the Dude barely even seems to be aware that he’s on a case, and yet, in his own shambolic, shaggy-dog way, has the instincts and aptitude of a real detective. Based on film promoter and ex-‘60s radical Jeff Dowd, the Dude is an immortal comic creation, a stumbling bum who outwits people more or less by default and lives in the sunshiney flipside of Los Angeles noir. His mind is never far from his next frame, and his dress sense isn’t quite tailored suits and ties, but let’s see Philip Marlowe disarm a rival simply by saying “Well, that’s just, like, your opinion, man.” (LP)

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

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent, Leonard Pierce

Screengrab at Sundance: When Critics Attack

bilge — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 14:00:00 GMT

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

I guess I should say something about this whole dust-up that occurred yesterday between Variety critic John Anderson and sales rep Jeff “The Dude” Dowd. For those unfamiliar with the event, a full account can be found here, but basically, Anderson wound up punching Dowd after the latter wouldn’t let go of Anderson after learning that he was not a fan of Dirt! The Movie, a film which Dowd is representing at the festival. Apparently, Dowd was trying to convince Anderson to re-consider a statement he had made that the film wouldn’t be popular with the public. Somehow, Jackie Martling was involved. Some have claimed that Dowd was telling Anderson to go easy on the doc because of its worthy subject matter; Dowd disputes this. Part of the problem seems to be that, as a critic for Variety, Anderson holds an unnatural degree of power over whether the film will get picked up or not. Then again, Dowd, who was the inspiration for Jeff Bridges’s character in The Big Lebowski, is no slouch himself.

I don’t really know either of them – I have met Anderson once, and I may have gotten an email blast or two from Dowd at some point -- and I wasn’t there, so I have nothing to offer about the event, but the ostensible subject of the argument itself is one I have given some thought to. Does a documentary with a worthy and important subject deserve some kind of bonus points even if it just plain sucks? (Mind you, I haven’t seen Dirt! yet, so this has nothing to do with that film.) Or, perhaps more pertinent, what if said documentary is not terrible but merely serviceable?

Others have tackled this question before, and I’m not sure there’s an easy answer. The serious-minded critic obviously owes it to him or herself to judge a film on its artistic merits – and said merits can also include the justice it does to its subject, btw. I have often been in a position where a documentary didn’t float my boat artistically but still seemed to be doing something vaguely important, such as shedding light on an important subject. (Holocaust docs often suffer from this problem.) What did I do in this case? Well, when I had the space, I often went ahead and noted that others may find it more worthwhile.

But isn’t it also true that a filmmaker often owes it to his/her subject to find a strong and unique way to present it? That is, unless they simply want to preach to the choir. As a fan of punk, I may get just as excited by a simple, artlessly-done PBS special on the Sex Pistols as I might by Julien Temple’s The Filth and the Fury, a film full of strong artistic choices. However, someone who isn’t interested in the Sex Pistols may not be too taken by the PBS special, but they may very well be drawn in by The Filth and the Fury. In other words, strong aesthetic choices may very well help a film do justice to its subject; the two concepts are not mutually exclusive. This seems like an obvious point, but I’m always amazed when people forget it.

At the same time, it’s also a fact that Sundance and many other lesser film festivals are choc-a-bloc with documentaries that seem to be asking for pats on the back more than anything else. I don’t like to question the motives of anyone who spends a year or two making a film, but sometimes it’s hard not to feel like the filmmakers think they’ve got a better shot at popularity if they treat a worthy subject. Again, I have no idea if Dirt! is one of these films, but it seems to me that Anderson was sticking up for an important critical principle: The right to call bullshit on even the most sacred of cows when the situation demands it.

That is, until he went and punched the guy, I mean jesus.

The Screengrab Holiday Special: Movies We’re Thankful For (Part Five)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 17:00:00 GMT

LEONARD PIERCE IS THANKFUL FOR:

BARTON FINK (1991)

It wouldn’t be the first time I found myself agreeing with the French, and it wouldn’t be the last. But when this richly layered film by the Coen Brothers swept the major awards at Cannes, it was, for me, a confirmation that what I had only previously suspected was indeed true: Joel and Ethan Coen were not just good directors, not just great directors, but the greatest living American filmmakers. Barton Fink, to this day, is not one of the Coens’ best-loved films; it tends to be very divisive, and while its greatness isn’t frequently in question, where it belongs in their filmography is hotly disputed. For me, even in the wake of later triumphs like Fargo, The Man Who Wasn’t There, and No Country for Old Men, it seems obvious that it’s one of their greatest movies, and likely their best altogether. For a movie that was apparently scratched out during the making of Miller’s Crossing to help the Coens overcome a bad case of writer’s block, it’s astonishingly deep and complex, a deft blend of satirical comedy, character-driven drama and existential horror that seems all along to be about one thing and ends up being very profoundly about another. Not even The Big Lebowski equals Barton Fink as an evocation of Raymond Chandler’s Los Angeles, and its intricate, dreadful set design surpasses anything the Coens have ever done. And to top it all off, it’s one of the few cinematic evocations of the process of writing that isn’t an embarrassment. The day I saw Barton Fink is the day I finally realized that the greatness of Hollywood films wasn’t a thing of the past: it was something I was living through.

THE BIG SLEEP (1946)

One of the marks of a truly great film is that it seems you can never find enough things to say about it. Sitting down to write this, I wondered what I could mention about The Big Sleep that I hadn’t already talked about a hundred times; but now, I realize I could write a hundred pages about it and still not even begin to cover all the things worth discussing. Although everyone involved with this imperishable hardboiled detective yarn was at the top of their game, its greatness is largely the work of four geniuses at the absolute peak of their powers: the brilliant pulp novelist Raymond Chandler, who provided the source material about Philip Marlowe’s foray into pornography, blackmail and murder; the great novelist William Faulkner, who was brought on to write the unforgettable screenplay and who added his own raffish twists; the consummate professional, director Howard Hawks, who filmed one of the tightest movies of the era; and actor Humphrey Bogart, who cemented his role as perhaps the greatest leading man of all time with his utterly wonderful performance as Marlowe. Every single set piece in the film works perfectly; it’s a testament to how well the movie succeeds that whenever someone brings up the fact that the plot has a massive hole in it, it’s only to say that it doesn’t really matter one whit. The movie is drenched in L.A. atmosphere despite its back lot settings, and not a single performance is a dud: Bogart and lead actress Lauren Bacall got all the attention, but everyone, from the hired goons to the butler, shines during their moments on camera. Often identified as the father-film of the golden age of noir, I’d argue that The Big Sleep is lacking a few key elements of my favorite cinematic genre, but it does contain enough of them that it kick-started my interest in crime dramas; and maybe it’s a good thing that it’s not pure noir. If it was, it would have no competition.

DR. STRANGELOVE, OR, HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB (1964)

Dr. Strangelove did a lot for me. It was one of the first movies of my color-charged adolescence that taught me how to appreciate the virtues of filming in black and white. It was my first introduction to the work of the savagely funny Terry Southern, whose ultra-black absurdist humor, and whose underlying premise that people in high places were like as not entirely insane, would be a huge influence on my later life. It was my second encounter, after The Shining, with the great Stanley Kubrick, who I am still convinced is even more brilliant than he is generally given credit for, and that’s considerable. But most of all, what it did for me was to convince me of something that, up until then, I had not believed, and that even now, in my darker moments, I suspect might not be the case: it convinced me that a funny movie could also be a great movie. I had always had an affinity for comic writing, especially of the variety as poisonous and coal-black as that found in this Cold War apocalyptic comedy, but I was also learning to appreciate great art, and I so rarely found the two within shouting distance of one another that I started to despair. The truly great, I decided, and the truly funny, were incompatible, and I’d have to make a choice. Luckily, Dr. Strangelove came around and showed me how wrong I was. It is unquestionably a great film: brilliantly structured, astonishingly well-filmed, crammed full of great performances, and featuring a few set pieces (the first shots of the War Room, in particular, and the breathtaking hand-held shots of the invasion of Burpelson Air Force Base) that are undoubtedly the work of a great filmmaker. But it is also a paralyzingly funny movie, and the telephone conversation between Peter Sellers’ President Merkin Muffley and the unseen Soviet premier may be the most hilarious scene I’ve ever encountered.

PERSONA (1966)

Just before I saw Persona for the first time, I was starting to get worried about myself. My taste in movies ran decidedly towards rugged genre work, and there was something unsettlingly dude-ish about my attraction to films about murderers and lowlifes. And I didn’t quite understand what great acting really was; I tended to confuse character with acting, and I often mistook dynamic presence for talent, not realizing they are two substantially different things. What’s more, my attempts at appreciating Ingmar Bergman had been pretty thoroughly jobbed. Sitting in a small theatre in Phoenix in 1993, though, changed all those things. Persona, which today I count as one of the very tiny number of movies I’d contemplate if asked to name my all-time favorite films, was a quiet, sinuous film whose significant emotional power came entirely from within instead of being generated by external threats. Its acting was explosively great, and yet so subtle and calm as to be nearly invisible; it taught me the value of reaction, of contemplation, and of silence to great acting. It showed me what Bergman was truly trying to do, and allowed me to finally appreciate him for what he was; and, beyond that, it proved to me, in the same way Dr. Strangelove had proven that comedy and genius were not incompatible, that a movie could be deeply, intrinsically philosophical and not be pretentious, preachy or incomprehensible. Genre film never really relinquished its hold on me, and I later figured out how to look far enough below the surface that I could see depth when there had seemed only to be tension; but that’s a lesson I never would have learned if it weren’t for Persona.

WAVELENGTH (1967)

“Why do so many novelists still write as though the revolution that was Ulysses never happened,” asked the Scottish experimental writer B.S. Johnson, “and still rely on the crutch of storytelling?” It’s a question I’d learned to ask of literature, but until I lucked into a screening of Michael Snow’s daring structuralist masterpiece Wavelength in college, I had not yet learned to ask it of film. Every movie on my list, I included because I’m thankful that it introduced me to some new element of filmmaking that hugely enriched my life as a viewer. In the case of Wavelength, it’s simply stated: it taught me that there was such a thing as experimental film. That alone opened up huge new vistas for me, and led me to great filmmakers like Maya Deren, Kenneth Anger, Chris Marker, and, especially, Stan Brakhage. Wavelength itself is quite a curiosity, even decades after its debut: a 45-minute tracking shot across a New York loft, accompanied by disjointed conversation, hints of a murder, an atonal whine, the final and unending terminal focus on a photo of the ocean. It straddles the border between narrative and non-narrative while opening up huge possibilities for visual poetry, the freeing of the camera from spatial limitations and traditional usages, and the nature of time in this most time-based medium. Prints of Wavelength are hard to come by, and often as not in terrible condition; it would be wonderful if America treated Snow (who filmed Wavelength here) as well as he’s regarded in his native Canada.

Click Here For More Thanks From Andrew Osborne, Scott Von Doviak, Phil Nugent, Paul Clark & Sarah Clyne Sundberg

Contributor: Leonard Pierce

How You Gonna Keep 'Em Down On The Farm Once They've Seen Karl Hungus?

Leonard Pierce — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 15:00:00 GMT

Hey, New Yorkers! For those of you to whom the Coen Brothers comedy classic The Big Lebowski is more a lifestyle than a movie, LebowskiFest is coming to your town this weekend. Sure, it's the ultimate celebration of Los Angeles, but that doesn't mean you can't still have a good time. This is the seventh year the slackmeisters behind LebowskiFest have thrown their weekend tribute to all things Dude-ish, and a White-Russian-swilling, Brunswick-pin-crashing good time is guaranteed for all.

According to the official LebowskiFest website, LFNY08 will be held in Manhattan at the Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza (for the movie party on the 15th) and Lucky Strike Lanes (for the bowling party on the 16th). Your $20 gets you a concert by CCR tribute act Creedence Clearwater Revival Revival and heavy metal Bee Gees cover band Tragedy; an interpretation of Marty's dance cycle by Paul Green, the man who inspired School of Rock; and, of course, a screening of The Big Lebowski. The bowling party is sold out, but there will be a few tickets released at the door for lanes, costume contests, trivea, and other amusements as well as the after-party at Beauty Bar on East 14th Street.

Anyone wondering if it's worth twenty bucks to hang around with a bunch of wise-ass film geeks watching a hair metal band sing "Stayin' Alive", I can only offer my personal testimony that my visit to LebowskiFest Chicago was one of the most fun times I've ever had with a Caucasian, and I still treasure my "A Natural, Zesty Enterprise" t-shirt.

Related Posts:

It's a Lebowski World, We Just Abide In It

The Dude Abides: Ten Years of Lebowski

Video of the Day: "Walter"

Leonard Pierce — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 17:45:00 GMT

If you know the Screengrab, you know we like a good homemade trailer remix. And if you know the Screengrab, you also know that we like The Big Lebowski. So, if you know the Screengrab, you know it was just a matter of time before we got around to posting this thing:

Ron Kovic...Walter Sobchak. Coincidence? We think not.

Video of the Day: Requiem for a Day Off

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

Andrew Osborne — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 01:00:00 GMT

PETER O’TOOLE (1932 - )

The standard line on Peter O’Toole is that he’s the greatest actor to never win an Academy Award. He should have won it for Lawrence of Arabia, of course: selected by David Lean based on his stage work (like most great British leading men, who come from a culture where theatre is not synonymous with frothy mass-market musicals, O’Toole carried on a very successful stage career contemporaneous to his film acting), he became an instant superstar. Perhaps the Academy simply assumed, around the time he appeared in My Favorite Year, that if drinking hadn’t killed him by age forty, he’d be around forever and they could award him at their leisure. Though raised in Leeds and soaked in London theatrical tradition, O’Toole is the most Irish of actors: not only for his name and his reputation as a hard drinker, but also for his whimsy, his sly charm, his often self-deprecating humor, his reputation as a raconteur without peer (his autobiographical series Loitering with Intent are some of the most enjoyable books ever penned by a movie star, and show that he shares more in common with Flann O’Brien and Brendan Behan than nationality), and, when a role calls for it, fiery intensity. His roles have run the gamut from savage countercultural tour de forces (The Ruling Class) to respectable grand-old-man performances (The Last Emperor), and he’s got a third installment of his autobiography coming out, as well as a performance alongside John Malkovich in a big-screen adaptation of “The Song of Roland”. Hurry up, AMPAS; no one lives forever.

NICK NOLTE (1941 - )

In recent years, Nolte's off-screen reputation as the drunken old caveman from Mars has gone a long way in blotting out his on-screen legacy, which is a great pity -- for us, since he continues to give a very convincing simulation of a man who really doesn't give a shit, except about the quality of his work. He spent most of the first thirty years of his life dicking around accumulating "experience" before he began turning up in bit parts in movies and guest shots on TV series -- he was in many a Quinn Martin production -- before making his movie debut alongside a giggly penis named Don Johnson in the drive-in sequel Return to Macon County (1975). It was a return to TV, in the form of his role in the 1976 miniseries Rich Man, Poor Man that got the studios to thinking that there might be money in them thar pecs. In Nolte's first big-budget movie, The Deep (in which he got to go scuba-diving while modeling the latest in '70s porn star 'staches), he looked wooden with embarrassment, a good sign that his package included a healthy brain. Luckily, he was able to quiet talk that he was an overhyped dullard with fiery performances in North Dallas Forty and Who'll Stop the Rain?, an adaptaton of Robert Stone's Dog Soldiers that gave him the chance to play a character based on Neal Cassidy. (A couple of years later, he played Cassady for real in the misbegotten Heart Beat.) Through the 1980s and into the '90s, in such movies as 48 Hrs., Under Fire, Down and Out in Beverly Hills, Weeds, Q & A, Lorenzo's Oil, The Prince of Tides, and "Life Lessons", the Martin Scorsese-Richard Price segment of the anthology feature New York Stories, Nolte's hulking yet graceful physique and his ability to invest it with emotional power and suggestions of experience made him a highly welcome presence in a movie culture dominated by dimpled young'uns fresh from the Nautilus room. He was still doing a lot of bad movies for the money, though, and after the 1996 Mulholland Falls, he snapped, announcing to the press that he was taking his star off the door and was now a character actor, pitching his services to the indie film scene and anyone else who had an interesting script that was in no danger of being rewritten on a whim by the studio CEO's niece. A lot of highly paid talent have had days where they wanted to make a similar announcement, but Nolte actually kept to it: he starred in Keith Allen's version of Vonnegut's Mother Night, co-starred with Julie Christie as aging sex bombs in Alan Rudolph's Afterglow, signed on to play Lt. Col. Tree in the strongest section of Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line, ran the gauntlet for Paul Schrader in Affliction, played Adam Verver in the Merchant-Ivory production of Henry James' The Golden Bowl, made his best case that an American could still look cool to the French even in the age of Bush in Neil Jordan's The Good Thief, and cast a worried, sage eye at Maggie Cheung in Olivier Assayas's Clean. In between, he did a lot of well-intentioned weird shit, ranging from trying on ladies' underwear in Rudolph's misguided Vonnegut blowout Breakfast of Champions to Ang Lee's Hulk, where he did at least manage to prove that he could look weirder and act scarier before his character went CGI. More recently, he parodied his own gruff-psycho image in Tropic Thunder. It may not make for a smooth-looking resume, but no one can accuse him of going gentle into that good night.

CLARK GABLE (1901-1960)

Perhaps more than anyone on this list, Clark Gable deserves to be considered one of the greatest leading men of all time not because he was a great actor, but because he was a great movie star. He practically taught the world what the phrase "movie star" meant during his tenure as the “King of Hollywood” in the Golden Age of motion pictures: the hyper-inflated salaries, the relentless womanizing, the backstage battles over contracts and perks, the feuds with directors and producers, the endless high living. Gable embodied it all, from the time he made the transition into talking pictures to the time he died, going out alongside Marilyn Monroe in The Misfits. So much of his career was good timing: he had become (largely by virtue of his girl-grabbing good looks; the papers called him “young, vigorous and brutally masculine”) the biggest star in the business in time to do a lot of things that no one had ever done before. He broke taboos left and right, and every one of them made him a bigger and bigger star: appearing shirtless, going without shaving, slapping a woman in the face, uttering the word “damn”. So what if he couldn’t bring himself to cry when he played Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind? Let all the guys who were better actors collect their accolades: the roguish, cruelly handsome Gable went about his business of being the biggest movie star of all time.

JOHN BARRYMORE (1882-1942)

In its early years, Hollywood studios would sometimes make a big deal about having signed famous stage actors to appear in movies, but few of the actors who had legendary theatrical careers made a very strong, lasting mark in movies. Being able to act on a stage wasn't necessarily a detriment to someone hoping to be a movie star, but the two forms rewarded different qualities to a different degree, and movie and theatrical history is full of names, from Barrymore's sister Ethel to Helen Hayes and Tallulah Bankhead, who tended to lose something in the transition. With the possible exception of Marlon Brando, whose stage performances were said to have had an in-the-moment naturalistic intensity that marked him as made for the movies, and who, once he made it in Hollywood never looked back, John Barrymore probably did a more thorough job than any other big American Broadway star of making the same kind of splash in the movies. The fact that he was such a supernaturally handsome son of a bitch helped, especially in movies like Grand Hotel (co-starring his brother Lionel), where he coasted on romantic glamour. But his most enduring movie roles were in comedies such as Twentieth Century, True Confession, and Midnight, where the verbally intricate demands of high-energy screwball comedy made it possible for him to tap into his full theatrical style, which might have proved deadly if he'd tried doing it on camera in a drama. He also played the washed-up actor Larry Renault in Dinner at Eight (1933), a role that gave him the chance to mock his off-screen reputation yet also milk it for pathos, and in one grand moment, to do both at once: having worn out his last string, Renaut opts for suicide by turning on the gas and then lying back to wait for death, after having carefully arranged that his famous profile will be discovered to its best advantage.

NICOLAS CAGE (1964 - )

Here's the thing about Nicolas Cage: he has humor, imagination, daring, passion, and is clearly not in it to be bored. Because of these things, and because, like many actors who enjoy their jobs, he works a lot, he often appears in material that he can't salvage, and because the spectacle of someone who's not inclined to phone it in even when trying to keep a movie like Ghost Rider or The Wicker Man remake on life support can provide plenty of material for a laugh riot of a YouTube montage, Cage's reputation has dropped like the stock market in the last several years. This same thing happened to Brando and John Barrymore in their day, and it might yet happen to Johnny Depp if by some unlikely misfortune he ever gets ugly enough. But from the pure sweetness of his first unlikely heartthrob roles (Valley Girl, Birdy) to the way he twisted himself into pretzel knots in such surreal-slapstick turns as his dashing hillbilly goofball Hi in Raising Arizona and his corporate high rise bloodsucker wannabe in Vampire's Kiss to his poleaxed romantic lead in Moonstruck, he earned his place at the head of the line. As a member of the Coppola family, he has evidence for his theory that there's a point to being perceived as bankable in Hollywood, and while he's been making embarrassing box office hits since at least Con Air, he's also poured everything he had into difficult roles in major pictures (such as his hell-bent-on-dissolution hero in Leaving Las Vegas) that would be difficult for any other actor to bring off. It's been awhile since he did anything as great as that, but he reaffirms his stature as an honest, hard-working man every time he takes a break from going "Whoa!" in response to fireball explosions long enough to do something as unembarrassing as The Weather Man or Adaptation. And even though his list of projects in the pipeline include not just the hinky-sounding Bad Lieutenant follow-up but Ghost Rider 2, we're not ready to count him out yet.

JEFF BRIDGES (1949 - )

Son of Lloyd and brother of Beau, Jeff Bridges made his movie debut in 1970 and got his first Academy Award nomination a year later for playing cute but not so astute in The Last Picture Show. Although he never threatened to become a culture hero or knock De Niro or Pacino or Redford or Nicholson off the newsmagazine covers in the '70s, he spent his first decade starring in a string of pictures -- Fat City, The Last American Hero, Hearts of the West, Winter Kills, and even the 1976 King Kong remake -- that established him as a solid performer who could be counted on to work hard and seriously at his art while bestowing his own immense likability on any movie halfway deserving of it. Those qualities have kept him in steady demand, even as his lust to keep working and his taste for novelty have sometimes dropped him into flops like TRON (the one that proved that computer games were not going to put the movies out of business) and Somebody Killed Her Husband (the one that proved that Farrah Fawcett was not going to be putting actual movie actresses out of business). But he's kept getting better and plunging deeper for his emotional effects as he's grown older. At his best, he can lift a movie like The Fisher King to near-greatness, or a movie like American Heart (where, as an ex-con, his affability had to fight its way through the hard shell of someone who still felt like a caged animal) above mediocrity, or even give the audience a rooting stake in something as trumped-up as The Door in the Floor. In the final analysis, he probably remains more of a consummate actor than a star, but he's such a consummate actor that when a role absolutely demands to be played by a star -- whether it's the tortured romanticism of his small-time piano player in The Fabulous Baker Boys or The Big Lebowski's stoned Zen master hero or even the baldly villainous flash of his role in Iron Man -- coming across as a star turns out to be comfortably within his range.

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

Contributors: Leonard Pierce, Phil Nugent

The Screengrab Highlight Reel: Sept. 6-12, 2008

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 21:00:00 GMT

In a world where Aronofsky’s Wrestler Bodyslams Venice Competition…where Paris Hilton Pulls the Bullshit Train to Toronto…where Good Directors Go Bad and Charlie Kaufman Gets Wired...a world we will call, for lack of a better term, a Lebowski World…

In a time when Harry Potter Fans Revolt….when Johnny Depp is a household pet and Michael Caine is a Batspoiler…when Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains is rediscovered and a Classless Man gets in a Voiceless Brawl…

One blog dares to bring you the Arab Movie Hall of Shame. One blog looks back at City Slickers and Kazaam and lives to tell the tale. One blog celebrates the Local Hero soundtrack and the dinosaurs of the Wheel Inn . And one blog stands alone to bring you Coming Attractions: A Screengrab Salute to Movie Trailers, Parts One and Two!

The Screengrab! Now playing on a computer near you.

It’s a Lebowski World, We Just Abide in It

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 19:00:00 GMT

The Coen Brothers won a heap of Oscars earlier this year, their new movie is due in theaters tomorrow, and yet it’s still pretty much all Lebowski, all the time. The movie has just been released on DVD for the third time. (I’ve got the original bare bones edition purchased by those happy few of us who were in on the ground floor of this thing, but that’s since been supplanted by the 2005 “collector’s edition” and the new 10th anniversary version, which also comes in a specially packaged bowling ball edition.) Lebowski Fest, the celebration of bowling, White Russians and what-have-you that began in Louisville, Kentucky in 2002 has now expanded to multiple locations: the San Francisco edition took place earlier this month and the New York version is set for November.

Since this is an election year, we even have some pontification on the politics of The Big Lebowski. According to this Slate piece, the “Is this your homework, Larry?” sequence “if filmed today, would almost certainly be taken as an allegory about the younger Bush's war. The police have recovered the car, and the Dude has found, wedged between the seats, a page of homework belonging to one Larry Sellers. Walter figures out Larry's address and arrives at his house, the Dude in tow, the homework in a plastic bag… When Larry says nothing, Walter proceeds to Plan B: destroying the new Corvette parked outside—purchased, he assumes, using the money left in the car—with a crowbar. Actually, though, the Corvette belongs to a neighbor. Neocons everywhere can sympathize.”

Rolling Stone attempts to get to the bottom of Lebowski-mania with a cornucopia of 10th anniversary articles and interviews. “Today, as technology increasingly handcuffs us to schedules and appointments — in the time it takes you to read this, you've missed three e-mails — there's something comforting about a fortysomething character who will blow an evening lying in the bathtub, getting high and listening to an audiotape of whale songs. He's not a 21st-century man. Nor is he Iron Man — and he's certainly not Batman. The Dude doesn't care about a job, a salary, a 401(k), and definitely not an iPhone. The Dude just is, and he's happy.” Or as John Milius, one model for Walter Sobchak puts it, “The Dude is like Dirty Harry…Dirty Harry became a movement. And the Dude became a movement. It's symbolic of a whole way of life.” Well, at least it’s an ethos.

And remember, this is what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps:

Related:
The Dude Abides: Ten Years of "Lebowski"
"Almost an Evening" with Ethan Coen

DVD Digest for September 9, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 14:00:00 GMT

Another slow week here at DVD Digest, with a handful of worthwhile classic DVDs and plenty of new editions of horror favorites to balance the small amount of quality new releases.

While next week is slated to bring a trio of wonderful new classics on DVD, this week your best bet is Warner’s new “Deluxe Edition” of Cool Hand Luke (also Blu-Ray). In addition, this week sees the release of the three pressing to date of The Big Lebowski (Universal), although the new “10th Anniversary Edition” has a number of interesting-looking new features that weren’t present in the previous “Achievers’ Edition”, notably featurettes that address the cult-classic status of the film and the Lebowski Fest phenomenon that has sprung up around it. And in advance of Halloween, the studios have begun re-releasing their horror classics, from the collection Fox Horror Classics Vol. 2 (which includes Chandu the Magician, Dr. Renault’s Secret, and Dragonwyck) to more recent titles like Child’s Play 20th Anniversary Edition and Pumpkinhead Collector’s Edition (both MGM).

If you’re in the market for something newer still, this week’s recent releases on DVD include: Sarah Palin Tina Fey and Amy Poehler in Baby Mama (Universal, also Blu-Ray); the long-awaited onscreen duel between Jackie Chan and Jet Li The Forbidden Kingdom (Lionsgate, also Blu-Ray); Tarsem’s The Fall (Sony, also Blu-Ray); Helen Hunt’s directorial debut, Then She Found Me (Image); and The Seed, the latest from schlock auteur Uwe Boll.

Continuing the crush of television DVDs that invariably coincides with the new TV season, this week brings: David Caruso removing his sunglasses dramatically in CSI: Miami Season 6 (Paramount); more sexy medical drama in Gray’s Anatomy Season 4 (Disney, also Blu-Ray); Patricia Arquette in Medium Season 4 (Paramount); the Teen of Steel in Smallville Season 7 (Warner, also Blu-Ray); and America Ferrara frumping up in Ugly Betty Season 2 (Disney).

This week’s Blu-Ray only releases include: the football-centric double feature of Rudy and Jerry Maguire (both Sony); Timur Bekmambetov’s Night Watch and Day Watch (both Fox); and Fox’s The Omen Collection, which includes the first three theatrical features, with the original film also available separately.

Finally, I can’t let this week’s DVD Digest pass without mentioning the release of House of the Dead Director’s Cut: “Funny Version” (Lionsgate). Now, I’ve gone on record as a defender of the aforementioned Dr. Boll, and if nothing else this new, allegedly more comedic cut of Boll’s reviled 2003 film shows that at least the good doctor has a sense of humor about his work. But at the same time, this feels to me like an empty gesture. After all, with a movie as unintentionally funny as House of the Dead, is there really a need to add more comedy? Or is Boll just reaching out to his detractors by acknowledging that the film is laughable, and trying to add even more laughs for their benefit? If so, Boll could prove to be a much cannier master of spin than we’d originally thought.

Screengrab Review: "Sukiyaki Western Django"

Leonard Pierce — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 18:30:00 GMT

It's been a busy week for screenings; imagine my surprise when a DVD of the new (well, newish; it opens in limited release here in the States this Friday, but it was actually made in 2007) movie by Takashi "The Filmmaker of Love" Miike showed up in my mailbox. Miike, the mind behind such twisted cinematic fare as Audition, Ichi the Killer and Visitor Q, has a reputation for extreme weirdness, and his new one is no exception. It may bewilder, confuse and infuriate, but it certainly isn't going to bore.

Set in some nebulous time zone between the Battle of Dannoura in the 12th century and the wild and wooly days of the Wild West (or, in this case, the Wild East), Sukiyaki Western Django essentially does to A Fistful of Dollars what Dollars did to Yojimbo: lifts its plot wholesale and plops it into a western setting. But, since it's Miike behind the lens, you know you won't see the story of warring clans bloodily competing for gold done up in any kind of pedestrian fashion. Taking his cues from Sergio Leone, he sets the movie's action in "Nebada", a section of the old west that's about as authentic as the remote deserts of Tuscany. He also instructs his actors -- almost all of whom are Japanese, though see below -- to speak in an extremely bizarre form of phoenetic English, which proves to be extremely distracting, if sporadically amusing. And in one of the movie's most ridiculous divergences, Quentin Tarantino plays a freakish admixture of the Man With No Name and the cowboy narrator in The Big Lebowski. Tarantino, who cannot act in his native language, also cannot act in Japanese, but Miike simply has him imitate the other actors, who are speaking cod English with thick Japanese accents, and the result is...well, you really just have to see it for yourself.

The movie itself is pretty much a boilerplate western featuring characters created by second-tier spaghetti western director Sergio Corbucci; with the exception of some exciting (if convoluted) flashbacks, the plot almost directly follows A Fistful of Dollars. And while the acting seems to be strong from moment to moment (clan boss Yusuke Iseya and ex-gunslinger/retired grandma Kaori Momoi are lots of fun to watch), it's hard to tell through the goofy conceit of the vocalized English. What saves it from collapsing into a total mess is Miike's generally unimpeachable visual style: the production design and costumes are brilliantly done, combining a genuine Old West flavor with colorful spaghetti western conceits and traditional Japanese heraldry, with the end effect that you genuinely feel as if you're watching an alternate universe where feudal Japan developed along the lines of the Wild West. And the pacing of the film is exquisite, with the bloody and electrifying battle scenes coming at exactly the right time to keep the viewer riveted to the screen. Without the gimmicks, Sukiyaki Western Django might have been a better film, but it wouldn't have been a Takashi Miike film.

Screengrab Fall Preview: Scott Von Doviak’s Picks

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 17:30:00 GMT

We’ve reached that part of the summer when Rainn Wilson comedies and films by Fred Durst are considered top new releases, so it must be time to look ahead to the fall. Traditionally this is the movie season for Oscar contenders and challenging indie fare, so let’s put away the robots and superhero tights and play a little 3 Up, 3 Down. (Feel free to weigh in with your own picks, my fellow Screengrabbers – if you dare.)

3 UP

1. Burn After Reading – No Country for Old Men was a return to form for the Coens, and we’re all happy they finally got their Oscars. But it’s been a while since we’ve had a pure shot of that Coen Brothers feeling. No Country was adapted from a Cormac McCarthy novel, The Ladykillers was a remake, and Intolerable Cruelty originated with other writers. Based on the trailer, Burn After Reading looks like a return to the inventive goofiness of The Big Lebowski and O Brother Where Art Thou?, which puts it right in my wheelhouse.

2. The Road – Speaking of Cormac McCarthy, the second adaptation of his work in as many years in due in November. The grim post-apocalyptic tale is brought to the screen by John Hillcoat, director of The Proposition, a western that certainly counts McCarthy’s Blood Meridian among its influences. Viggo Mortenson has the lead, and the supporting cast includes Charlize Theron, Guy Pearce, Robert Duvall, Garrett Dillahunt and The Wire’s Omar himself, Michael K. Williams.

3. Synecdoche, New York – Charlie Kaufman’s directorial debut didn’t exactly wow most critics at Cannes, but the guy hasn’t let me down yet. (Well, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind didn’t really do it for me, but I’ll blame Sam Rockwell for that.) Even if it doesn’t really work, the premise – which has theater director Philip Seymour Hoffman building a replica of New York in a warehouse – should provide more of the Kauf’s trademark reality-bending weirdness.

3 DOWN

1. The Day the Earth Stood Still – Unnecessary remake of a sci-fi classic, with Keanu Reeves as an alien? The first time I saw this trailer, I thought it was a fake. The second time, I just said “No thanks.”

2. Twilight – I understand I’m not the target demographic for this “y.a.” phenomenon, but I still resent the fact that it’s in my face everywhere I go these days, and that’s only going to get worse as the release of this adaptation approaches.

3. The Women – This has got to be the uber-chick flick of the year: Meg Ryan, Annette Bening, Eva Mendes, Bette Midler and Debra Messing in a remake of the George Cukor classic. If I grow a vagina between now and when it comes out, maybe I’ll reconsider.

WILD CARD

Oliver Stone’s W. This can’t possibly be any good, can it? And yet I can’t wait to see it. We might be looking at a train wreck for the ages here.

Related:
Movie Magic: Making Pittsburgh Ugly Enough For "The Road"
Oliver Stone Finds His Dick

Trailer Review: Burn After Reading (International Teaser)

Paul Clark — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 16:00:00 GMT

Having seen both the red-band trailer that premiered a few months ago and now this, I kind of wish the studio had released this one first. Like the semi-legendary teaser for The Big Lebowski a decade ago, this international teaser bombards the audience with characters, incidents, and out-of-context images, but does so in such an infectious way that one hardly cares that it doesn’t make sense, so eager is the viewer to find out how it all plays in the context of the film. Maybe a teaser like this wouldn’t play very well with casual audiences, but really- if people still aren’t on board with the Coen brothers, they probably never will be. Besides, with a cast like this, how could anybody possibly say no?

Trailer Review: Burn After Reading (Red-Band Trailer)

Paul Clark — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 16:00:00 GMT

New Coen Brothers trailer. Whaddya need, a road map? And while the Coens’ flat-out comedies have been somewhat subpar of late (hello- The Ladykillers), these are also the guys who made The Big Lebowski, O Brother, Where Art Thou?, and Raising Arizona. And that cast! Clooney, McDormand, Malkovich, Swinton, Jenkins, Simmons… but the scene-stealer in the trailer is Brad Pitt, messing with his himbo image to uproarious effect. I’ve got high hopes for this one- even if it’s not great, it promises to at least be hilarious.

Take Five: Arizona

Leonard Pierce — Fri, 16 May 2008 21:15:00 GMT

How the Garcia Girls Spent Their Summer gets its limited-release debut this Friday, after two years of lingering on the festival circuit without a distributor. Although some critics have praised its good-natured look at sexuality and overall sunny demeanor, it's likely that the real reason Georgina Riedel's feature-length debut is finally seeing the light of day is the newfound TV stardom of its lead actress, America Ferrara. Still, the reason I want to see it is simple: it's set in Arizona. I was born and raised in Phoenix, at a time when everyone from there was from somewhere else, and while I don't really miss the place, I still have that hokey boosterism that makes me raise an eyebrow whenever I hear a movie or television show is set there or filming there. During the early days of Hollywood, the movie business was obsessed with the 48th state -- largely because it had only recently become a state. It was the last of the frontier, the final remnant of the proud plains and deserts of the New West, and while the vast majority of the western shoot-'em-ups set in Arizona were really made on a back lot five blocks from La Cienega Boulevard, there's still plenty of movies out there claiming Arizonan provenance. As the state has morphed into Southern California's bedroom annex, with all the strip malls and chain stores that implies, there's continued to be a few standout films that use the Grand Canyon State as their setting; here's five of them.

IN OLD ARIZONA (1929)

The filming of this early classic western didn't get within 300 miles of Arizona, but like a lot of early cowboy pictures, it's set there. In Old Arizona has a lot of the corny qualities that modern audiences associate with this era of filmmaking, but it's worth seeing -- and historically significant -- for a number of reasons. The first full-length talkie ever released by 20th Century Fox, it was also the first talking picture to be filmed outdoors. Director Raoul Walsh was set to play the lead himself, but a car accident robbed him of the chance, and cost him an eye, leading to the eyepatch that became his tradmark in later years; his replacement was Warner Baxter, who won only the second Best Actor Oscar in history for his performance as the Cisco Kid. Finally, the movie has a memorable twist ending that sets it apart -- courtesy of the original story, by O. Henry.

3:10 TO YUMA (1957)

We'd love to include the remake here, but it was filmed entirely in New Mexico, Arizona's glory-hogging next door neighbor. But the original is just as good in many ways; it's based on the same wildly popular pulp novella (by a young Elmore Leonard!) that spawned the reboot 50 years later, and the overall look, feel, and plot are the same. There's also a handful of swell performances, especially by leads Van Heflin and Glenn Ford, both playing against type. Often compared to its superior contemporary High Noon, 3:10 to Yuma simply isn't in that class, but it's still a tight, claustrophobic little western thriller, worth seeing until it sort of falls apart at the end. It's also about all the big-screen fame that Yuma, AZ -- a dodgy little town on the California border, best known for its ungodly temperatures in the summer -- would ever get.

PSYCHO (1960)

Very little of Alfred Hitchcock's slasher masterpiece was actually filmed in Phoenix, Arizona -- mostly just a few establishing shots and street scenes. But for some moviegoers, seeing the name of the town at the tail end of the movie's memorable opening credits would be their first recognizable experience of Arizona even existing outside of old-time westerns, and their first clue that the state capitol was actually a bustling modern city, not a frontier outpost constantly besieged by bands of Apache. (Even in the '70s, when I was growing up, people from out of state would ask me if living in Phoenix was like growing up in a Western.) The action shifts pretty early on to California, the home of the Bates Motel, but really, I just included it on this list to test my theory that no matter what 'best movie featuring _____' theme you come up with, you can fit Psycho into it.

REAL LIFE (1979)

Albert Brooks' first full-length film as a director is absolutely fantastic. It establishes his winning comedic persona as a shallow, self-centered Hollywood phony; it satirizes reality television a good twenty years before anyone else was doing it; it features one of Charles Grodin's finest big-screen performances, and a hilarious relief role for That Guy! J.A. Preston; and it's probably the funniest and most successful film that Brooks ever did. But for me, there was an extra kick: it was set, and partially filmed, in my hometown of Phoenix, and it's the very first time I can consciously remember seeing places in a movie that I'd actually been to in real life. When I first saw, at age 10, local newscaster Carlos Jurado removed from my living room TV and being featured on the silver screen, I gained an understanding of the power of movies I'd never really had before.

RAISING ARIZONA (1987)

Although the entirety of the Coen Brothers' first comic masterpiece was filmed in various locations around central Arizona, you wouldn't know it from the script. The place names are gibberish, the filming locations don't synch up with the places mentioned on screen, and the entire movie seems set less in any recognizable version of the Grand Canyon State than it is in some kind of rural fantasia that's half Wild West and half Appalachian hillbilly country. Roger Ebert actually got really bent out of shape about this, giving the film a disapproving review because of the ridiculous quasi-southern accents everyone sported and the nebulous redneck paradise it seemed to be set in, but Rog was really missing the point. I still lived in Arizona when this came out, and everyone I knew there loved it; it's not like we were expecting social realism out of the thing. The Coens are perfectly capable of verisimilitude when they want to be (see Fargo and The Big Lebowski for examples); here, Arizona was just a hook on which to hang the film's lunatic comedic sensibilities, with no more need for accuracy than Freedonia in Duck Soup.

Hebrew Hammers: The Top 12 Tough Jews of Cinema (Part II)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 15 May 2008 20:30:00 GMT

JOHN GOODMAN AS WALTER SOBCHAK IN THE BIG LEBOWSKI (1998)

Okay, so technically, this one is a bit of a cheat. Not only was Walter Sobchak portrayed by the decidedly non-Jewish John Goodman, but the character isn’t even technically of the People; as the Dude points out, he’s a Polish Catholic who converted when he married a Jewish woman. Still, that doesn’t stop him from maintaining his Jewish identity to the point of outright hostility; he won’t roll on Shabbos, and claims that he’s “as Jewish as fuckin’ Tevye”. Nor does it stop him, in a movie not exactly known for its macho tough guys, from being the toughest guy on screen: whether it’s pulling a .45 on a burned-out hippie for going over the line while bowling, hatching a scheme to take out an entire gang of phony kidnappers, or biting the ear off of a German nihilist, the proprietor of Sobchak Security displays a toughness that borders on the psychotic. And if he sometimes flags a bit, backing off from an outraged neighbor whose car he’s just totaled, he makes up for it later by brusquely yanking a paraplegic out of his wheelchair to see if he’s faking. (Turns out he isn’t, but hey, he had to check, right?) As an aside, Walter may be the toughest Jew in the Coen Brothers’ cinematic ouvre, but he’s hardly the only one; their films are crammed full of hard-assed Hebrews. There’s tough-as-nails furniture magnate Nathan Arizona (nee Huffheinz) in Raising Arizona; steely mob moll Verna Birnbaum in Miller’s Crossing, who has plenty more guts than her conniving brother Bernie; monstrous movie producer/force of nature Jack Lipnick (played by longtime tough Jew Michael Lerner) in Barton Fink; scheming business tycoon Sidney Mussberger in The Hudsucker Proxy; and inscrutable post-modernist shyster Freddie Riedenschneider in The Man Who Wasn’t There. Sure, only one of those characters was actually played by a Jewish actor, but the Coen Brothers clearly have a soft spot for tough Jews, and Walter may be the best, but he won’t be the last.

HANK GREENBERG IN THE LIFE AND TIMES OF HANK GREENBERG (1998)

No other baseball player could ever match the impact of Jackie Robinson breaking the color line in 1947, or go through the hell he did to achieve it. But as the 1998 documentary The Life and Times of Hank Greenberg makes clear, the major leagues were no picnic for the first Jewish slugger either. When Greenberg got his start in the Texas League, a teammate was puzzled by his appearance; he'd been told that all Jews had horns. Things didn't improve when he made it to the show in the 1930s. Between Father Coughlin and Henry Ford, Detroit was a hotbed of anti-Semitism. Chants of "kike" and "sheeny" rang out through the stands and opposing dugouts. But through it all, Greenberg was a one-man wrecking crew. He was twice voted the American League MVP and he led the Detroit Tigers to back-to-back World Series in 1934 and 1935, despite refusing to play on Yom Kippur during the pennant drive. (He did play on Rosh Hashanah, though – his rabbi found a loophole in the Talmud.) The Hebrew Hammerin' Hank was the first prominent Jew known for physical prowess and an inspiration to kids like Walter Matthau ("I was just delighted to know there was someone like Hank Greenberg around, and I didn't have to wind up as a presser, a cutter or a salesman in the garment center") and Alan Dershowitz ("He defied every stereotype – he defied Hitler's stereotype!"). He's in the baseball Hall of Fame – and now he's in our Hall of Tough Jews.

MICHAEL LERNER AS ARNOLD ROTHSTEIN IN EIGHT MEN OUT (1988)

How tough was Arnold Rothstein, the only man to successfully fix the World Series? So tough that Rich Cohen, the author of Tough Jews, calls him “the Moses of organized crime”. Though the man many refer to as the most successful Jewish gangster in American history met an ugly end, getting his gut shot after he bowed out of what he claimed was a crooked poker game, he made quite a name for himself along the way: starting out as a masterful oddsmaker and proposition bettor, he rose to such prominence that Lucky Luciano credits him as having taught the Italian mobsters of the day how to act and dress, and Frank Costello claims he was the first to truly recognize the vast amounts of money to be made off of prohibition. He became fodder for no less an artist than F. Scott Fitzgerald, who based The Great Gatsby’s Meyer Wolfsheim on him; Damon Runyon picked up the gauntlet, writing Arnold into many of his stories under a variety of names. Along the way, he also became a legendary pool shark (providing inspiration for the marathon game in The Hustler) and made a nearly unprecedented mark on modern organized crime – so much so that another tough Jew, The Godfather Part II’s Hyman Roth, cites him as an inspiration. Oh, yeah – and he fixed the 1919 World Series and got away with it scot-free. Although the names of many a White Sox great was dragged down into ignominious disgrace (including two, Joe Jackson and Buck Weaver, who were likely innocent of any wrongdoing), Rothstein, the architect of the fix and the man who made more money off of it than anyone else, was completely exonerated by an impressionable jury. In Eight Men Out, Rothstein is expertly played by Michael Lerner, no stranger to playing tough Jews (see the entry on Walter Sobchak, above); his icy, unflappable confidence and contempt is perfectly realized in a scene where, discussing with his fixer the likelihood that the best players in baseball will take a dive, says “I know guys like that. I grew up with them. I was the fat kid they wouldn't let play. ‘Sit down, fat boy'. That's what they'd say. ‘Sit down, maybe you'll learn something.’ Well, I learned something all right. Pretty soon, I owned the game, and those guys I grew up with come to me with their hats in their hands.”

LEE STRASBERG AS HYMAN ROTH IN THE GODFATHER, PART II (1974)

By the time we meet him Hyman Roth is an old man in ill health, yet we'd never think to call him frail. His body may be failing, but his mind is sharp and his lust for wealth and power undiminished. The Godfather saga's fictionalized version of Meyer Lansky was one of the few screen roles taken on by Actors Studio guru Lee Strasberg, and easily the greatest. In a few short scenes, with a handful of well-chosen gestures – the dismissive passing of a gold telephone, the raising of a plate of cake – Strasberg gives us a man in full. We may never have seen him in the full bloom of youth, but we can guess how terrifying he must have been from his "Moe Green" speech to Michael Corleone, one of the all-time great movie monologues. His gaze steady and full of fire, his breath hitching in fierce, staccato snorts, Roth lays it on the line: This is the business we've chosen.

ADAM GOLDBERG AS MELLISH IN SAVING PRIVATE RYAN (1998) AND THE HEBREW HAMMER IN THE HEBREW HAMMER (2003)

In comedic roles from Dazed & Confused to Entourage, Adam Goldberg frequently comes across as a younger, hairier Woody Allen with his fast-talking, hyper-cerebral neurotic characters. But, even in his lighter moments, there’s always a sense of intensity and simmering anger underpinning his performances, leading my fellow Screengrabber Phil Nugent to suggest his work in 2 Days In Paris for this list (“What can I say? The guy scares me!”). But instead, I’ve chosen two of his more overtly tough screen personas, in films where his characters literally bring the pain. As the Jewish soldier Private Stanley Mellish in Saving Private Ryan, Goldberg’s character is a smart, regular guy hardened by combat and his own, very personal stake in the war. Even when his tough façade finally cracks (in one of the most harrowing, visceral depictions of impending death I’ve ever seen), Mellish, despite his fear, remains determined and clear-headed to the end. As the titular superhero in The Hebrew Hammer, meanwhile, Goldberg tweaks the popular notion that Jews are more brainy than brawny in what writer/director Jonathan Kesselman dubbed the first “Jewsploitation” movie. As Mordechai Jefferson Carver, Goldberg wears the wide-brimmed hat of a Hasidim like a pimp crossed with Clint Eastwood as he fights to save Hanukah from the clutches of Santa’s murderous, power-mad son, Damian. Non-P.C. hilarity and Jewish stereotypes repurposed as standard Hollywood action clichés ensue. Shabbat Shalom, muthahfuckers!

CHARLTON HESTON AS MOSES IN THE TEN COMMANDMENTS (1956)

It’s one of the crowning ironies in the history of religious cinema that Charlton Heston, a man who tended to project about the same spiritual qualities as a forcefully hurled brick, portrayed not only the author of the Pentateuch, but also the Pope. It’s even more ironic that Moses, perhaps the toughest Jew in history, was given his most memorable screen portrayal by a man so WASPy his first name was “Charlton”. The Bible tells us that Moses was a willful but often reticent man, a man so unsure of himself, so terrified to lead, that he asked his brother Aaron to do his public speaking; in Cecil B. DeMille’s last huge Bible epic, Heston’s Moses couldn’t be farther from that portrayal. Moses, in the hands of Chuck amok, is a primal force of nature, as intimidating as God himself; when he struts down from the Mount after having received the Decalogue, he looks less like a man awed by coming face-to-face with the creator of the universe than he does Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever. His jaw jutting even beneath his pasted-on beard and his iron chest swelling outside of his robes, Heston’s Moses looks like he’s received special dispensation from Jehovah to start kicking ass and taking names, and he can’t wait to get started. When Moses sneers “Hear His word, Ramses, and obey,” he isn’t imploring, he’s demanding – let my people go, he seems to say, or I’ll take these stone tablets and flatten you right across the choppers with them. It’s no wonder this portrayal resonated with Chosen People and Gentiles alike; the goyim got to claim the actor as their own, and the Jews got to see their main man transformed from thoughtful liberationist rebbe to one-man Pharoah-stomping machine. Heston would go on to play Judah Ben-Hur, who was almost as tough a Jew as Moses, but The Ten Commandments still remains the pinnacle of big-screen Hebrew bad-assery.

Click here for more Tough Jews!

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Leonard Pierce, Scott Von Doviak

Take Five: Weed

Leonard Pierce — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 21:00:00 GMT

We were going to call this Take Five "Buddha", and then, like, totally blow your mind by not including Kundun, but frankly, we're just too, you know, we're too, uh...what were we talking about? Oh, right! That weed! The chronic! Sweet Mary Jane! A favorite in Hollywood for so many years that it doesn't even seem like a vice to some people (remember Tom Hagen warning the movie producer in The Godfather that one of his stars was about to 'graduate' from marijuana to cocaine), it was a while before social pressures eased up enough to portray herb in anything but the most hysterical terms. How far we've come, bros! Today, only a few scant days after 4/20 (the national stoner's holiday), we can each of us get nicely toasted and ditch work early for a matinee of Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, which posits that even our Commander-in-Chief enjoys a good bong hit now and again. The noir classic The Sweet Smell of Success contained a plot point that expected us to believe that a jazz musician -- and a white one, at that! -- might see his career ruined by the mere possession of the devil weed, while the new Kal Penn/John Cho vehicle implies that toking up on a regular basis is the best career move you can make. Here's five more films that deal with the sweet leaf in all its hazy glory.

REEFER MADNESS (1936)

This absurd scare-flick is typical of the anti-drug hysteria of the 1920s and 1930s; it's only exceptional in that it's exceptionally over-the-top in its woozy narrative, lurid dialogue, and bizarrely sensationalistic vision of what marijuana will do to you. (Apparently, it turns you into a murderer or a sex fiend instead of a lazy Xbox-addicted dolt.) Directed by French-born Louis Gasnier (whose other major claim to fame was the Perils of Pauline serial), it's unintentionally hilarious to the degree that it's been reissued endlessly in every format imaginable for new generations of potheads to giggle at. In fact, for a film that did poor business, featured no stars, and is incompetently made at every level, it very well may be that Reefer Madness is the most-watched film of the 1930s. Ah, irony.

CHEECH & CHONG'S UP IN SMOKE (1978)

You simply can't talk about dope movies without mentioning Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong, the guys who turned them from a taboo into a franchise. Although it's easy to condemn the boys for how quickly their on-screen efforts turned into dogshit (I'm still reeling from The Corsican Brothers), those only familiar with how bad things eventually got might want to go back and give their motion picture debut another look. It's not great art or anything, and Lou Adler's direction is strictly syndicated sitcom level, but it's got a number of genuinely funny moments, some hilarious dialogue, some swell celebrity cameos from Tom Skerritt and Stacy Keach, and all in all, it's exactly what a stoner comedy shoud be: a good-natured, consequence-free thumb in the nose to petty authority. Good afternoon viewing for a baked summer day.

THE BIG LEBOWKSI (1998)

It's downright shocking that such a successful dopehead comedy was made by the Coen Brothers. While I certainly can't speak to their own habits of indulgence or not, their filmmaking is incredibly tight and unbelievably disciplined, exactly the opposite of most art created by the Cheeba-American community. And yet along comes The Big Lebowski: a movie that, aside from being an unbelievably funny comedy and an eerily precise if cleverly disguised Raymond Chandler detective story, is probably the most perfect stoner flick ever made. The Dude is the ultimate slacker hero, lighting a J when he gets bored listening to the title character rattle on about hard work and responsibility, as well as the roach-butt of many a joke, as he smashes up his much-abused car after dropping a maggot on his pants while driving.

HAROLD AND KUMAR GO TO WHITE CASTLE (2004)

Of course, we can't praise the sometimes subtle, sometimes anvil-heavy stoner comedy of Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay without mentioning its predecessor, a hugely successful cult flick that came out of nowhere and captured the public imagination in just the right way with its combination of gregarious dope jokes and over-the-top grossout comedy. It launched the careers of appealing leads Kal Penn and John Cho; it proved that you can make a successful buddy picture without a white guy; and best of all, it was funny as hell and forced beloved/reviled mini-hamburger chain White Castle to acknowledge its existence with an extreme line-toeing ad campaign that tried to capitalize on the movie's success without explicitly avowing the truth: that White Castle is the preferred 3AM nosh joint for the seriously blunted.

SUPER HIGH ME (2007)

Explicitly lifted from Morgan Spurlock's anti-McDonald's stunt documentary Super Size Me, and based on little more than a two-minute comedy routine by star Doug Benson, Super High Me -- which combines a fairly legitimate section on drug law reform, straight-up concert footage of Benson's act, and extended segments of his attempt to get high every day for a month -- isn't the most coherent or well-presented film you'll ever see. Which, given the topic, is pretty understandable. But it's got its funny moments, and if nothing else, it allows you to see that Benson is none the worse for wear after his 'experiment' (which, let's be honest, would represent cutting back for a lot of people), and the movie is stocked with successful actors and comedians who are successful and yet get stoned quite regularly. It's a good thing Benson's not black, though, or this movie would probably be used as evidence at his trial.

DVD Digest for April 1, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 14:00:00 GMT

In a slow week for new DVDs, there are no real world-beaters being released today. However, there are a number of solid picks for movie lovers of various stripes, and if nothing else there should be fewer flubs in this column than there were last week.

Easily the most interesting recent film to come out on DVD this week, Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (Paramount) is being released by Paramount in both single- and double-disc editions. The big difference, as usual, is one of special features, as the extra disc includes a number of new featurettes, including spotlights on the history behind the Sweeney Todd legend and a doc on Stephen Sondheim's music. But the real keeper is the film itself, a legitimately dark creation, easily the most despairing Burton film to date. Burton's vision complements the already strong material so perfectly that it more than compensates for the not-quite-up-to-snuff singing by stars Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter, who are pretty great otherwise. Sweeney Todd is the filet of this week's new films on DVD, although with such competition as Alvin and the Chipmunks (Fox, also Blu-Ray) and Resurrecting the Champ (Fox), that's pretty faint praise.

Also of note is Warner's The Bette Davis Collection Volume 3, the latest in their exhaustive assembling of box sets featuring the studio era's biggest stars. Normally the selection in these sets are pretty dire, comprised largely of films that weren't ready for a standalone release. However, this set looks unusually strong. Included in the set are the Davis fan favorite Deception, 1943's Watch on the Rhine (which won Davis' costar Paul Lukas a Best Actor Oscar), and In This Our Life, a pre-Hush, Hush... Sweet Charlotte collaboration between Davis and Olivia De Havilland. Other titles in the set are The Old Maid, All This, and Heaven Too, and The Great Lie. As usual, Warner has dug into their vaults and paired each film with their "Warner Night at the Movies" programs, including classic newsreels, cartoons, and trailers. Eventually the well will have to run dry on Davis films as it does with all stars, but this collection should be worth a look.

The only other intriguing DVD release this week- that is, unless you're clamoring for Martin: The Complete Fourth Season or Murder, She Wrote Season 8- is Koch Lorber's trio of new DVD editions of films by the Italian filmmakers Paolo and Vittorio Taviani. Among the films is the American DVD debut of 1993's Fiorile and 1984's Kaos, plus a new edition of their 1982 classic Night of the Shooting Stars. Koch Lorber's DVD releases can be dicey, both in terms of variable picture quality and the lack of special features. However, for those who've been waiting for more of the Tavianis' films to get released on DVD, the wait is over.

Finally, our old pal David Huddleston has returned from his vacation just in time to voice his condolences to the following HD-DVD releases:

Appleseed Ex Machina (Warner)
August Rush (Warner)

Because nothing says "watch this on a bigass HDTV" than a box-office flop about a musical prodigy. Who's with me?

Hulu: Destroying Worker Productivity One Movie at a Time

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 14:00:00 GMT

Are you down with Hulu yet? The latest online on-demand viewing site launched two weeks ago, and is drawing rave reviews for its library of free TV shows and movies. The former is none of our business here at the Screengrab (although just look at all those episodes of Archie Bunker’s Place!), but the latter is…well, let’s just call it a work in progress.

Not that we’re complaining; Hulu is just getting started, after all. You can watch a movie for free as long as you’re willing to sit through a trailer of Baby Mama, and the video and sound quality is certainly leaps and bounds beyond your YouTubes. But for the moment at least, the selection is a bit sparse and, how shall we say…random. The most popular items are of relatively recent vintage: Ice Age, Fever Pitch, 28 Days Later and The Big Lebowski are all available if you’re looking to burn off the rest of your work day. But there are also some more obscure offerings, like 1958’s Attack of the Puppet People, John Huston’s The Barbarian and the Geisha, and both Dr. Goldfoot movies starring Vincent Price.

It’s hard to know where to start. Arnold Schwarzenegger (or “Arnold Strong” as he was billed) in Hercules in New York? Cheech & Chong in The Corsican Brothers? How about the 1977 version of The Island of Dr. Moreau? You can browse the full list here, but if you end up getting fired, don’t blame us.

The Dude Abides: Ten Years of "Lebowski"

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 15:30:00 GMT

The Coen Brothers may have just enjoyed the greatest commercial, critical and Oscar success of their career with No Country for Old Men, but it will never be their most beloved movie. That would be the decidedly offbeat comedy released to general box office indifference ten years ago this month: The Big Lebowski.

As one of seven Americans to not only see Lebowski during its original theatrical run but to love it immediately, I've always been both baffled and delighted by the movie's ascension to the top of the "most quoted" heap, let alone its Star Trek-like success in the realm of fan conventions. Writing in Entertainment Weekly, Dude-alike Clark Collins offers his own perspective of the cult of Lebowski. "Ten years ago, I too was an unmarried, beer-gutted, long-haired, crappy-car-owning, Bob Dylan-loving hippie type. Moreover, like the Dude, I wasn't technically employed… I didn't appreciate being compared to the Dude. I was not some feckless, zonked-out waster. I was writing a novel — or I would be, just as soon as I finished putting my Dylan records in chronological order. Moreover, and it almost physically hurts to admit this, I didn't think the film was very funny at the time. I thought it was kind of stupid. Many seemed to agree. Critical reaction to the The Big Lebowski was mixed, and the film grossed just $17 million domestically, significantly less than the Coens' previous movie Fargo."

Like so many others, however, Collins was won over by repeated viewings of Lebowski on DVD. Not everyone went as far as Will Russell and Scott Shuffitt, who launched the "1st Annual Big Lebowski What-Have-You Fest" in 2002, but as Collins notes, there can be unforeseen advantages to being intimately familiar with the Dude and his ways. "Knowledge of the movie can even help your employment prospects. One of my friends actually got hired for a job after noting that there seemed to be ‘a lot of ins, a lot of outs, a lot of what-have-yous' involved in the position. (His interviewer turned out to be a fellow fan of the movie.)"

Those wishing to celebrate a decade of Dudeness have several options. You can pick up a copy of the book I'm a Lebowski, You're a Lebowski: Life, The Big Lebowski, and What Have You, which Russell and Shuffit have written with Bill Green and Ben Peskoe. Los Angeles residents can catch an anniversary screening on March 29 at the Egyptian. And the Alamo Drafthouse will be screening the movie on March 28 at the Dart Bowl in Austin; admission gets you a free game, shoes and even a complimentary White Russian. (The 28th is a Friday, by the way, so no need to worry if you don't roll on Shabbos.)

DVD Digest for March 18, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 14:00:00 GMT

This week, a memorable trio of new Criterions shares a release date with three of the most critically lambasted films of 2007. Who will prevail?

DVD of the Week: In the past decade, the suburban-dysfunction genre has had a lot to answer for, not least the seemingly endless string of glib American Beauty clones full of easy laughs and cheap stabs at profundity. But The Ice Storm shouldn't be held accountable for this- an uncommonly sensitive take on similar material, Ang Lee's adaptation of Rick Moody's novel ventures into uncomfortable corners of the bourgeois lifestyle without softening them with irony. Lee's film also boasted a cast that if anything is more impressive now than it was then, given the subsequent careers of then-newcomers Tobey Maguire and Katie Holmes, as well as former child stars Elijah Wood and Christina Ricci. Criterion's new two-disc set features commentary from Lee and writer/producer James Schamus, interviews with Moody and many of the film's stars, and much more, plus it promises to make Frederick Elmes' cold, wet cinematography look particularly gorgeous. It's the perfect opportunity to revisit a film that warrants a second look.

Also this week, Criterion brings us two films that are new to DVD, Alberto Lattuada's Mafioso and Hiroshi Teshigahara's documentary Antonio Gaudi. Not having seen either of these films I can't pass judgment on them, but I'm glad Criterion has seen fit to give them the best treatment possible, particularly Teshigahara's film, the latest effort on their part to celebrate his often-overlooked career.

Recent releases coming to DVD include: Joe Wright's Oscar-nominated Atonement (Universal), the kid-friendly princess comedy Enchanted (Disney, also Blu-Ray), the surprisingly good I Am Legend (Warner, also Blu-Ray), Fox's failed attempt at a Potter-like franchise The Seeker: The Dark Is Rising, and the aforementioned trio of critically-drubbed films, Love in the Time of Cholera (New Line), Revolver (Sony), and Southland Tales.

New TV on DVD includes Volume 1 of the 2007 reboot of The Bionic Woman (Universal) and Season 8 of Married... with Children (Sony). That's a strange juxtaposition of flashy action and soundstage-bound low comedy, but then when it comes to television, you can't have one without the other.

Also of note is MGM's trio of new DVD editions of baseball-themed movies to get viewers geared up for Opening Day: Bull Durham, Eight Men Out, and Pride of the Yankees. Indeed, these new editions appear to be geared more toward baseball fans than movie lovers, as they're chock full of baseball-themed extras, particularly the Curt Schilling-heavy Pride of the Yankees platter.

Finally, we bring you yet another edition of the ever popular Huddleston Corner. This week, we're offering shout-outs to two new HD-DVD releases, Atonement (Universal) and Justice League: The New Frontier (Warner). However, Mr. Huddleston would like to inform you that he doesn't know how many more condolences he has left in him, and he hopes that the bums companies who are still stuck on HD-DVD will get their acts together soon.

DVD Digest for March 4, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 15:00:00 GMT

After last week's release of the mammoth Criterion four-disc set of The Last Emperor, it was sort of inevitable that this week would be something of a letdown. Still, this week has a number of worthy releases it can call its own.

DVD of the Week: One of the most thought-provoking documentaries of 2007, Amir Bar-Lev's My Kid Could Paint That (Sony) tells the story of little Marla Olmstead, a four-year-old girl whose paintings won her acclaim as a modern-art prodigy until a segment on 60 Minutes II cast doubt on her authorship of the works. What began as a human-interest story about a little girl who enjoyed painting and turned out to be surprisingly good at it becomes a hornet's nest of issues — everything from how much of the value of art comes from the story behind it to the concept of modern art itself. Most relevantly, Bar-Lev takes the role of the media in building people up only to tear them down again, even addressing his own complicity in this process. Most impressively, the film does all this — and more besides — all in the course of eighty-three minutes. Also included on the DVD are an audio commentary with the director as well as several documentaries, one about the film, and the other featuring an interview with New York Times art critic Michael Kimmelman. A must-see for anyone interested in art or documentary filmmaking.

Other new releases coming to DVD this week include: Sean Penn's Oscar-snubbed Into the Wild (Paramount); Zack Helm's Roald Dahl ripoff homage Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium (Fox); Susanne Bier's melodrama Things We Lost in the Fire (Dreamworks), which boasts a fine Benicio Del Toro lead performance; and of course Steven Seagal's latest direct-to-DVD release, Pistol Whipped (Sony). Keep your eyes peeled to Vern's site for his no doubt imminent review. Also, for anime fans, this week brings the R1 release of the Japanese animated series Blood+ Part 1 (Sony), comprising the first twenty-five episodes of the series, as well as Blood+ Volume 1 (Sony), which only includes the first five episodes.

On the classics front, the most notable release is TCM Archives: Forbidden Hollywood Volume 2, a three-disc set that includes five pre-Code classics — The Divorcee (1929), A Free Soul (1931), Three on a Match (1932), Female (1933), and Night Nurse (1931) — accompanied by a new TCM documentary about pre-Code Hollywood. This week also sees the release of new editions of 101 Dalmatians (Disney), 12 Angry Men (MGM), and Mrs. Doubtfire (Fox), as well as Magnum P.I. Season 8 (Universal), and Blu-Ray-only releases of Ice Age (Fox) and 2002's The Rookie (Disney).

Finally, back by popular demand is this week's Huddleston Corner, in which we spotlight films being released in the soon-to-be-defunct HD-DVD format. This week's new HD releases:
Into the Wild (Paramount)
No Reservations (Warner)
Things We Lost in the Fire (Dreamworks)

Condolences!

DVD Digest for February 26, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 15:00:00 GMT

As the dust begins to settle on this year's Oscar winners, this week's DVD Digest looks back at, among other releases, a super-deluxe special edition of the Best Picture winner of two decades ago.

DVD of the Week: What else could it be but Criterion's new edition of Bernardo Bertolucci's 1987 Oscar winner The Last Emperor? The fact that the film is back in print on DVD is cause enough for celebration, but that Criterion is issuing the film in a FOUR-DISC special edition is particularly wonderful. Chock full of interviews, documentaries, essays, and multiple cuts of the film, Bertolucci's majestic Best Picture winner is finally getting the DVD it deserves. The only drawback is that the transfer, supervised by Emperor cinematographer Vittorio Storaro, is in Storaro's favored aspect ratio of 2:1. As with the latest release of Apocalypse Now, Storaro has insisted on this new "compromise" aspect ratio for his films, which satisfies his own concerns but sacrifices a noticeable amount from the periphery of the image. I can understand Criterion giving in to Storaro's demands in this respect, but I do wish they could have found a way to release the film as originally photographed, so we can better appreciate the exquisite framing of the film. But I suppose this is quibbling — Criterion's The Last Emperor is surely the year's first must-buy DVD.

New releases coming to DVD include: Robert Zemeckis' Beowulf (Paramount), also being released in a "Director's Cut" that no doubt has more blood and nudity; David Slade's vampire thriller 30 Days of Night (Sony, also Blu-Ray); Wes Anderson's somewhat disappointing The Darjeeling Limited (Fox), the first of his films since Bottle Rocket not released by Criterion; and forgotten arthouse offerings Goya's Ghosts (Sony), Silk (New Line), and Slipstream (Sony).

In addition, this week sees the release of Warner's The Smurfs Season 1, Volume 1, Paramount's The Fugitive Season 1, Volume 2, and the direct-to-DVD animated feature Justice League: The New Frontier (Warner, also Blu-Ray).

Finally, the doomed HD-DVD format angrily but impotently shakes its fist at the marketplace with three new releases: Paramount's Beowulf and Warner's The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford and The Brave One. Now, I don't own an HD player or a Blu-Ray player so I don't have an opinion on their relative merits. However, despite not having a horse in the race, I can't help but think of David Huddleston behind a desk, screaming at the rapidly-disappearing HD-DVD format. Perhaps he'd yell out, "Condolences!", although I reckon "the goddamn plane has crashed into the mountain!" would be just as appropriate. Or maybe that's just the White Russian talking...

"Surf's Up": Like "Big Wednesday" but with Feathers

Phil Nugent — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 18:00:00 GMT

It's often the case that, come Oscar time, a long-shot candidate for glory attracts a small but passionate cult of die-hards clamoring that attention must be paid. This year, that lucky duck is Surf's Up, which is nominated for Best Animated Feature, where it is scheduled to be steamrollered by Ratatouille when the awards are announced this coming Sunday. Surf's Up, which is set among a tribe of surfboarding penguins, and which features voice work by Shia LaBoef, Jeff Bridges, Zooey Deschanel, and James Woods, has already been through one trial of fire last week, at the annual "Annie Awards", celebrating the best in animation in film and television. Although Ratatouille easily dominated that event, Surf's Up did take home two of the smaller prizes, which is more than fellow nominees Persepolis, The Simpsons Movie and Shrek the Third were able to manage. Not too shabby for a box-office disappointment that was widely dismissed as a rider in Happy Feet's tail wind.

As Joel Sappell reports in the Los Angeles Times, the secret to the movie's cult success lies in its having been embraced by the surfing community. "The lead wave animator is a hard-core surfer, as is the film's editor. Recruited as consultants were surfing greats Kelly Slater and Rob Machado, who later gave voice to a couple of penguin sports commentators of the same names and general appearance." The movie also kids the often rocky romance between Hollywood and surf culture with an opening that parodies surfing documentaries such as the Endless Summer films and Riding Giants. The mockery is undercut, though, by a full embrace of the same natural wonders that those docs trance out on. Or, as Sony Entertainment Chief Amy Paschal puts it, "The water is amazing." It is indeed. "Initially," Sappell writes, "the sport was simply a backdrop for a "very cartoony" love story between two penguins living on a tropical island, says producer Chris Jenkins, who, as an animator, specialized in ocean scenes. Jenkins says the more he learned about the spiritual nature of surfing, the more potential he saw for a film with deeper meanings and metaphors." It was a peek at the animated water imagery that sucked in Jeff Bridges: "You look at it and go, 'I know this isn't a photograph, but it looks so damn real.' They showed me those waves, and I got hooked." Bridges' presence on the soundtrack is the movie's ace in the hole in more ways than one: not only is the actor a veteran wave rider whose name gives a project like this credibility, but it enabled him to revive, in all but name and species, the spirit of one of his most beloved characters, the Dude from The Big Lebowski. (Once you recignize that it's Bridges' voice emanating from the legendary surfing bird Big Z, it's hard not to picture the actor recording his lines while poured into a chair and wearing his bathrobe.) Once it was decided to make a movie that would serve as an ode to surfing rather than a cheap joke at its expense, everyone got into the spirit and went all out: "On one occasion, Quiksilver Entertainment, a partner in the film, supplied a surfer to show animators what it's like to nearly drown under a churning mountain of water. 'He was a writhing ball on the floor," says Jenkins. "You absorb moments like that.'" Though Surf's Up is still a dark horse in the Oscar race, the attention it's gotten from the Academy, and from the beach crowd, is a major consolation to the animators who were royally bummed by its failure to smash box office records last summer. Now, maybe if it's cult continues to grow, I can go on eBay and finally unload some of these Slurpee cups.

No, But I've Read The Movie: THE BIG SLEEP

Leonard Pierce — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 21:00:00 GMT

It's almost hard to believe that Raymond Chandler's novel The Big Sleep — which featured the first appearance of quintessential hard-boiled private detective Philip Marlowe — and Howard Hawks' hugely celebrated film adaptation — appeared within a mere six years of one another. So hugely has the cultural landscape been shaped by the twin conceptions of the private eye, so resonant have both versions of the story proven over the decades, so incredibly influential have both Big Sleeps beein to film and literature that you might almost imagine the book was some sort of ur-text penned around the same time as the epic of Gilgamesh. But in fact, when Chandler wrote what many consider to be his greatest work, it was very much in the pulp milieu at a time when that carried no hint of respectability. It was later generations of critics who would rightly elevate Chandler from his pulpy surroundings into his rightful place in the upper eschelons of American writers; in 1939, when it was written, it was a popular entertainment and nothing more. No one much realized at the time that they were witnessing the making of an American classic, the early shadings of film noir or the creation of something that would become like a second literary language to generations of writers. The book would be filmed twice, in 1946 and 1978 (three times if you count the Coen Brothers' delightful, if not entirely canonical, updating of the story as The Big Lebowski); here we concern ourselves only with the Howard Hawks classic and not the well-intentioned but inferior remake starring Robert Mitchum. Like the book, the movie illustrated that however humble the origins of a story, it could be elevated to the ranks of high art by placing someone at the helm who was supremely interested in his craft and determined to make the most out of what he chose to work with. In a rare feat for literary adaptations, both the source novel and the film adaptation are masterpieces. Here's why.

WHAT IT HAD: Everything. With Howard Hawks in the directing chair, William Faulkner handling the lion's share of the script, and the hugely popular duo of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in the leads, the first film version of The Big Sleep was pretty well destined to be a classic, and it comes through on almost every conceivable level. I've written elsewhere about how the film's conception of Philip Marlowe is uniquely great, thanks to the disparate but complimentary influences of the men who created him. The film is also paced like liquid mercury, gorgeously costumed and set, cleverly written, beautifully filmed, and simply a pleasure to watch in every way.

WHAT IT LACKED: Not much. There are two versions of the film floating around (both of which are included on the popular DVD release), and the earlier 1945 version is somewhat lacking when compared to the 1946 recut; it's not quite as well-paced. Despite the terrific dialogue, the movie lacks Chandler's breathtaking prose, especially his phenomenal descriptive ability. The city of Los Angeles is a character in all of Chandler's best work, and the fact that the movie was made on sets and back lots instead of with location filming hurts it somewhat, but much care is taken with the sets to make them as evocative of Chandler's L.A. as possible. And sure, the plot is confusing to the point of being impenetrable, but so was the book — legend has it that Chandler himself didn't know who killed Owen Taylor.

DID IT SUCCEED?: Without question. The movie and the book of The Big Sleep are both undeniable classics, which is rare enough, but even rarer is the fact that they're both classics for pretty much the same reasons: scintillating dialogue, strong central characters, intriguing support roles, evocative situations, and a highly trained professional eye envisioning it all for us. Though Chandler didn't have a hand in writing the film, his book was brought to the screen by people who understood and appreciated his vision and his style, and it shows through in every frame. What was taken out was the bare minimum needed for time constraints and other practical reasons; what was added did no harm to the book. It's one of the very few examples in the history of film of such a harmonoius match-up of source material and adaptation, and that's why it's one of the greatest films of all time.

Take Five: Taxi!

Leonard Pierce — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 22:00:00 GMT

We were looking forward to, in light of the Friday premiere of Teeth, bringing you a Take Five featuring nothing but movies featuring a vagina dentata. Unfortunately, the search for five such films proved rather, well, unsettling. So instead, you get this list, about taxicabs. Why taxicabs? Because this Friday also brings us the debut, in New York and L.A., of Taxi to the Dark Side, a new film from Alex Gibney, the prolific documentarian who also brought us Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, No End in Sight, and Who Killed the Electric Car?. His new effort focuses on the dismaying tale of an Afghani hack who was caught up — in error — in the U.S. anti-terrorist net, shedding yet another angle on the seemingly infinite human stories that can be found inside the confines of a taxi. Taxicabs and Hollywood films came into their own at about the same time, and ever since then, some of the most memorable scenes in cinema have involved having someone drive someone else around and urban area for cash. Taxi to the Dark Side, like most things involving the terror war, is likely to be a bummer, so here's some further taxicab confessions to get you from point A to point B.

TAXI DRIVER (1976)

Well, you knew we were going here, didn't you? There's no more indelible vision of life behind the wheel of a cab than in Martin Scorsese's masterwork, one of the greatest screen treatments of alienation and unfocused rage ever captured. From the scenes of Travis Bickle's yellow cab emerging from New York steam-clouds to the look on his face as a murderous passenger (played by Scorsese in full mile-a-minute mode) spells out the grim fate that awaits his cheating wife to the final, anticlimactically calm chit-chat he shares with his fellow hacks after he's somehow emerged a hero from a maniacal bloodbath, Taxi Driver perfectly captures the banality of brutality that lurks on the mean streets of New York and only emerges in the scary moments of privacy that we think we share with cabbies. For an excellent companion piece to this essential American film, track down American Boy: A Profile of Steven Prince, a documentary biography Scorsese filmed at the same time of the unstable, hilarious, deranged young man who plays the gun dealer in Taxi Driver.

HEAVY METAL (1981)

Much as with the rest of the film, there are many levels at which you can appreciate the "Harry Canyon" segment of this legendary (or, rather, notorious) Canadian animated production based on a number of strips from the French-language fantasy comic anthology of the same name. You can enjoy the low-grade stunt casting of TV hack Richard Romano as futuristic New York City hack Harry Canyon. You can enjoy the attempt at animating the striking, ultra-detailed visual style of outstanding Spanish underground cartoonist Juan Giménez, and think of how much more enjoyable it would have been if the producers had more than $200 to spend on the segment. You can give yourself over to the goofball interpretation of 1940s noir dialogue set in the far future and written by a 1970s pseudo-hippie. And, believe it or not, you can actually appreciate one of the more interesting revisions of the cynical-cabbie-and-his-fare-on-the-lam. But honestly, we'd advise you to do what millions of other people have done when watching this movie: light up a fattie and wait for Harry to get it on with the hot alien chick.

D.C. CAB (1983)

Crap-movie auteur Joel Schumacher didn't just come out of nowhere. No, the man behind such memorably rotten movies as The Number 23, Batman & Robin and Dying Young has, in fact, been making unwatchable movies for three decades, and this was one of the first. Schumacher actually wrote this stinker as well, which delivers on the promise of its title by being set in Washington, D.C. and featuring taxicabs, but is somewhat of a letdown in other areas, such as its claim of being a 'comedy' despite having no jokes and its claim of featuring a 'cast' even though no one in it can act. Still, it's instructive to watch in order to see why Barney Miller's Max Gail didn't become a big movie star (answer: because he's a terrible actor), how many bad movies Bill Maher was in before he hit it big with his talk show (answer: fifty billion kazillion), why anyone ever thought that Adam Baldwin might have potential (answer: his brother Stephen made him look good by comparison), and what the eternal appeal of Mr. T is (answer: it's fun to watch him yell at people). A must-see, if your only other option is Batman & Robin.

NIGHT ON EARTH (1991)

One of Jim Jarmusch's most inconsistent films, but that's the nature of the beast: it's an episodic tale of five people in five different cities taking five different taxis to five different places for five different purposes, and the movie stands or falls by the strength of the performances and how deeply the viewer identifies with the characters in each segment. One of the problems with the film, and one reason why it enjoys a generally low critical opinion, is the 'lead' story, a cutesy and uncompelling bit of stunt casting with Winona Ryder (then Hollywood's It Girl) and a bored-looking Gena Rowlands. But the Helsinki segment is deeply affecting, one of the most moving stories the often ice-cool Jarmusch has ever delivered; the Rome segment features one of the last performances by Roberto Begnini that can't be described as insufferable; and the Paris segment is downright charming. All told, it's not a complete success, but it's a small and sometimes effective movie, one that perfectly captures the often-surreal interactions between driver and passenger familiar to anyone who spends a lot of time in taxis.

THE BIG LEBOWSKI (1998)

Okay, okay, we're cheating. There are a million other movies about taxicabs, and almost any of them would be a better fit on this list than The Big Lebowski. But dammit, it's one of our favorite movies all the same, and even though only about three of its 117-minute running time is spent in a taxicab (understandable, since it's set in modern-day Los Angeles, where everyone has their own car), for our money, it's the funniest three minutes in a cab ever captured on film. The miserable cab ride home from Malibu after mistreatment at the hands of the sheriff — and exacerbated by a cabbie (played by a furious Ajgie Kirkland) who insists on exposing him to the Eagles — is one of the most memorable scenes in a movie full of great, funny moments. And it's not just stuck in there, either; like many scenes in the Coen's delightfully flipped noir, it's an echo of The Big Sleep. In that unforgettable adaptation of Raymond Chandler's impenetrable detective yarn, Bogie (as Philip Marlowe) seduces a friendly cab driver while on his way to chasing down a lead; here, the Dude has no such luck, ending up by the side of the road with Don Henley ringing in his ears.

Face/Off: Fargo

Peter Smith — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 21:00:00 GMT

LEONARD PIERCE: Unlike our last Face/Off, when we discussed Children of Men (a film which you will be marrying next summer in a small private ceremony at the Film Forum, whereas I view it simply as the most overrated movie by one of the Three Amigos prior to the release of Pan's Labyrinth), today, we're going to talk about a movie we both really liked, albeit possibly for different reasons — Fargo by the Coen Brothers.

Specifically, we're going to talk about how the movie feels about Marge Gunderson, its main character and moral center. One of the most common critiques of the Coen Brothers as filmmakers is that, while they're technically gifted and skilled synthesists, they lack heart, soul and feeling — the humanistic qualities of the directors they choose to ape. I don't believe this is true, necessarily; while I don't think the Coens will ever be accused of Capraesque oversincerity, I think they believe, more or less, in the message as well as the medium. But I do think that the Coens are very cynical filmmakers, not calculating or phony, but with a pretty jaundiced view of humanity. I don't, in short, think they really like their characters very much.

I won't go as far as to say they hate Marge Gunderson; she is clearly a decent human being for the most part, and they don't reserve for her the contempt with which they treat Jerry Lundegaard, who doesn't even have the courage to be a bad man, or Wade Gustafson, who treats the kidnapping of his daughter like a business deal only he is competent enough to close on. But I think Marge is meant to be yet another manifestation of the dull, unimaginative "Minnesota nice" of their childhood, which they sought to exorcise in Fargo just as surely as Todd Haynes did the wealthy Southern California of his youth in Safe. There are a number of scenes in which the film's attitude towards Marge peeks out: her choice of cuisine, her reaction to Mike Yanagita, her small pleasures and simple dreams, her "police work" which so impresses Deputy Lou but which is strictly small-town. But nowhere is it more apparent than in the final scene with the blank-faced killer Gaear Grimsrud: with the murderer, captured through little more than luck, sulking in the back seat of her prowler, Marge counts down a list (incomplete, as it happens) of everyone who has died because of his crimes. "And for what?" she asks of this Nordic hulk, so far removed from her world of Arby's and postage stamps. "For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don't you know that? And here you are, and it's a beautiful day. Well, I just don't understand it."

Indeed she doesn't. She doesn't understand it, and she probably never will. We aren't privy to the decision-making process that led someone as cloistered as Marge Gunderson to become a law enforcement agent in the first place, but her befuddlement — almost irritation — at being exposed to the ugly reality that the police must often face is less sadness than it is annoyance. We see here what we glimpsed in the scene with Mike Yanagita: Marge doesn't like being out of her comfort zone. She wants a quiet little life of sameness and simplicity, and her reaction to Gaear Grimsrud isn't one of moral outrage; when she encounters the first crime scene (which, it's easy to forget, begins with the murder of a fellow officer), she treats it with all the gravity she would a stolen bicycle.

Does this make her a bad person? Certainly not. In fact, it's perfectly normal — which is, in fact, the point. Marge isn't a heroine. She isn't a special person at all. She's resolutely normal, bland: boring. She is a very conventional, and in some ways small, woman who we are tricked into thinking is exceptional because her banality is on a different moral level than that of the other banal characters in the film. She is not someone who grows over the course of the film, who develops or transcends — and that is perhaps the greatest reason to believe that the film doesn't think much of her. The Coens, as they are about most things, have been tight-lipped about this, aside from their usual talk of how they don't seek to cause the same sort of reactions in their audience that most actors do, or how people react badly to films where the main character isn't "sympathetic in a Hollywood formula way." But the evidence is there on the screen for those who care to look for it.

And now, you will tell me why I have my head up my ass. (I trust you won't take the tack of a friend of mine, who insisted the Coens must have thought highly of Marge, since Joel Coen wouldn't have cast his wife in an unsympathetic role. I figure he must never have seen Raising Arizona.)

PHIL NUGENT: Leonard, first, let me just say that I would never imply that you have your head up your ass because of your take on Marge Gunderson. However, your suggestion that Pan's Labyrinth is overrated proves that you need professional help. I actually like the idea that Marge is sort of the butt of the movie. So far as theories that seem to me to be unsupported by the movies themselves, it may be second only to the idea that everything that happens in Minority Report after Tom Cruise is locked away in suspended animation is his dream of the what should happen while he actually remains locked away and unavenged. The fact that I have trouble buying it has nothing to do with any deep attachment I have to the idea of Marge Gunderson, Superstar. Rather, it's about what kind of filmmakers the Coens are. I wonder if, maybe out of some insistence on seeing Fargo as a hipper or more complex movie than it really is, you might not be overthinking this a little. Me, I tend to think of the Coens as surface guys who put an incredible amount of conscious planning into the physical details of their movies, and who are inhumanly aware of how they expect both critics and audiences to respond to their cleverness. It might sound as if I'm one of those people who sometimes badmouth the Coens for being 'merely' clever, but cleverness is something I'm all for; at the very least, it sure beats lack of imagination. But I do think that these guys have traditionally done their best work as flashy, surreal comedians — cartoonists, in fact — in such films as Raising Arizona, The Big Lebowski, O Brother, Where Art Thou? and the underrated Intolerable Cruelty, which is the one movie where I think they actually achieved satire, a sometimes ruthlessly biting satire on the possibility that genuine romantic love might not exist as anything more than a crippling delusion. Fargo is a smart, impressive movie, but it is also a movie outside what I think of as their best range, and a movie that I think they made for the outside world, a movie pitched at the mainstream. I think that it was built to serve two purposes. One was to save their career after The Hudsucker Proxy, a movie closer to their best range, and a movie altogether less successful in every way than Fargo but, overall, I think, more interesting. It features several amazing set pieces that could only have been the work of the Coens, tucked inside a structure that's a bit of a train wreck. I don't think there's any question that Fargo was successful in that and its other goal, which was to give Frances MacDormand a juicy sort-of-leading role that would make her beloved, win her some great reviews and maybe an award or two, and take her career to another level, as a much-sought-after character lead just when she was about to reach an age when good actresses who haven't achieved more than McDormand had achieved before Fargo start to find themselves dropping off the map.

This may sound a little cold, and a lot less cool than the idea that the Coens made the movie to dump on the boring "ordinariness" of the frozen Midwest, but the Coens are very smart guys, who understand the movie business very well, and I see no reason why they shouldn't take these kind of calculations into effect while making the best movie they can, within the terms they set. After all, if they hadn't had their big mainstream success with Fargo they wouldn't have been able to make my beloved The Big Lebowski —a movie that, long before it was enshrined as an acknowledged modern classic, was initially written off as a disappointment by people like The New Yorker's Daphne Merkin because it lacked the "heart" that so many detected in Fargo. That heart pretty much comes down to McDormand, and while it was be a delicious joke if it was something that the squares were projecting onto a blank screen, I do think that the Coens mean for us to find it there, to the extremely limited degree that they mean to instill some kind of feeling in their work at all. Looking at the bill of indictment — all the specifics you cite as reason for judging Marge as, not even a "bad person" but disappointingly "ordinary" — I can't say that it seems like much of a put-down portrait to me. Is it really such a dreary thing for someone to say that they can't understand why somebody, even Peter Stormare, would kill a woman and feed someone, even Steve Buscemi, into a wood chipper? Or that, whether or not they understand this werewolf, they brought him in partly through luck? So long as he's not standing in line behind me at Wendy's, I'd be delighted if he were locked up based on a tip some cop read in his horoscope that morning. No, she doesn't like to be taken out of her comfort zone, but who does? (Extreme sports athletes and professional mercenaries may lead more physically exciting lives than some of us, but talk to some of them for five minutes and you may conclude that, rather than being driven by some wild man need to test themselves, some people just happen to have a comfort zone that includes traveling upside-down through the air at great speeds or being shot at by the last defenders of the presidential palace.)

For all her "ordinariness," Marge still manages to slap the cuffs on Dracula, and she does it while hugely pregnant and while being as gentle as possible with the crazy man in the restaurant and offering tender moral support to her husband, played by the actor who David Fincher recently fingered as the Zodiac killer. The movie gives her a well-timed entrance — we don't get to meet her until after the action has already reached a level of cutthroat scuzziness that encourages the audience to cling to her as a welcome, warm rock — and if she doesn't come across as Sherlock Holmes at first glance, by the end she seems to be solidly in the familiar mold of fictional detectives who use a mask of thick-witted blandness to throw their prey off the scent, and also to make it that much more satisfying to the audience when justice triumphs and the unassuming flatfoot proves his, or her, mettle. More than anything, though, I do think that Marge is shaped so that McDormand can win over the audience and walk off with the movie. Sure, the Coens could write an unflattering role for her; they did it years later in The Man Who Wasn't There, after this movie had done its job and McDormand, her career securely on the upswing, must have gotten a kick out of playing a femme fatale. But as Marge, she's allowed to envelope the character in a homey glow that I don't think the Coens would have tolerated if they meant for the character to inspire anything but uncomplicated love in the viewer. Ordinary, maybe. But definitely special.

LEONARD PIERCE: Like Hannibal Lecter, I must begin with first principles: if Marge Gunderson isn't the butt of Fargo, then who is? Carl Showalter? Shep Proudfoot? The Coens aren't above making even the most seemingly sympathetic characters in their films the targets of their sharpest barbs (or the least sympathetic the subject of unusual tenderness or depth — witness McDormand's role in The Man Who Wasn't There, or for a real treat, ask me about my pet theory that Eddie Dane is the moral center of Miller's Crossing.)

As for the question of what kind of filmmakers the Coens are, that's a bit beyond our jurisdiction here, but you're right that it's a central component of how to read the character of Marge Gunderson. I agree that they put tremendous amounts of planning and detail-work into their films, and that they're hyper-aware of the reaction they're likely to get from their audience — but to me, this argues in favor of my point, and against the idea that I'm reading to much into the depiction of Marge. The Coens are amongst the most economic filmmakers I can think of; at their best, hardly a frame is wasted. It's hard for me to believe that these little moments where Marge Gunderson comes across as small or unsympathetic are accidental, given the care with which her creators have approached everything else they've ever done.

Beyond that, it's hardly a secret that the Coens like fucking with their audiences, whether that means moviegoers or critics or even studio executives (for a sterling example of this, check out the uncomprehending foreword to the published screenplay of The Hudsucker Proxy, by a clueless producer who laments the deranged casting choices offered up by the brothers, clearly not realizing he was being had). Fargo is rife with this sort of thing from its very conception — it goes out of its way to draw attention right off the bat to its alleged based-on-a-true-story nature, after which it presents us with a story that is clearly anything but true. Given the level of high-stakes game-playing Joel and Ethan Coen have engaged in before, it doesn't strike me as implausible that Marge Gunderson was meant to be something more than Oscar bait, career padding, or a warm-gooey-nougat-center of "uncomplicated love" for the mainstream audience to chew on.

And while I've tried to keep this discussion civil, by gad, sir, I will not have my sanity called into question by a man who calls Intolerable Cruelty underrated.

PHIL NUGENT: I don't know that I can discuss something like this without addressing what kinds of filmmakers the Coens are. And despite your saying that the topic is "outside our jurisdiction," I think you're making your own assumptions about that when you ask who, if not Marge, is the butt of Fargo. If the film were credited to someone less famed for being knowing and sarcastic, you might not approach it with the sense that it must be meant as a joke at somebody's expense. Because the Coens are hip, it might seem fair to assume that they must be inclined to stick it to the most unhip person on the screen.

But working in the movie industry does strange things to you, especially if you're intelligent enough, as the Coens surely are, to be appalled by how much intelligence and skill go into shaping formula crap aimed at the lowest common denominator. And if you look at the Coens' work as a whole, it seems clear to me that they've never reserved their greatest contempt for well-meaning, good-hearted dummies: time and time again, in Raising Arizona and The Hudsucker Proxy and O Brother Where Art Thou? and, yes, Fargo, that's the model for their heroes. With all due respect for your weird man-crush on the Dane, I think the most likable character in Miller's Crossing is the Albert Finney character, who thinks he's on top of things but who doesn't really know the score and has to be protected by the friend who's cuckolding him with his fiancée. Even Jeff Lebowski, a verbally adroit hero who has his erudite moments and has inspired something of a minor philosophic movement, appears to have read great swatches of his how-to-be-a-detective manual with the book held upside-down.

So who, traditionally, have the Coens had it in for? From the start, guys who think they're smart but have no moral compass, like M. Emmet Walsh and Dan Hedaya in Blood Simple, and Billy Bob Thornton and his pretentious windbag lawyer in The Man Who Wasn't There, and just about all the important male characters in Fargo, who at their most advanced suggest some exotic form of insect life. The all-time champion whipping boy for the Coens, even more than the William H. Macy character here who shrieks and whimpers when prevented from escaping through the bathroom window while in his underwear, may be Barton Fink, the self admiring blocked playwright who doesn't listen, who lacks the professional discipline to hack out a B-movie script, and who in the end is denied even the minor dignity that might have come with being a true victim: instead, his uselessness may have inspired the aggrieved representative of dark forces to murder his family, just to get his attention. I don't think this is the kind of cynical, sucking-up to the 'average people' in the mass audience that you see in a shitheap like Forrest Gump. Coming from guys who have had to deal with charges of being 'merely clever' since they first emerged as filmmakers in their late twenties, it smacks of self-examination, and it may be the single most striking and attractive thing I know about the Coens.

The Coens, indefatigable entertainers and reflexive smart-asses that they are, may have laid the tracks for people to suspect that Marge can't be meant to be taken straight by setting her down in a Middle America snowscape where people talk as if they're making fun of the guys in Pepperidge Farms commercials, and I think that they may have intended a corrective to that in No Country for Old Men, where a guy who's not as smart as he thinks he is but who's basically decent is pitted against an abomination, with a guy who's thoroughly decent but not as quick as he used to be as moral referee, in a Texas that never threatens to turn into Blood Simple/Raising Arizona-ville. Fargo is probably still the Coens' biggest mainstream success — however well No Country does on the year-end critics' lists, I suspect it's too cold to supplant or even join the earlier film in the popular consciousness — and that means that its fan base includes a lot of people who the Coens' real fans must hate to find themselves agreeing with about anything. It may be hard for us to believe that guys like this could come up with someone like Marge — good, competent, caring, and utterly, conventionally square — without intending for her to be snickered at. But maybe that says more about us than it does about them.

Hair Today, Coen Tomorrow

Peter Smith — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 19:00:00 GMT

After largely triumphant tour of the festival circuit — it premiered at Cannes last spring and recently played at the New York Film Festival — the Coen brothers' No Country for Old Men has now started trickling into commercial theaters. With a cast headed by Tommy Lee Jones and Javier Bardem, adapted from a Cormac McCarthy novel, and widely hailed as a "return to form" for the Coens after a couple of poorly received comedies (the doomed remake of The Ladykillers and the sharp, cruelly underappreciated Intolerable Cruelty) the picture does not lack for talent, cultural cachet, and the news hook. Yet from the very first reports from Cannes, one detail has tended to dominate the coverage: the hair helmet that Bardem sports in his role as the borderlands Terminator, Anton Chigurh. The first notices the movie received simply described it as a "pageboy haircut", which is accurate enough but fails the convey the full, shocking impact of the sight of the thing.

But the people who've been waiting these past months for the movie to open so they could weigh in on it have no intention of being left out. Paste magazine calls the character "splendidly coiffed", but that's either sarcasm or the minority opinion weighing in. More typically, Dana Stevens of Slate calls him "a bob-haired golem," while Jan Stuart of Newsday refers to his "forklift mop of hair." Stephen Hunter of the Washington Post, Keith Phipps of the Onion AV Club, and David Edelstein of New York magazine have all invoked Prince Valiant, but Salon's Andrew O'Hehir thought Bardem looked more like Ringo Starr. In the Village Voice, Scott Foundas invoked Cousin Itt. (New York Times reviewer A. O. Scott, a man with a literary background who understands the value of understatement, simply described Chigurh as "a deadpan sociopath with a funny haircut.")

This is hardly the first time that a Coen brothers movie has attracted attention of a tonsorial nature. The corny-surreal tone of Raising Arizona was quickly established by Nicolas Cage's haircut, which suggested an attempted imitation of Kevin Bacon's tastefully spiky 'do as executed by an epileptic barber with the blind staggers. As the title character of Barton Fink, a leftist playwright who seemed to be a cartoon of Clifford Odets, John Turturro wore a pop-top hairdo that actually made him look more like George S. Kauffman by way of Eraserhead. We may never know for sure whether this was a deliberate attempt to make the Odets-like character seem more "universal" or if the hairdresser on the picture was working from a miscaptioned photograph. In The Big Lebowski, all the political and cultural battles of the 1960s seemed to have come down, decades later, to an uneasy truce between Jeff Bridges' hippie-burnout look and the squared-off cropping of Walter, the reactionary Vietnam vet played by John Goodman [and inspired by John Milius! — ed.], who looks like a cinder block wearing tinted shades. "I'm a hair actor and proud of it!" George Clooney once insisted, and maybe the Coens wish there were more performers out there willing to define their characters somewhere above their eyebrows. After all, it was the Coens who, in O Brother Where Art Thou?, established that George Clooney isn't just a fine actor, a major star, and the unashamed voice of show business liberalism: he's a Dapper Dan man! — Phil Nugent