Netflixed: Express yourself, but where?
Weekend (Andrew Haigh, 2011): Frank talk about the act of sex, attraction and some repulsion, desire and some disgust. The value of speech is driven home by contrasts with the censoring, heteronormative exterior world. Haigh shoots intimately or clinically as required — or both in a late scene at a train station (of course there’s a late scene at a train station). His ability to get close without intruding lets Tom Cullen and Chris New become the physically and emotionally tenderest of weekend lovers.
Bill Cunningham New York (Richard Press, 2010): (i) Apparently the economics of integrity used to be different: it was possible for a photojournalist in the Eighties to turn down money? (ii) Cunningham’s obsession with his work at the expense of all else is presently without judgement, yet the very fact they made this movie makes it attractive. (iii) Much is made of his attention to different social strata, yet the egalitarian among us might wonder if the socialites are dressed well enough to deserve the attention. (iv) Cunningham’s documentation of Manhattan street fashion is an exceptional life project, though trend-spotting is ultimately a blow against his stated appreciation of individualism.
Source Code (Duncan Jones, 2011): Doesn’t begin to dig into the metaphysical implications of its branching-universe premise, but sometimes cleverness is enough. Inevitable video game analogy: It doesn’t matter how many times you die, as long as you beat the game once (though that still requires beating the game). Jake Gyllenhaal is good at being confused.
The Eagle (Kevin Macdonald, 2011): Even though this is based on a novel and all, the plot still feels like filler between fights. There must be more efficiently ways of conveying story essentials in action movies than, you know, scenes. Maybe text balloons saying “Roman with father issues”, “British but good”, or “Donald Sutherland, that’s Kiefer’s dad, kids”.
The Golden Child (Michael Ritchie, 1986): Respectful and moving account of a man coming to terms with his holy status. Wait, I fell asleep and dreamed I was watching Kundun. Well, that’s one way of escaping the pain of the objective world.
The Beaver (Jodie Foster, 2011): Foster directs using the American festival syntax. Mel Gibson walks aways from a dumpster (turn around), keeps walking (turn around already), keeps walking (TURN AROUND), then turns around and plucks out a beaver puppet. After some comic suicide attempts, the beaver takes over and turns the movie into look-at-me oddball mawk. Foster generously makes Gibson a real actor again, but nobody else comes off well.
