Category: Drama

MISHIMA: A LIFE IN FOUR CHAPTERS (1985)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Paul Schrader
CAST: Ken Ogata, and a host of Japanese actors unknown to me
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 79% Fresh

PLOT: Director Paul Schrader and executive producers George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola present a fictionalized account of the life and shocking death of celebrated Japanese writer Yukio Mishima.


It’s hard for me to know where to start with this review.  I had heard of Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters by reputation for years, mostly because of Roger Ebert’s rave review and also the film’s inclusion in the Criterion Collection AND in the invaluable compendium 1,001 Movies You Must See Before You Die (ed. Steven Jay Schneider).  I finally got a chance to watch Mishima recently, and in my opinion, if it does not quite succeed as Entertainment, I believe it is worthy of consideration as a genuinely artistic achievement.  Mishima is an elegant rebuttal to anyone who doesn’t believe cinema can be Art.

The lives of artists are notoriously difficult to translate to film, especially when it comes to the life of a writer.  Who wants to watch two hours of an author typing, in a fit of inspiration?  Paul Schrader came up with a rather brilliant method of getting over that hurdle by breaking up Mishima’s life story into four distinct acts, with each act featuring three separate storylines that coil around each other: the last day of Mishima’s life, flashbacks to Mishima’s earlier years, and scenes from his semi-autobiographical books that parallel events from those flashbacks.

If that sounds confusing, it’s not.  Each story thread has its own easily distinguishable color scheme.  If it’s black-and-white, it’s a flashback to Mishima’s real life.  If there is muted color and a mostly hand-held camera, we’re watching the events of his last day on earth.  If the colors are brilliant and saturated, we’re watching a scene from one his books.

What sets Mishima apart are those sequences featuring scenes from his books…and right about here is where my powers of description may fail me, but I’ll try anyway.)  It would be easy to just call them dreamlike, but that’s both true and reductive.  To me, they look like a cross-between highly stylized opera and a David Lynch film.  In the first segment, based on Mishima’s Temple of the Golden Pavilion, the set was built with lavish golden walls and accented with green lily pads, while the temple itself is a detailed miniature that at one point splits down the middle.  The second segment, based on Kyoko’s House, is awash in garish pink lights and walls (production designer and Oscar winner Eiko Ishioka describes the scene as being highly informed by American “bad taste”…trust me, she means it in a good way).  The third segment is only slightly more realistic than the first two, with breakaway walls, representational jail cells, and a ritual act that is echoed in Mishima’s real life.

Each segment is not just visually cool to look at; they are also extremely theatrical.  In one scene, we watch a wall get pulled away from a character lying on the ground, and we can clearly see the tracks on which the wall is rolling.  In another scene, a conversation at a roadside noodle stand is staged – literally on a stage – with the restaurant on a turntable turning clockwise, while groups of actors walk in a circle around the restaurant counter-clockwise.  The effect is both simple and convincing, despite its obvious theatricality. (In fact, the visual aspects of the film are solely responsible for taking this movie up from a “7” to an “8.”)

Those scenes by themselves are reason enough for me to recommend the film to viewers.  I am an unabashed fan of superhero films (the GOOD ones), but it seems as if we’re living in an age where, instead of finding different ways to tell the same story (which is bad enough), filmmakers are telling different stories, but doing it all the same way.  For example, I know, intellectually, that Black Widow and Shang-Chi were made by different directors, but is there anything in either movie that bears the imprint of their respective directors?  Nothing springs immediately to mind.  However, here is Mishima, a film that is nearly 40 years old, which may not feature countless CGI battles, but which gave me more visual surprises than any two Iron Man movies combined.  I don’t mean to pick on the MCU (which I do love, full disclosure), but you see what I’m saying.  It’s refreshing to come across a truly original work of art.

The film also asks some serious philosophical questions.  Throughout his life, Mishima believed in and advocated the bushido, which literally translates as “the way of the warrior.”  He was unashamedly right-wing, advocating the restoration of the Japanese Emperor to power, as opposed to Japan’s governmental policies of democracy and globalism.  In the film, he several times mentions “Harmony of Pen and Sword,” a philosophy in which one’s writings are nothing unless they are backed up by action.  Mishima espouses this belief so fiercely that he ruthlessly follows it to its logical conclusion in the closing passages of the film.

What is director Paul Schrader trying to tell us here?  Should we consider Mishima as a hero?  He is certainly one of Japan’s most famous and celebrated writers, but he remains controversial for his right-wing views.  (If you’re wondering how right-wing he was, in 1968 he wrote a play called “My Friend Hitler,” an event omitted from the film.)  Does Schrader consider him heroic for following through on his beliefs, even when it became, shall we say, EXTREMELY inconvenient for him to do so?

That could be one interpretation, but I don’t see it that way.  I came away from Mishima with the knowledge that, once, there lived a man who lived and died by a code.  I did not agree with his beliefs, but they were defiantly his, and no one could take that away from him.  I was reminded of one of my favorite lines from A Man for All Seasons: “But what matters to me is not whether it’s true or not, but that I believe it to be true, or rather not that I believe it, but that I believe it.”

At the end of the day, while I think Mishima’s moral stance was questionable, and while Mishima itself is less entertainment and more museum piece, the experience of watching Mishima was nevertheless time well spent, especially when considering the astonishing visuals.

(Oh, crap, I’ve gotten to the end of the review and just realized I never mentioned the phenomenal score by Philip Glass, parts of which are quoted at the finale of The Truman Show…if you’re a fan of the movie, you’ll know which parts I’m talking about.)

KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON

By Marc S. Sanders

Killers Of The Flower Moon reflects on a period in Oklahoma history that I imagine has hardly been told.  In the early 1920s, the Native American residents, consisting of four tribes, came into a blessing of wealth when oil was discovered on the land they occupied in Osage County.  Almost immediately, white folk from all over the country migrated to this area and built up an infrastructure of capitalism that included private practices, pool halls, movie houses, law enforcement, pharmaceuticals, and even cab drivers.  However, they didn’t want to just stop at developing the area.  They wanted to seize it and they proceeded to do so by wiping out the Native American residents.  Family lineages were all but erased as the whites married into the race and gradually found ways to kill and bring about surprising deaths that would ultimately allow them to legally inherit what was rightfully owned by the Indian people.

Director Martin Scorsese has introduced a new kind of historical education with a film that I believe will be my favorite picture of the year.  I was mesmerized by every photographic shot, closeup, edit, and musical accompaniment contained in this movie.  Everything works so well. 

Robert De Niro reunites with the director for the tenth time; an amazing legacy of a partnership spanning fifty years.  He portrays William “King” Hale.  King is a kindly old fellow on the surface, but his intelligence shows as he strategizes how to take over more and more of this area.  He oversees a control of the white gentlemen folk, leading them into quick marriages with the young women of the tribes.  From there, they have children and over time will gradually purify the bloodline.  It’s a ruthless and scheming tactic and it successfully works thanks to how taciturn Mr. Hale is.  De Niro might win his third Oscar for this role.  This character joins that exclusive fraternity of the best villains in cinematic history, ranking up there with The Wicked Witch, Harry Lime, Norman Bates, Darth Vader, Joker, Daniel Plainview and Hannibal Lecter.

Early on in the epic film, The King’s nephew, Ernest Burkart (Leonardo DiCaprio) has returned from the war to work under his uncle.  Ernest starts as a cab driver and meets Molly (Lily Gladstone), the Native American woman he will take as a bride and establish residence together.  DiCaprio does some of his best work following a very boastful career of roles.  He’s also sure to get at least an Oscar nomination.  This is already his sixth film with Scorsese.  Ernest is not very bright, but with The King’s guidance and instruction he’ll also come to own much of this territory.

Mysterious deaths of unexpected natures occur within the tribes of Osage County, particularly in Molly’s family.  Over the course of the film, one relative after another perishes until what’s left of her bloodline is practically only herself.  The children she bears are a mix of Molly and Ernest.  Molly knows something is amiss.  She is starting not to feel well, and her suspicions speak to her.  Others in the community are also suffering peculiar deaths following doctor’s visits or evenings of drunken binging.  An investigation is warranted before it becomes too late.

Lily Gladstone will become a surprise hit at Oscar time as well.  A breakthrough role where her feared silence and bravery matches well against the deceit emanating from the King and even the poorly hidden conniving of her husband Ernest.

Scorsese builds his film with suspense and shock.  A quiet beat of instrumental music haunts certain scenes.  Who will be the next target of the King’s bidding?  The King hides behind his empathy for loss by attending funeral services and allowing the survivors to cry into his shoulder.  On another side, he instructs Ernest to carry out an assignment to some flunky to make a murder appear like a suicide.  A shot in the back of the head will not send a convincing cause and effect though, and the King and Ernest must make up for that. 

The King is everyone’s friend in Osage County, but he’s also a puppet master Grim Reaper.  With the circular rim glasses that DeNiro wears along with his peaceful beige suits, it’s a wonder that this man is an executioner using the hands of others to carry out his bidding.  He dances in the middle of town during festive gatherings.  It even amuses the Sheriff’s office when he voluntarily offers himself up following a warrant for his arrest.  At the risk of getting politically sided, DeNiro was recently interviewed during a press junket for the film.  His animosity towards President Trump is no secret.  I was in the audience at Radio City Music Hall when he led a unified roar of “Fuck Trump” during the Tony Awards.  Still, the skilled actor said he used the enmity he harbors to his advantage for this role.  In the latter half of the film, William “The King” Hale preaches in a similar approach to Trump.  There are figures in our history who just know what buttons to push and absorb massive amounts of influence while earning respect through fear. 

Killers Of The Flower Moon covers a wide berth of its period in history.  Scorsese takes an inspired approach by cutting away on occasion with black and white footage and photographs of the Native Americans coming along with their good fortune and then on to how the white “immigrants” of this area enter this land and assume a daily life within the community, whether they were welcomed or not.  All is depicted from how Osage County quickly changed following the discovery of “black gold,” to how Ernest becomes wise to the advantages of power. 

Leonardo DiCaprio has a great undertaking.  Ernest is not very bright.  He can hardly read.  He’s not subtle with his approach like his uncle.  Yet, the actor maintains an expression of no choice to abide by but what he’s been told is right.  DiCaprio does this incredible expression with long frowned lips and a fat chin that stands out from beneath his nose.  It almost seems like a barrier to finding the humanity he may have once had when he was an infantryman fighting with the allies in Europe.  It is just a haunting performance.

The third act picks up with J Edgar Hoover’s newly established Bureau of Investigation entering the story to investigate the odd happenings in Osage.  Jesse Plemons again plays that guy that you have seen somewhere before.  Often, he occupies similar kinds of roles, and still, I like what he contributes to this picture as Investigator Tom White.  Screenwriter Eric Roth lends the character simple, plainly worded questions for Plemmons to work with and it seems to come off as nothing intimidating.  Rather, the presence of Tom White on Ernest’s doorstep, with Molly mysteriously sick in the bedroom, is enough to rattle Ernest, the King, and the whole county.

It’s no secret that Killers Of The Flower Moon has a long running time at nearly three and a half hours.  However, it is necessary.  This widespread crime is not done in just minutes.  How it is gradually orchestrated needs to be seen, followed by those that uncovered how sinister it became.  Then attention needs to be given to how biased the trials of Ernest and The King had become.  Men who conspired with the King and Ernest serve on the jury.  A lot of unfair wrongs occurred during this time spanning what I believe was at least a decade and a half. 

Roth and Scorsese bring the conclusion of the film with a welcome invention.  In a time where Netflix, Dateline, 20/20 and ABC News thrive off true life crime documentaries that become so addicting, the filmmakers resort to a radio show to sum up what happened to the main players of this devastating episode in twentieth century American history with the director making a cameo to offer his final words for the main victim of the piece, Molly Burkhart.  This bookend to the film has stayed with me since I finished watching the movie, and I applaud Scorsese and Roth for their execution.  Newsmakers of today go for the most sensationalized crimes that have occurred; the ones that leave the most shock and awe and even audaciousness.  What happened in Osage County is unforgivable.  Likely a genocide of bloodlines that were unjustly ceased so that what was rightfully theirs to own could be seized.

Killers Of The Flower Moon is a drama that had to be told because the motivations that led to the series of crimes happens not only to Native Americans, but to practically any other demographic across the globe.  This is a captivating story and one of the best films Martin Scorsese has ever made.

Again, this will likely be my favorite film of the year and Oscars are deserved for DeNiro, DiCaprio, Gladstone, Roth, Scorsese and for Best Picture of the Year. 

NOTE: As I watched this movie, I could not help but think of the film August: Osage County, the motion picture adapted from Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer Prize winning play.  There is one Native American character in the film who is hired to serve the white family living on a wide expanse of land in present day 2013 (2007 for the play).  The first time I watched the movie, I could not recognize the purpose of the character.  On a second viewing, following a conversation among the dysfunctional family of characters about Native Americans, it was much clearer.  Having now watched Scorsese’s film, this picture serves as a great companion piece to watch afterwards.  I’ll be directing a stage production of this soon and much of what I learned from both films will be incorporated into my interpretation.  Even the architectural designs of the homes in both films, interior and exterior, are uniquely similar. 

Look for my review of August: Osage County (featuring Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep) on this site as well.

CLOSER

By Marc S. Sanders

Mike Nichols is a director for those actors who really grind their teeth into the craft of performing with crackling dialogue.  Often, he goes for what makes a person drive awkwardness into a moment.   Equally he focuses on those folk who sustain the discomfort so apparent in a room.  Prime examples are his classic films Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate.  There’s even some of instances in his slap happy comedy, The Birdcage. Towards the end of his career, Nichols adapted Patrick Marber’s biting play, Closer, into a film.  

Closer carries a four-pronged approach in the shapes of Jude Law, Natalie Portman, Julia Roberts and Clive Owen.  Law plays Dan who catches the eye of Alice (Portman), an alluring stripper who gets hit by a car on the streets of London.  Beginning with playful flirtation in the hospital waiting room, they develop a relationship mostly based on sex for the following year.  Later, Dan gets distracted by a beautiful, much more mature photographer named Anna (Roberts).  She rejects Dan’s horny advances and by some manipulation with online anonymous sex talk, he sways a sex starved doctor named Larry into meeting Anna at an aquarium.  Then, to Dan’s surprise, Anna and Larry get married. There’d be nothing more to discuss if these four lived happily going forward.  What follows, however, is a manipulative chess match of lies and deceit among the four.  

One after the other disarms somebody who they valued and thought they could live with at any given time.  Alice leaves Dan after he reveals an affair with Anna.  Larry has a regretful one-night stand with a woman in New York. Anna doesn’t mind because she’s been having an illicit affair with Dan.  Larry is miserable but begs Alice the stripper to justify his torment, assuming she’s also anguishing over being betrayed by Dan. Not likely the case as she erotically teases him in a private stripping room. This scene with Natalie Portman in control establishes as the best actor in the film.

The four players on the game board all start in their respective corners, only to go around the perimeter or advance diagonally across and pounce on what they don’t have. At any given moment someone is drawing the top card or rolling the dice, and it’ll have a direct effect on one of the other three or all of them at once.

Patrick Marber’s script gets more layered as the partners change hands, but it’s his dialogue that keeps you engaged.  Alice believes “Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off – but it is better if you do.”  An angry Larry confronts Anna by asking about Dan.  “What does it taste like?”  Anna’s reply: “Like you, only sweeter.” Ooooo!!!! Lines like these sting, and I’ve never met someone in real life who can think that quick on their feet with such savviness.

Just as in other scripts like Steel Magnolias and Glengarry Glen Ross, I think the characters in Closer (initially a stage play) speak a little too instinctively.  They’re just so quick with their hurtful insults, comebacks and seething expressions.  Therefore, should I like plays that perform on a higher, smarter plane; plays that work quicker than most minds can register with what to say next?  Well, I appease myself with a constant reminder that a piece like Closer is more performance art than truly authentic. These four characters are so quick with a verbal jab, while engaging in some foolhardy actions that promises to make their circumstance appear worse. How can they be so smart with a comeback while acting so stupid at the same time?

The cast of four are so sharp, alert and precise.  Most of the scenes in Nichols’ film are performed in different combinations of pairs.  Every one of them is expertly rehearsed and Roberts, Law, Owen and Portman are of course the strongest assets in the production.  However, Nichols wisely uses his lens in zoom close ups, practically justifying the quirky title of Patrick Marber’s work.  I never trusted a single character was entirely genuine in Closer.  How should anyone? They’re always stabbing one another in the back. However, when an actor leans in and Nichols meets their expression halfway, I’m being ordered to look that person straight in the eye.  Still, I won’t know what to believe, but that’s the point.  

Dan, Alice, Anna and Larry move the scenes along with question after question because every answer is so dubious.  You’ll likely never get a more skeptical response when a common inquiry such as “Do you love him?” is asked.  It can be frustrating, but thanks to the cat and mouse play of Mike Nichols’ stage direction, on film, I wanted to dig deeper into the bottomless rabbit hole.

You might conclude there is a surprising twist at the end of the film.  I don’t know if it holds much weight to what I learned during the course of the story.  Nevertheless, it reinforces the theme of Closer.  Being bad can be fun, offering an immediate high, and part of being bad is lying and betraying, and maybe the ending reveals who actually won this board game with four players at the table.

Look Closer and tell me what you think.

PUMP UP THE VOLUME

By Marc S. Sanders

Travis Bickle, the character portrayed by Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver, is arguably one of the most famous lonely men in film.  There have been other iterations of the sad, angry and depressed individual that just can’t speak to anyone and vents his frustrations only to his consciousness that an audience is meant to hear while watching a movie.  An isolated guy that stands out to me is a radio DJ known as Happy Harry Hard-On played Christian Slater in Pump Up The Volume, a sleeper hit on early 90s videotape.

Harry is a lonely, quiet high school student by day who goes by his real name of Mark Hunter.  No one takes notice of him because he doesn’t socialize, and he hardly speaks.  He just keeps to himself.  Only an English teacher impressed with his writing and another student named Nora Diniro (perhaps a salute to Robert?) played by Samantha Mathis catch his eye.  Mark’s parents really don’t even take much notice of him, other than to believe that Mark has problems adjusting.  It’s much deeper than that, as the poor kid adopts his alter ego on a pirate radio station which reaches the neighboring homes around the school. 

Pretty soon most of the student body is listening and relating to Mark’s diatribes of loneliness, depression, and the school administration’s efforts to doctor passing grades and average GPAs to enhance its image within the state of Arizona.  The school proudly boasts of a program to help troubled kids too, but Mark as well as the other kids fail to see any legitimacy in that approach.  All of it is a sham. 

The efforts behind this ongoing fraud are being committed by the tyrannical Principal Cresswood (Annie Ross).  However, Mark has access to confidential records thanks to his father who now works for the school.   Drawing no attention to himself, he can uncover some students who were expelled just for having poor grades despite having no violations.  One student was dismissed under dubious circumstances when it was discovered that she was pregnant. 

Hard Harry’s radio show airs each night at 10pm where such secrets are revealed along with some of the most perverted and filthy material imaginable interspersed with the grunge/punk music of the time (Concrete Blonde, Ice-T, Pixies, Sonic Youth).  Before podcasts and the internet, there was pirate radio in a kid’s basement. Hard Harry vents his frustrations about not speaking with anyone all day or how difficult it is for him to approach a girl.  The student body empathizes even though they can’t identify this mysterious voice of airwaves.

Pump Up The Volume never made a huge impact at the box office, but my high school pals and I caught it anyway in movie theatres.  It spoke to us.  It was much more relatable than Taxi Driver because it was modern, and it was set in an environment that we were similarly living through.  Everything that Mark/Hard Harry had to say I could understand.  I felt his anguish.  Writer/Director Allan Moyle goes for an early surprise when one listener sends in a letter saying he wants to kill himself.  Wisely, Moyle doesn’t go for the standard call where the DJ talks the kid out of it.  Mark isn’t mature or intuitive enough yet to be an effective “fast-food therapist.”  Instead, Hard Harry makes the initial mistake of not taking the letter writer seriously.  The aftermath amplifies the pirate DJ’s presence, and then the debate of his servitude comes into question.  Mark can no longer toss this personality aside.  He’s making a difference, whether some believe it is good or bad and now, with Nora’s encouragement, he must continue his crusade, even if he’s not sure what that is.

Pump Up The Volume was released in 1990 before the Columbine shootings and waves of other school violence that’s occurred since.  It was around before social media.  Though it is hardly spoken of anymore, perhaps because it lives only in the time of its original release, the context of the film speaks more openly than most of John Hughes’ films.  A variety of different students reveal the pain they are suffering, from the genius student who only appears to have it all together in the brains and beauty department to the punk kid who was unfairly expelled to even the silly kids who just want to prank Harry while he’s on the air, and the kid who was cruelly tricked into coming out.  The stress and suffering of what students endure still exists and it is perhaps more visible now due to how much further some students publicly act on their frustrations.  In that respect, Allan Moyle’s film is not outdated.  It might not be pirate radio anymore, but similar content that Harry incorporates in his nightly show continues to be seen in podcasts, Instagram and Tik Tok posts. Public actions are now performed on campuses – such as protest marches, rallies, voicing sexual interests or regrettably school violence, and suicide.

Christian Slater is perfect in this role, maybe one of his best, next to the misfit he would later play in True Romance.  Slater has a Jack Nicholson personality. He’s great with the on-air smarmy comments and adoption of his own routines such as “pleasuring himself on the air with a cock ring.”    He’s not literally doing any of this, but he keeps his listeners’ attention, the same as shock jocks like Howard Stern.  Turns out Mark doesn’t even know what a cock ring is, but everyone is curious, nonetheless.  He makes Hard Harry confrontational, as well as regrettable, when Mark feels things are going out of control.  Another angle is the quiet student that Slater is by day wearing large glass frames and keeping his head down while subtly checking out the writings of Lenny Bruce from the school library.  Slater does well with the multi-faceted character, and I couldn’t envision other actors of his brat pack age in the role.

Samantha Mathis is also sensational, a real surprise.  This was her debut screen performance.  She has the appearance of a 1990’s Winona Ryder, but she exudes complete confidence as Nora, the girl who seems to know everyone at school and what they are involved in.  Moyle writes smart, and sometimes poetic, dialogue for her character. She delivers with a personality of being seduced or moreover being the seductress.  Mathis has great chemistry with Slater. She works very well at breaking down Mark’s outer shell while encouraging him to carry on with what he has started.

Pump Up The Volume enters a third act that becomes a chase scene of sorts when the FCC is called in to find Hard Harry.  The film ends abruptly because I think Hard Harry may have run out of things to talk about.  However, I walk away from the film having seen a hero in a pirate DJ, who brought the wrongs of an administrative body to light. More importantly, he allowed attention to focus on the trials that high school youth encounter.

You’ll feel good after watching Pump Up The Volume, and you’ll understand when Harry tells you to “Talk Hard!”

PLATOON

By Marc S. Sanders

Oliver Stone’s Oscar winning Platoon takes place in the late 1960s, somewhere on the Cambodian border during the Vietnam War.  Many of the chaotic happenings the film presents are based on Stone’s own experiences after he voluntarily enlisted to fight.  However, while there is an unwinnable war occurring for the American troops, there is just as horrifying a battle going on within the ranks of the platoon the film focuses on.

Charlie Sheen echoes a lot of his father’s, Martin Sheen, voiceover narration, and performance in Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now.  He portrays Chris Taylor, a college dropout who voluntarily enlisted for a one-year tour of duty to serve.  After only one week within the harsh, humid, and wet jungles, he’s writing his grandmother a letter asking what the hell was he thinking.  Chris is quite virginal to the harshness of war and that won’t work to his advantage when needing mentoring and support from his fellow soldiers.  The newest enlistees are the ones at the front point.  They haven’t devoted enough time to sit in the back and because of their lack of experience with war, they are not as valuable for the ongoing campaign in battle.  Platoon is not the heroics depicted in John Wayne movies.  This was one reason that Oliver Stone wanted to make this picture.  Platoon is a bitter retort to Wayne’s celebrated movie, The Green Berets.

There is an angel and devil flanking Chris in the form of Elias (Willem Dafoe) and Barnes (Tom Berenger).  Berenger is the cruel side of the conflict with his battle-scarred face.  He gives his underlings the impression that because he’s seen so much fighting and endured being shot seven times, that he must be invincible.  Elias is a fighting soldier, but he adheres to the rules of war and when it is time for rest, he joins his fellow troops in a unified vigil of drug-induced relaxation.  Chris warms up to Elias easily despite his initial fears of being a soldier with no experience or knowledge of how to survive, much less fight alongside his fellow men.

What drives the conflict between Barnes and Elias occurs following the first act of the movie.  The infantrymen come upon a Vietnamese village.  Some men, including Chris, get wildly abusive with the unarmed people, burning and pillaging their huts.  Only after Chris gets control of himself does he realize the wrongs he’s capable of by serving in this war.  He prevents a group of men from gang raping a child.  Furthermore, he witnesses Barnes commit the illegal murder of a defenseless village woman, shot at point blank range.  Elias has his bearings though and will file the proper reports when the opportunity permits.  Nothing in Platoon is easy though.  This war rages on and the possibility of an investigation and court martial is held off while the fighting continues. 

An interesting take on Oliver Stone’s direction is that he never really shows any close ups or lends any dialogue to the Viet Cong.  I believe Stone is confident that people know who our battalions were supposed to engage with.  However, as another favorite picture of mine stated (Crimson Tide), the true enemy of war is war itself.  The enemies of Elias, Chris, and Barnes as well as the rest of the platoon permeate within and among themselves and it lends to the chaos of the brutal combat scenes depicted in the film. Stone doesn’t offer much opportunity to see who any of the soldiers are shooting at or who is shooting at them.   There is much screaming and hollering but who are any of the characters shouting at and can they even be heard or understand what is being said amid the gunfire?  Platoon demonstrates that a Vietnam war picture is not one of heroics with grandstanding trumpets and a towering John Wayne who takes a hill.  War is disorganized, messy, and terribly bloody. 

This may be Charlie Sheen’s best film of his career.  As he represents the fictional account of Oliver Stone’s personal experiences, we see the trajectory of his change.  He is supposed to be there for 365 days, and he, along with his buddies, count down to when their tour will be complete.  However, this one short year will be the longest he ever encounters, and it will change him permanently, assuming he survives.  Chris is always tested of his tolerance.  He’s always subject to respond to how Barnes commands or how Elias mentors and leads. 

Oliver Stone is so convincing in his often-documentary approach to Platoon that it is at least understandable to see how the men in this picture behave and carry themselves.  Why do they refer to the Vietnamese as “gooks.”  Why do they bully with intent to commit rape.  Why do they quickly pounce to kill when for even a moment there is no threat.  Moreover, why they are willing to turn on each other.

They were never the decision makers for this conflict.  These soldiers are depleted of sleep and rest.  They are the pawns of a higher power, and they have been left to their own devices in a dense environment infested with bugs, snakes, unbearable humidity, and bodies that infest the waters and land while armed men appear out of nowhere ready to ambush.  Some ensnarements might occur within their own regimen.  None of these men are justified in their actions.  Yet, it is not hard to understand where their motivations stem from.  They are not programmed for heroics.  Keith David portrays a likable soldier who tells Chris that his mission is just to survive until he’s summoned home.  Survive among those you march and sleep with.  Outlast this hellish environment and overcome those that are trying to mow you down in machine gun fire.  Everything else around here is “just gravy.”  When you are an infantryman, you are not making a statement any longer.  You are not fighting for a cause anymore.  You are only trying to stay alive.

Platoon is such a shocking film of unconventional madness and turmoil.  Oliver Stone is relentless in the set ups he stages.  This picture came out in 1986, long before the strategic methods of the modern “shaky camera” approach.  It’s beneficial to watch the film as Stone must be positioning his camera on a track as the platoon hikes through the forest, parallel to his moving lens.  We are walking alongside them.   Early morning overhead shots depict the carnage of battles that occurred in the dark of night. Flares and sparks come from nowhere.  I think you could watch this movie ten times and still not know when to expect gunfire to intersect with the story or when the bombs to go off.  It’s hectic hysteria like I can only imagine these young men experienced before they spilled their blood on the battleground and either died right there or returned home physically and mentally crippled for life.

Platoon is one of the best and most frightening war pictures ever made.

AUGUST: OSAGE COUNTY

By Marc S. Sanders

Once the dead are buried, the secrets come out.  Some mourn the loss.  Others mourn the reality of what existed.  Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer Prize winning play August: Osage County was adapted into a very well-cast film in 2013.  Letts’ screenplay is just as biting as his original source. Perhaps that is because of the performances of not just Meryl Streep and Julia Roberts, but also the entire collection of actors.

Dysfunctional is not a strong enough word for the Weston family of the sleepy, lifeless area of Osage County, Oklahoma.  The patriarch, Beverly (Sam Shepard) hires Johnna (Misty Upham) a Native American housekeeper/helper, for his pill popping, cigarette smoking wife Violet (Streep) who is also stricken with cancer of the mouth.  Shortly after, Beverly disappears.  The family comes home to the dusty shelves of books and old black and white family photographs and learns that Beverly has committed suicide.  The opportunities flood in for Violet (or Vi) to unleash every ugly, harsh truth that her three daughters Barbara, Ivy and Karen (Roberts, Julianne Nicholson and Juliette Lewis) have encountered along with their partners.  There’s also Vi’s sister Fannie Mae (Margo Martindale), her husband Charlie (Chris Cooper) and their son Little Charlie (Benedict Cumberbatch) to revisit the revelations of the Weston family.  Barbara’s estranged husband Bill (Ewan MacGregor) and her daughter Jean (Abigail Breslin) have their own drama to contend with as well.

It’s best not to spoil too much of what is revealed in the movie directed by John Wells.  The centerpiece of the picture is the afternoon family meal following the funeral service.  This must be one of the most intense and captivating dinner scenes caught on film in recent years.  Wells positions his cameras perfectly, so you know where every family member is seated at the table and the trading of barbs that go back and forth between the different combinations of arguments.  I would say the scene lasts at least twenty minutes and Wells manages to seat the viewer next to or right in front of every person at the table.  At one end of the table is Charlie.  Chris Cooper is a reluctant fill in to the void left by Beverly, the original patriarch.  The instigator is Vi. Meryl Streep is placed at the other head of the table where her drug addled eye contact can be had with anyone seated in her presence.  I’d love to have seen Meryl Streep while shooting this scene because even when the camera is not on her for a close up, I can still see that she is there in the dining room.  I’d argue she never turned off this persona during the making of this film. 

The most agonizing relationship is clearly between Vi and oldest daughter Barbara.  The first pairing on screen for Meryl Streep and Julia Roberts.  Why didn’t it happen sooner?  Moreover, why hasn’t it happened again since this film?  Perhaps because it is rare to find material of this dramatic weight to justify what can come from these two incredible actors.

The dinner scene is left discomforting to say the least, but the timing and delivery of Tracy Letts’ dialogue is functioning with high energy.  At age fourteen, Jean is the youngest member at the table, and she is questioned as to why she doesn’t eat meat.  According to her, you are consuming an “animal’s fear.”  The Westons are only adoring when they are cruel to one another.  One of the rare times that the rest of the family will unite with the antagonizing Vi is when they can mock and chortle at young Jean’s philosophy for “claiming” to be vegan, which is also undone by her parents when they reveal what she eats back home in Colorado. 

A hip middle aged Florida man named Steve (Dermot Mulroney) in a Ferrari has accompanied Karen to Osage.  Karen is the flighty one with her head in the clouds.  Steve has been married three times and takes a liking to teenage Jean’s curiosity to try pot.  Vi expresses disdain for the jerk with another welcome facial expression from Streep, but Tracy Letts does not have his character lash out or protest Karen’s choice to marry the guy.  For Violet Weston, it is better that Karen does marry this letch.  It gives Vi more purpose to criticize and belabor upon one more poor decision made by another daughter.  Violet thrives on bellowing out the shortcomings of her children, her dead poet/author husband, her sister, and anyone else within her presence.  It’s how she lives and overcomes her cancer while an unkempt wig conceals her chemo remaining grey hairs.

On the side, a relationship is brewing between first cousins Little Charlie and Vi’s middle daughter Ivy.  They know it’s wrong, but they can’t help hiding their affections much longer.  Cumberbatch goes against type here as a nervous, insecure young man who has not matured from his boyhood nature.  Julianne Nicholson appears to be the most held together of the three daughters as she has never ventured out of Osage while living with her parents.  She is now ready to give up that lifestyle, and she’s leaving it in Barbara’s lap to figure what’s to come of Vi. 

Barbara is the most unhinged.  She is married to sweet natured but boring Bill and it’s likely that the past demons she clung to from her upbringing left Osage with her when she relocated to Colorado with her husband and daughter.  Bill might be having a tryst with one of his college students but is he the worst one in the marriage?  Barbara Weston might be Julia Roberts’ best role since her early career film introduction in Steel Magnolias and her Oscar winning turn in Erin Brockovich.  In films like these, Julia Roberts doesn’t look like the starlet she once was in the 1990s.  In August: Osage County she has downed her appearance with no makeup, unwashed hair, and wrinkled clothes while carrying an emotionally exhausted physique.  However, she’s perfect to play the eldest daughter who somehow must be the one responsible for picking up the shattered pieces of dishware that hit the floor on numerous occasions and fractured connections left behind in the family dynamic.  This is a commanding performance by Julia Roberts; one that needs to be seen.  Incidentally, she never does clean up the broken plates.  I only assume it would be her who must do so.  However, the quiet Johnna is around somewhere. She will make everything disappear.

Memorably, a physical altercation ends the dinner.  The day passes into the next mid afternoon and more secrets are uncovered.  Some are quite horrifying, considering the circumstances that some members of the family have themselves in.  Just when you think that this script is ending with a debate of which daughter will look after mother now that daddy is gone, there’s more troubling truth to grapple with as well.

August: Osage County is a movie hinged on the acting chops of its cast with a smart, unforgiving script for the damaged characters depicted.  It falls in the same category as David Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross or Sam Shepard’s True West.  We may be witnessing the abnormalities and sins of these people, but it would be more unusual had these folks possessed genuine happiness and solid affection for one another.  The quietly muted Native American Johnna enters the household of people who replaced her own people, who occupied this land long before the early generations of Westons ever arrived.  It’s telling that Tracy Letts demonstrates the original occupants still survive in peace while the ones that took over can’t find a way to live happily among themselves.  Watch the film or see the play.  Then come back and tell me if the white folks of the Weston family truly belong in the once occupied Native American Osage County, Oklahoma.

THE KING’S SPEECH

By Marc S. Sanders

A man can carry the title of Duke Of York, but that doesn’t make him a super man.  After all, he is just a man like any other, and he can possess annoying hinderances like a stammer for example.  However, when you are part of the Royal Family with a historical lineage of thousands and thousands of years, celebrated and honored in majestic paintings and medals, the inconvenience is never acceptable. 

Colin Firth is Prince Albert George (and forgive me but he has assumed two or three other first names as his birthright that I can not recall.  Phillip, as well I think).  The King’s Speech opens when Albert has been tasked by his father, the King of England, to deliver a speech at Wembley Stadium.  Director Tom Hooper never made a small staircase, a microphone or an audience appear so fearful.  As Albert addresses the crowd, the words do not come out and the only one who can lovingly empathize with him is his devoted wife Elizabeth (Helana Bonham Carter).  The archbishop (Derek Jacobi) puts his head down in disappointment along with all the other formally attired spectators.  It’s a heartbreaking beginning of a story for a well-dressed crippled hero.

Following advisors and doctors who offer ridiculous remedies that allow no alleviation, Elizabeth finally finds an Australian speech therapist who just might be the best last resort for her husband.  Albert is stubbornly reluctant to visit with Dr. Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) who insists that their sessions occur in his office.  Albert does not like that he will also not be addressed formally by Dr. Logue.  Lionel will call him Bertie. 

An unorthodox approach, at least for royalty, is what Lionel insists will aid Bertie.  It is certainly better than his doctor’s recommendation of smoking cigarettes directly into his lungs.  Bertie will lie and roll on the floor.  He’ll hum and bellow unusual noises.  He’ll have to loosen up his physique and even allow Elizabeth to sit on his belly to help him with breathing exercises while working his diaphragm.  The art of swearing is especially helpful.

An interesting fact that Lionel shares with Bertie is that no infant is born with a stammer.  It develops from another source.  Perhaps it is abuse or neglect as a child.  When you are a child of royalty you are not necessarily loved directly by your parents.  A nanny is likely closer to you; maybe even more abusive. 

The King (Michael Gambon) is respected by Bertie, but he is fearful of the future of his monarchy.  The older son, David (Guy Pearce) is next in line to assume the throne, but he is an immature bedhopping playboy, and the threats of Hitler and Stalin are becoming more prominent.  The King begins prepping his Albert by insisting he deliver radio addresses.  The father is not the encouraging type, though.  His disdainful demands are not the cure for Albert’s debilitation.

The King’s Speech advances a couple years during the 1930’s towards the precursors ahead of World War II.  The King has died.  David is behaving just as expected and Albert still suffers with his ability to speak, but Lionel has therapeutically made advances with his student and friend.  He just can’t lose his student.  Otherwise, Bertie will not overcome.

The film’s strength relies on a solid friendship that develops between a common civilian and a man of Royalty.  Geoffrey Rush and Colin Firth work marvelously together.  They are very different personalities with backgrounds that could not be more apart from each other.  The chemistry is a beautiful duet of dialogue from an Oscar winning script from David Seidler. This was Seidler’s first script he ever wrote at the age of eighty. 

The entirety of the picture has a set design from Eve Stuart and Judy Farr that is absolutely grand.  Every room of the palace has the most beautiful furnishings and wallpaper designs.  Tom Hooper uses wide distant lens’ that show the enormities of each room of the castle as well as Prince Albert’s home.  Sometimes he shoots from the floor above, pointing his camera at Albert and Elizabeth.  The majesty of royalty looks down upon the Prince and his speech impediment.  It’s an absorbing setting for the film.  Exterior shots also look authentic with the cars and the dreary coldness of the country and London cobblestones.  I love the hardwood floors that the characters walk upon in the picture, particularly in Lionel’s office.  The resonances of their dress shoes speak more clearly than the Prince. It all seems to echo the overwhelming conflict that our protagonist must overcome, and Colin Firth is terrific at demonstrating his frustrated insecurities.  It’s an Oscar winning performance not only earned for the well-timed stammer but also the mournful facial expressions that are caught in close ups.

The triumphant moment at the end of the film occurs after Albert has succeeded the throne from his incapable brother. He is obligated to address his country in a world-famous speech that eventually brought a defiant England into the second world war to fight off Hitler’s undoubted tyranny.  Tom Hooper’s camera follows a strong hearted, yet nervous Colin Firth walk from one room of the palace to the next until he finally reaches the small makeshift studio where his friend Lionel accompanies him to offer assurance as he speaks to his people and allies across the seas.  I don’t simply see a coach or one who lends confidence.  I see a friend working with another friend.  Again, Geoffrey Rush and Colin Firth make a wonderful pair in a long line of cinematic mentors and their students.

As history has taught us, the King’s speech was simply the beginning of a very dark and bloody experience.  The speech itself became a success, but the real challenge was yet to come.  However, confidence is what allowed a generation to survive.  The irony of The King’s Speech is that the hero a people needed lacked confidence in himself.  By the end of this picture, he is sending his faith, his trust, and his own assurance over to his constituents, who needed it the most in spite of a hindering stammer.  It’s a doubly blessed occasion that a lifelong friendship formed out of a troubling time.

OPPENHEIMER

By Marc S. Sanders

Christopher Nolan is one of the modern-day directors that you can rely on for brainy science fiction whether they are in embedded in dream subconsciousness, intergalactic space travel, transcendences of time, or even putting a fresh polish on a favorite superhero.  With Oppenheimer, he triumphs with exploring the actual prophets of science in the twentieth century, particularly its title character J Robert Oppenheimer, the brilliant physicist played convincingly well by Cillian Murphy.  Nolan doesn’t just stop at the assembly and discovery of science though.  He uncovers the consequences of Oppenheimer’s innovation and genius insight.  Dr. Oppenheimer might have been the man who knew too much and arguably that cost him quite a bit, personally.  Additionally, the so-called lab rat of his atomic bomb, namely the planet Earth, suffered the expense of a, at the time, troubling present day, and a still ongoing future. 

This movie seems to start right in the middle of its story and as a viewer you need to claw your way through the dense foliage to find its beginnings and what comes afterwards.  The first two scenes of the movie are titled “Fission” and “Fusion.”  There are no time periods specified by a font caption, however.  The differences in various points in history are distinguished by where J Robert Oppenheimer is located during select points in his life.  For seconds at a time, the film will change its photography from vibrant color to black and white, for example.  The characters will either look more aged with grey hair and some wrinkles or during more youthful time in their lives.  At one point Oppenheimer is being recruited by Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey, Jr) to head the department of a new kind of weapon development.  Work the science to make a difference.  There’s another time period where he’s being interrogated in a small room by a governmental suit and tie committee.  Oppenheimer is also in his classroom or debating and working with colleagues.  Another story observes his progress with building the atomic bomb among a collection of other engineers and scientists in a desert town, Los Alamos, specifically built at his own request, under the order of the nothing but militant Colonel Leslie Groves (Matt Damon), to conduct his work and research while hiding in plain sight. 

The film also covers Oppenheimer’s association with possible suspects of the Communist Party during the stressful pre-cold war era of McCarthyism.  Questions arise if his reliable brother Frank (Dylan Arnold) is a communist or even his mistress (Florence Pugh).  Does that in turn make Oppenheimer a communist as well?  If that is the case is J Robert Oppenheimer, the man tasked with ultimately ending World War II in favor of the Allies, sharing secrets with Russia and/or the Communist Party?

Nolan’s film gets easier to watch as it moves along, but you must get used to his pattern of filmmaking.  If you have never seen a Christopher Nolan film, I do not recommend you start with Oppenheimer.  His work is recognized for fast paced edits of different time periods and conversations.  There is much information to decipher. As well, there’s a very large collection of welcome characters to sort through, who worked with or against Oppenheimer.  Having only seen it once, I was captivated with the picture, but I know that I need to see it again.  The quick edits, working beautifully against the soundtrack orchestrations of Ludwig Göransson (nominate him for an Oscar, please), happen a mile a minute.  I appreciated this method because it enhanced the urgency of Dr. Oppenheimer in the eyes of the world, first as the savior of the united Allies against the last remaining superpower of the Axis countries, Japan. Then later focus is on whether it is in the United States’ best interests for the regarded physicist to have security access to the country’s most secret weapons and technological progress in a post war age.

People have been cajoling about how they know the ending to Oppenheimer.  They drop the bomb, of course!  (Twice actually.)  However, they do not know the entire story adaptation that Christopher Nolan as director and screenwriter presents. 

Cillian Murphy is perfectly cast. Give him an Oscar nomination.  He serves the confident, assured scientific leader who becomes envious of competing powers who achieve the impossible, like splitting the atom, while also admiring peers and mentors like Niels Bohr and Albert Einstein (Kenneth Branagh, Tom Conti).  All these men are interested only in what can be accomplished.  The superpowers that fight in war, though, are interested in how these accomplishments of modern science can be used to their advantage at a cost of collateral damage.  It is these conflicts of interests that Nolan admirably demonstrates over the course of the film. 

A telling scene for me, that I won’t forget, is when Robert Oppenheimer meets Harry Truman (Gary Oldman, doing an unforgettable cameo).  As the physicist exits the Oval Office, having shared his concerns and scruples with the Commander in Chief, Nolan includes a throwaway line delivered by the President, that I won’t soon forget.  It will not be spoiled, here.  Yet, the dialogue speaks volumes of what the United States held important regarding the servants who did the country’s bidding.  The scene closes like a stab in the heart, and suddenly science is no longer just facts within our planet.  Science is now questioned on whether it should ever be acted upon. Those questions certainly have remained as long as I’ve been alive to read about our never-ending world climate.  These inquiries will be here for many generations after I’m gone as well; that is if men and women’s recklessness with science doesn’t destroy the Earth before then.  At one point, Oppenheimer shares a small fraction of possibility for the end of the world when they activate and test their first atomic bomb. Matt Damon’s Colonel Groves’ asks for a reiteration of that observation.  Is this finding worth even the smallest, most minute risk?

Emily Blunt portrays Kitty Oppenheimer.  She’s marvelous as a lonely alcoholic wife to Robert, and a mother minding a home built in the desert while her husband serves an important purpose.  I didn’t take to her presence in the film until her grand moment arrives during an interrogation scene.  As the character gives her testimony regarding Oppenheimer’s communist ties, Blunt locks herself in for a wealth of awards in late 2023/early 2024.  Once you’ve watched the movie, you’ll likely know which scene I’m referring to and you can bet it’ll be that sample clip shown on all the awards programs.  This might not be Blunt’s best role, because it is rather limited within crux of the film, but I’d argue it is her greatest scene on film that I can remember.

Oppenheimer is a three-hour film, and it demands its running time.  There are so many angles to the man that few really know about.  Many know it was he who instrumentally built the atomic bomb that to date has only been used twice within a period of four days.  Thankfully never since.  Nolan emphasizes how unaware we are of how carefree the doctor’s government supervisors performed with the weapon he agreed to build.  Don’t just drop the bomb once.  Send a message to Japan by dropping it twice so they know to no longer engage in this ongoing war.  Choose the area where an army/government official didn’t honeymoon though.  It’s too beautiful a region.  Tens of thousands of men, women and child civilians perished immediately following the strikes.  Many others died weeks later following exposure to the nuclear effects that followed.  All issued as a horrifying cost to end a war that was already being won now that Hitler was dead.

Mechanically, Christopher Nolan does not disappoint either.  I watched Oppenheimer in a Dolby theater and I highly recommend it over a traditional one.  However, beware of the sound.  It is a LOUD!!!!!  Your seat will rattle early in the film when Cillian Murphy is shown in close up imagining the collision of atoms, protons, and neutrons.  How a star naturally dies in space runs through Oppenheimer’s consciousness as well, and then we see how a black hole forms.  Nolan offers a Cliff’s Notes edit of science doing its job.  Murphy performs so well when he’s not speaking and cut against the quick edits of Nolan’s visual and sound effects of science at play.  It shows how an educated scientist thinks beyond what is documented on a chalkboard or in a textbook.  J Robert Oppenheimer used to teach about the building blocks and natural destruction that occurs within the universe.  Regrettably, what he learned about natural function soon becomes manufactured capability when the professor accepts the task of building scientific destruction with his bare hands. Man stole fire from the Gods.

Oppenheimer is so dense in the scope of science and the scientist behind it.  That’s a huge compliment.  It’s an engaging film with much to tell, and a lot more to think about afterwards.  It accomplishes what the best movies do.  It leaves you thinking long after the film has ended.  More importantly, it’ll leave you frightened for the future based on the behavior of this planet’s past. 

Oppenheimer is one of the best films of the year.

AMERICAN SNIPER (2014)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Clint Eastwood
CAST: Bradley Cooper, Sienna Miller, Luke Grimes, Jake McDorman
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 72% Certified Fresh

PLOT: Real-life Navy S.E.A.L. sniper Chris Kyle becomes the most lethal sniper in American history during four tours of duty in Iraq, but he finds it difficult to leave the war behind when he finally returns home.


I once called Katherine Bigelow’s award-winning The Hurt Locker the Deer Hunter for the Iraq War generation.  Having just seen Clint Eastwood’s masterful American Sniper for the first time, I must now amend my statement.  American Sniper presents its story concisely, almost tersely, states the facts of the matter, and leaves the audience to draw its own conclusions when the credits roll.  For myself, I was once again struck by the sacrifices of those men and women who have ever made, and will ever make, the choice to serve their country, for whatever reasons.

Chris Kyle’s reasons are made clear at the outset.  30-year-old Kyle (Bradley Cooper) is a skilled cowboy and rodeo rider when he decides to enlist in the military after seeing footage of the embassy bombings in 1998.  In a marvelously edited prologue (resembling a Scorsese film), we see Kyle’s father impress upon a school-age Kyle how people are either sheep, wolves, or sheepdogs.  Wolves attack the sheep, and the sheepdogs protect the sheep.  Kyle has lived his entire life with a sheepdog mentality and badly wants to do his part to protect his country against what he feels are the forces of evil.

Kyle enlists in the Navy S.E.A.L.s and, after a brutal training process, becomes a skilled sniper.  Shortly after graduation, he meets and falls in love with Taya (Sienna Miller).  The abbreviated exposition of their courtship and marriage contains little details that give a ring of authenticity that even The Deer Hunter lacks at times.  (After their first meeting in a bar, for example, Taya has to run outside and throw up after doing one too many shots.  Kyle follows and discreetly holds her hair back, as every gentleman should.  It’s the kind of scene you would normally see in a mid-level rom-com, but it feels as real as an autobiography.)

Kyle’s and Taya’s relationship at home is an important factor in the film, but the bulk of the story shows us Kyle putting his unique skills to use in Iraq, where he is sent shortly after the 9/11 attacks.  These scenes belong in some kind of war movie Hall of Fame.  Kyle’s first kills occur when he has to make a command decision whether or not to shoot a young Iraqi boy holding a grenade and running towards a US convoy.  The scene takes on an even more horrific dimension when the mother tries to pick up where her young son failed.  This horror is echoed in triplicate in a later scene when an even younger boy approaches an abandoned rocket launcher and appears ready to fire it at American troops.

Kyle goes on to much more “conventional” warfare later on (including a virtual duel between himself and another similarly skilled enemy sniper), but it’s scenes like the ones I mention above that elevate American Sniper into a masterpiece.  Watching them, I could not help but remember that this movie is based on a real person who went to real war zones during his lifetime.  I have no idea whether Kyle really did make those choices in real life, but the idea remains: whether Kyle did or not, it’s a foregone conclusion that someone had to make similar decisions at one time or another, not just in the Iraq War, but in other wars, many wars, ALL wars.  (I was perversely reminded of another superior war film, also based on fact, Jarhead, where the main character is also a sniper, except he never gets to fire his weapon in combat.  My respect for that character is no less profound.)

Speaking for myself, I don’t know if I have it in me to make that kind of call.  I have nothing but admiration and respect for those people who are making those calls every day in wartime, who are asked to put their lives and mental health on the line and do their duty no matter what.

Kyle’s compulsion to be a protector leads to his decision to become part of the teams “clearing” houses on the ground, as opposed to being the “overwatch” who protects them from the rooftops.  He sees too many squads being cut down by enemy soldiers inside the houses where he can’t see them from above.  “If I can’t see them, I can’t shoot them.”  One of his comrades disagrees with this decision.

“All these guys?  They know your name, and they feel invincible with you up there.”
“They’re not.”
“They are if they think they are.”

His decision puts him in even greater danger than before, but he can’t help himself.  Every death that he feels he could have prevented haunts him.  In another echo of another shattering war film, I was reminded of Oskar Schindler’s last scene in Schindler’s List when he breaks down thinking of how many more Jews he could have saved, instead of focusing on the ones he did save.  It’s impossible to say exactly how many lives Chris Kyle may have saved with his actions in Iraq, but in his mind, he was just doing the right thing, not the heroic thing, so he never felt comfortable accepting the title bestowed upon him by his grateful comrades: “The Legend.”

American Sniper is also very careful to depict the cost Kyle faced as the result of his job.  For one, the Iraqi insurgents put a $180,000 bounty on his head, making his job even more dangerous than it already was.  For another, he witnesses some things firsthand that would give Quentin Tarantino nightmares.  At one point, he tracks down an Iraqi enforcer nicknamed “The Butcher” who uses a drill to punish anyone who collaborates with American soldiers.  When Kyle raids his compound, he finds a freezer full of the Butcher’s “souvenirs.”  This is all on top of the various times he sees his teammates cut down by enemy fire, sometimes right in front of him.

The other cost comes during the brief periods at home between tours.  He loves his wife and children, but he finds it impossible to share the details of what happened to him in Iraq.  This reticence threatens his marriage to the point where Taya tells him flat out: “If you leave again [for another tour of duty], I don’t think we’ll be here when you get back.”  This kind of plot point is hardly new, but again, there is a ring of truth to it in this movie that makes it much more poignant than it normally is.  Kyle’s internal code can’t allow him to let someone else go to a war zone and do a job that he is eminently more qualified than anyone else to do.  “I have to serve my country.”  And that’s that.

(The film does have one drawback that compels me to score it as a “9” instead of a “10.”  There are scenes later in the film depicting more of Kyle’s troubles at home and as he speaks to a psychiatrist who recommends he go down to the VA and meet with disabled veterans as a way of “saving” soldiers without being in combat.  While these scenes are invaluable in terms of shedding even more light on Kyle’s character, even this late in the film, I did feel like there could have been a little more time spent with Kyle and those veterans so we could flesh that issue out just a little more.  There’s much more to it than could possibly be explored in just the last fifteen minutes of a movie.  I’m not saying it should have become Coming Home, but…that’s my opinion.)

In the event you don’t know Chris Kyle’s ultimate fate, I won’t spoil it here.  I had forgotten about it, and when the movie sprung it on me, it was as surprising as any other plot twist I can think of.  American Sniper proved to me, as if it needed proving again, that the people in our armed forces, especially those in combat zones, face unthinkable decisions, sometimes on a daily basis.  The morality of those decisions can, and will, be debated from now until such time (God willing) that armed forces are no longer necessary in this world.  This movie doesn’t pass that kind of judgement.  It merely says, “Here is what happened.  What do you think about it?”  How you answer that question is what the movie was really about.

THE LOST WEEKEND (1945)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Billy Wilder
CAST: Ray Milland, Jane Wyman, Phillip Terry, Howard Da Silva
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 97% Certified Fresh

PLOT: The desperate life of a chronic alcoholic is followed through a four-day drinking bout.


I don’t drink.  Like, at all.  I’ve never taken drugs, and I’ve never smoked a cigarette.  Luckily, I have never been gripped in the throes of a crippling addiction, unless collecting movies counts as an addiction, in which case I plead the fifth.  I say this, not to brag, but because a lot of my first impressions of Billy Wilder’s The Lost Weekend are tinted by the fact that I don’t know the first thing about being drunk or what it means to suffer from an addiction so crippling that it would force me to hang a liquor bottle outside my window to hide it from my brother.

As it happens, Don Birnam (Ray Milland) DOES suffer from this kind of mid-to-late-stage alcoholism.  We first meet Don as he and his brother, Wick (Phillip Terry), are packing for a long weekend to get away from everything and everyone, including alcohol.  Don is a would-be author who needs a break from…something.  (Whatever he went through is never specified, only hinted at: “It’ll be good for you, Don, after what you’ve been through.”)  Don’s plan to surreptitiously pack the hidden bottle of liquor falls through after the arrival of his almost unbelievably good-hearted girlfriend, Helen (Jane Wyman).  No matter.  He still has a plan, which he confides to the long-suffering but increasingly annoyed bartender, Nat (Howard Da Silva).  He’s bought two bottles of rye.  He’ll hide one badly in his own suitcase and another in his brother’s suitcase.  When Wick discovers the badly hidden bottle in Don’s suitcase, he’ll chew Don out, Don will act suitably contrite, and Wick won’t think about searching his OWN suitcase for a second bottle.  What could go wrong?

During these first few scenes, when Don lies and lies and drinks shot after shot in a bar and winds up missing the train for his getaway weekend, I found it difficult to sympathize with him.  Oh, he’s clever and loquacious when he’s either about to drink or while he’s drinking.  He has enough knowledge to quote Shakespeare at the right times and wittily proposes to Nat the bartender: “I wish I could take you along, Nat.  You and all that goes with you.”  Under the right circumstances, Don is a fun guy, always good for a laugh…until his seventh or eight or ninth shot of bourbon.  Then the other Don shows up, Don the drunk, Don the liar, the Don who gets so desperate for cash that he’ll walk 70 or 80 New York City blocks trying to find an open pawn shop so he can hock his typewriter for drinking money.

For some reason, it was harder for me to empathize with Don Birnam than it was to empathize with any of the main characters in Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream (2000).  In that film, not a single leading character escapes the ravages of addiction, and yet even as they made their mistakes, I empathized with them and grieved when their bad decisions made things worse and worse.  With Don Birnam, however, every bad decision he made just made me like him less and less.  I remember thinking at one point, “He’s brought this all on himself, he deserves what he gets.”  Not a very Christian attitude, but I’m not gonna lie about it: that’s what I felt.

And his girlfriend, Helen…wow.  It’s almost like she needs as much of an intervention as he does.  She loves Don so unconditionally it’s almost unbelievable.  What’s the attraction?  Perhaps it’s symptomatic of the era in which The Lost Weekend was made.  She discovers Don’s alcoholism late in their 3-year dating relationship.  (What did people think in 1945 of someone who dates a man for 3 years?)  Instead of breaking up with him or giving him ultimatums, she devotes herself to “fixing” Don.  Not precisely the course of action I would recommend myself in today’s world, but there you have it.

Director Billy Wilder presents this first half of the movie in a very uninflected tone with little-to-no comic relief.  This flat tone becomes very effective at simply presenting the information without directly commenting on it one way or the other.  There are moments up to this point where the movie seems to side with Don (his struggle to find a bottle whose hiding place he’s forgotten is particularly pathetic), but it’s still not really passing judgment or giving him a pass.

And then…the turning point.  Don accidentally falls down a flight of stairs and knocks himself out after finagling some drinking money out of a young lady he flirts with at his favorite dive.  When he wakes up, he’s lying in a bed in the Alcoholic Ward of the local hospital, face to face with one of the strangest characters I’ve ever met in a Billy Wilder movie, and that’s saying something.  He’s a nurse.  “Name of Nolan.  They call me Bim.  You…can call me Bim.”  The closest I can get to describing Bim’s weirdness is to imagine an evil Waylon Smithers from The Simpsons as a male nurse.  On quaaludes.  To Don’s slowly increasing discomfort, Bim lovingly describes what Don is in for during his stay on the Alcoholic Ward, giving the inside scoop on the various repeat offenders and what to expect during his D.T.’s: “You know that stuff about pink elephants?  That’s the bunk.  It’s little animals.  Little tiny turkeys in straw hats.  Midget monkeys coming through the keyholes.”  This Bim…he has NO bedside manner, man.  “Prohibition…that’s what started most of these guys off.  Whoopee!”  (Nice little social commentary there…classic Wilder.)

Don manages to find his way home once again, having not had a drink for almost a day-and-a-half, if my memory is correct.  And it’s at this point that the movie, Billy Wilder, and Ray Milland finally got me in Don Birnam’s corner.

SPOILER ALERT, SPOILERS COMING.

Don finally has a bout of the D.T.’s.  It’s not turkeys or monkeys or elephants, though…it’s a rat.  A single rat chewing its way out of the wall in front of him.  Then, out of nowhere…a bat finds its way into the apartment and flutters around the room.  Don is understandably distressed.  But then the capper: the bat swoops down to where the mouse’s head is poking through the hole, there is a terrible squealing sound, the bat sort of trembles and scuffles…and a stream of thick blood starts to dribble out of the hole where the bat is presumably chewing the rat’s head off or something.

To say I was surprised is an understatement.  Don starts screaming his head off…and at long last I finally empathized with Don’s situation, and I no longer wanted him to wind up penniless and/or alone and/or dead.  I wanted the movie to find a way to fix him, like Helen tries desperately to do through the entire picture.  From then on, I was on his side, or Helen’s side, or whoever’s side, it didn’t matter, as long as he figured out a way to get out from under the disease that was slowly killing him.

I would not dream of revealing exactly how the movie ends.  It might go the way of Leaving Las Vegas (1996).  Or it might go the way of the vastly underseen Duane Hopwood (2005), featuring David Schwimmer as an alcoholic father on a path of self-destruction, but who manages to turn things around.  (Sorry if I spoiled that for you, but I’m betting it’s not a movie most people will want to seek out.)  I will say that it’s the ending of The Lost Weekend that really showcases the era in which it was made more than anything else.  But it could just as easily have gone the other way and still been just as successful.

The Lost Weekend cleaned up at the 1945 Oscars, winning awards for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Adapted Screenplay (it was based on a novel).  At the time, it was the most unglamorous movie ever made about alcoholism.  Up to that point, drinking in movies rarely if ever led to hangovers and the D.T.’s and spending the night in the Alcoholic Ward.  It certainly belongs to be mentioned with Wilder’s greatest films.  But you’re gonna wanna watch something a little lighter afterwards.  Stalag 17, maybe.  Or Some Like It Hot.  A laughter chaser.