Category: Best Director

BEN-HUR (1959)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

Director: William Wyler
Cast: Charlton Heston, Jack Hawkins, Haya Harareet, Stephen Boyd, Hugh Griffith
My Rating: 9/10
Rotten Tomatometer: 86% Certified Fresh

PLOT: After a Jewish prince is betrayed and sent into slavery by a Roman friend in 1st-century Jerusalem, he regains his freedom and returns for revenge.


For my money, 1959’s record-setting production of Ben-Hur would be a better pick for an annual Easter flick over C.B. de Mille’s overblown The Ten Commandments.  Certainly, Commandments shows the actual story of Passover and might lay claim to more special effects sequences, but Ben-Hur feels grander AND more intimate at the same time.  Plus it actually shows Christ and the crucifixion at the end, and what better symbols could you ask for in an Easter film?

Then, of course, there’s that chariot race.  Game, set, and match.

Ben-Hur was created in an era when Hollywood was watching its profits dwindle because of the advent of television, which was keeping more and more people glued to their sets at home instead of paying for a ticket at the box office.  One way to get people back into theaters was to take the “bigger-is-better” approach: do things that were impossible on a TV budget.

Consider these statistics: Three hundred separate sets were built for Ben-Hur.  The chariot race alone required 15,000 extras on 18 acres of backlot at Cinecitta Studios in Rome and took 10 weeks to shoot.  Over a million props were needed, and it took two years to amass them all before shooting.  Approximately 1.25 million feet of expensive 65mm film was exposed and developed at a cost of roughly a dollar per foot.  The budget for the film ballooned to nearly $15 million, equivalent to over $146 million in today’s dollars, an unthinkable amount in the late 1950s.

But when it was released, Ben-Hur made history by being the first film to win eleven Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Supporting Actor.  It remains the only film to date to win Best Picture and Best Visual Effects.  At the box office, it raked in $75 million ($731 million when adjusted for inflation), making it one of the most profitable films in Hollywood history at the time.  It remains popular today, ranked in the IMDb’s top 250 most popular movies and listed as the #2 epic film of all time by the American Film Institute.  (#1 is Lawrence of Arabia, naturally.)

How does a 63-year-old film, with a running time of 3 hours and 42 minutes, with a blatantly religious plotline culminating in the crucifixion of Christ and a shamelessly manipulative miracle, and featuring some of the hammiest acting this side of Bollywood, remain as popular as it is?  Because despite its shortcomings, it does what every film should do, long or short, sacred or secular: it tells a rollicking good story, and it does it extremely well.

After a solemn prologue depicting the first Nativity, we jump forward 26 years and meet Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston), a wealthy Judean prince who enjoys a reunion with his old friend, Messala (Stephen Boyd).  They grew up together but went their separate ways, and now Messala is a Roman tribune assigned to keep the peace in Judea.  Poor Judah realizes just how far they’ve grown apart when an accident leads Messala to arrest Judah and his mother and sister, to demonstrate his power and loyalty to Rome.  Judah vows vengeance and is sentenced to die as a galley slave.  But fate intervenes in the form of Quintus Arrius (Jack Hawkins), a Roman general whose life Judah saves in battle.  Arrius befriends Judah and officially adopts him as his own son, giving Judah the means to return to his homeland, wreak his vengeance upon Messala, and rescue his mother and sister from prison.

…and that’s just Act One.  Act Two focuses heavily on Judah’s revenge in the form of one of the greatest set pieces in Hollywood history: the chariot race.  Or, more properly, The Chariot Race.  If you’ve never seen it, Google/YouTube it.  Even viewed as a stand-alone scene, it is as breathtaking and thrilling as any car chase ever filmed.  It’s so good that George Lucas cribbed many of its beats for the pod-race sequence in Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace.  The crashes you see during the race were planned, but they were performed with real stuntmen in real danger.  Note especially one sensational stunt where a 2-wheeled chariot drawn by four horses, at full gallop, approach a crashed chariot in their path.  The horses leap the chariot, then the chariot dangerously rolls over the crash itself, hurling the stuntman so high into the air he nearly topples head over heels over the front of his own chariot.  I am at a loss to imagine how they could possibly accomplish this same scene today without the use of visual effects.

Peppered throughout the story are brief scenes featuring Jesus of Nazareth, although we never hear Him speak, and we never see His face.  In Act One, He offers water to Judah as he is being marched to the galleys, a compassionate act that will resonate through the years.  Later He is glimpsed from a distance delivering the Sermon on the Mount.  And later still, we see His trial, His journey to Golgotha, and His crucifixion.  Everyone involved in those scenes show the appropriate and expected levels of awe and sadness, while the score plays a mournful dirge.  It’s a little ham-handed by today’s standards, especially when compared to modern films like The Passion of the Christ, but it is still effective.

The movie’s highest level of filmmaking, apart from The Chariot Race, is on its best display in the first half of the movie.  Nearly two-and-a-half hours fly by, thanks to superb editing.  It’s never boring or soapy.  (Well…ALMOST never soapy.  The requisite love scenes between Judah and the slave girl Esther, played by the lovely Haya Harareet, are not as easy to watch as the rest of the film, but thankfully there aren’t that many of them.)  Every event and every scene feels crucial to the story.  There’s never a moment that drags.  Like the best epic films, watching Ben-Hur makes me feel like I’m reading a richly detailed novel.

If the film has a major downfall, it’s the story that follows The Chariot Race.  The movie doesn’t exactly grind to a halt, but it doesn’t offer the viewer any kind of climactic punches that can match the visceral effect of Judah’s capture, escape, and victory in the race.  (Sorry if I spoiled that for you, but if you seriously thought he lost that race, seek help.)  Sure, there’s the capture and crucifixion of Jesus and the miraculous aftermath, but while that satisfies the true arc of the story, I still, to this day, feel like the film deflates a little at the end.  There’s simply nothing it can offer that could possibly follow up that damn Chariot Race.  The race is the payoff.  Everything that follows feels anti-climactic.

That quibble aside, Ben-Hur is still as captivating as it ever was, with “old” Hollywood’s full power brought to bear to bring audiences a cinematic experience unlike any other at that time.  No matter where you might stand when it comes to its religious overtones, you can’t deny that the movie is exactly as respectful as it needs to be for this story.  And ultimately, the message of the film isn’t “An eye for an eye.”  It’s “Love thy enemy as thyself.”  It takes Judah Ben-Hur a little while to get there.  But he gets there.

THE QUIET MAN (1952)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

Director: John Ford
Cast: John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara, Ward Bond, Victor McLaglen
My Rating: 6/10
Rotten Tomatometer: 91% Certified Fresh

PLOT: A retired American with a secret in his past returns to the village of his birth in 1920s Ireland, where he falls for a spirited redhead, whose brother is contemptuous of their union.


John Ford’s The Quiet Man won two Academy Awards, one of them for Ford himself as Best Director, his fourth Oscar in that category, a feat which has yet to be equaled by any other director since.  It is on the National Film Registry, on the AFI’s list of “100 Years, 100 Passions”, and is included in the invaluable annually updated book of 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die.  It currently carries a 91% Certified Fresh rating on the Rotten Tomatoes website and is JUST outside of the IMDb’s top 250 most highly rated films.

(And, as movie nuts will be happy to tell you, this is also the film E.T. is watching on TV when he’s drunk at home and Elliot is at school with the frogs…)

I mention all of this because I want to stress the amazing “pedigree” of The Quiet Man, a film which many have called John Wayne’s finest, one in which the familiar Wayne swagger is on display, but without the kind of Western bravado that was so integral to his success in the movies.  Yet, despite this rather impressive list of accomplishments, The Quiet Man is not quite as timeless as I hoped it would be.  It’s a relic of romantic attitudes that went out of style with the sexual revolution, the Me-Too movement, and – I’ll just say it – common sense.  It has its moments, of course, but aside from one genuine laugh-out-loud moment and a fistfight for the ages, it’s a bit of a chore.

John Wayne plays Sean Thornton, a man looking to escape his past by reconnecting with Ireland, the land of his birth, some time in the 1920s.  In the process, he falls madly in love with Mary Kate Danaher, a fiery-headed and fierce-tempered lass played by Maureen O’Hara.  Such is the chemistry between these two lovebirds that when they first lay eyes on each other, the normally stoic Mary Kate can barely walk ten feet before turning back to stare at Sean’s goofy grin…once, then twice, then THREE times.  Sean asks an old friend, “Hey, is that real?  She couldn’t be…!”  Yeah.  They talk like that all through the picture.

Anyway, one thing leads to another, and they start courting.  But Mary Kate’s elder brother, Will (played by Victor McLaglen with a face that looks like it was put together by a committee of blind men), is against their union because Sean plans to buy a parcel of land he’s been angling to get for himself.  And because this is the ‘20s, the elder brother’s word is law, so no romance for Sean and Mary Kate.  Until, that is, the townsfolk intercede on behalf of the lovebirds.  Small village, you know…the kind where everybody’s private business is an open secret.

The rest of the story is fairly predictable.  Marriage, Will still objects, a new home, the bride’s determination not to consummate the marriage until she gets her dowry, the false crisis, the big fight between Sean and Will at the climax, and so on.  The movie rises and falls on the chemistry between Sean and Mary Kate and the obstacles to their happiness.  Some formulas are old because they still work, and it is competently exploited in The Quiet Man.

For me, though, I must be honest and say that I was never quite engrossed in the story and atmosphere as I would have hoped.  For one thing, John Ford shot much of the film on location in Ireland, an extravagance not commonly indulged in during the 1950s.  However, there are insert shots here and there that were obviously staged and filmed on a studio set.  They are so obvious they became a distraction, something that has never really bothered me in other films of that era.

For another, the attitudes between men and women in The Quiet Man are hopelessly dated, so much so that I’m surprised this film still enjoys such a high rating on IMDb.  For example, there’s a famous scene where Sean intercepts Mary Kate as she’s about to leave on a train because Sean won’t ask her brother for her dowry.  Sean pulls her from the train and drags her home.  Literally drags her.  As they cross a green field, Mary Kate loses her balance and falls, but Sean barely breaks stride, and she is pulled along the grass like so much flour in a sack.  [The making-of documentary on the blu ray reveals the field was littered with sheep droppings which were not removed at Ford’s insistence.  Ah, showbiz.]  One of the female townsfolk witnesses the scene and yells to Sean: “Sir!  Sir! …here’s a good stick, to beat the lovely lady!”  Say what???

Now look: I’m not advocating for “cancellation” of The Quiet Man.  I’m just saying that you should be warned.  It’s a product of its time as much as Gone with the Wind or Some Like It Hot, full of attitudes and jokes that could never be filmed today except as parody or satire.  I get that, intellectually.  For the sake of this story (there’s a lot I’m leaving out), this scene was a necessary beat so Mary Kate could be finally convinced of Sean’s love and determination, equal to hers in every way.  But scenes like that are so glaring that they took me out of the story, and eventually all I saw was this bully who was pulling this poor woman across poop-littered grass.  What can I say.

Now.  Having said all that…I must admit there is one scene that had me laughing out loud at its daring.  It’s so forthright and downright bawdy, I’m frankly amazed it was allowed to make it into the film at all.  I was about to write a full description below with SPOILER ALERT at the beginning, but I won’t.  It involves a misunderstanding between the local matchmaker and broken furniture.  You’ll know it when you see it.  It was such a risqué joke that theaters in Boston edited it out of their film reels when it was released.  I laughed out loud pretty dang hard.

That brilliant joke aside, The Quiet Man is a serviceable film, showcasing two stars, Wayne and O’Hara, at or near the height of their powers, but who are at the mercy of a melodramatic script that is nearly a parody of itself.  I’m not sorry I watched it, you understand.  It’s a piece of Americana as ingrained in cinema history as Singin’ in the Rain.  But on the whole…I would rather watch Singin’ in the Rain for the fiftieth time than watch The Quiet Man again.  At least, not so soon.  Maybe in a few years.

THE SHAPE OF WATER

By Marc S. Sanders

I love fantasy and science fiction for one simple rule. A writer/director’s imagination can be limitless. Rules for a good fantasy are normally established in the exposition, and as long as those rules are not violated, a viewer will accept the narrative all the way to the end. The Shape Of Water is loyal to its set up.

Director/Co-Writer, Guillermo Del Toro continues his reputable streak of very adult (yet playful) fantasy. In 50 years, I would not be surprised if Disney/Pixar remade this film and Pan’s Labyrinth for younger PG audiences simply because the roots of the stories are so well played out.

Here is a Cold War love story between an alien and a good soul played by Sally Hawkins doing her best mute. Hawkins is bright eyed and wonderful. She’s a character that doesn’t judge and only recognizes despair for salvation. I thought she was great at conveying her performance through the limits of only facial expression, sign language, sex and self pleasure in a bathtub. Try to avoid snickers at that last description. It really is an honest, necessary reflection of a lonely innocent woman. I appreciated the writing and performance there.

Michael Shannon is back on screen playing a frightening villain…again. The reasons for his ruthless intentions were never clear to me, but either Shannon is that good an actor or he’s gotta be like this in real life. This is not a guy I’d ever want to cut in line at Starbucks, much less audit his books. He’s scary good.

Didn’t find much point to Richard Jenkins lonely neighbor except to drive a van, eat pie, be unemployed and be a token homosexual. Same with Octavia Spencer. Was she channeling a more subtle Whoopi Goldberg from Ghost? Don’t get me wrong. Jenkins and Spencer are fine actors here, and their characters are likable, but they don’t add much to the story except to be Hawkins’ sidekicks. Too much story was devoted to them though unnecessarily. Del Toro and his co-writer might have used them for too much filler.

Del Toro doesn’t stop with the new material as the two hours swim on by at a nice pace. We are treated to a wonderful Busby Berkeley song and dance moment that is just inviting to be spoofed by the Wayans or Zucker brothers, sensual nudity is there, not for perversion, but to send home the message that though this relationship is weird, it’s also the real deal. I bought it all the way through. Racism and gay prejudice are perhaps unnecessary in a film like this but there is key lime pie. Cats are consumed. Cold War espionage is on hand with Russian spies, dirty American government politics is there too, and oh yeah, there’s an amphibious alien who seems like any one of Spielberg’s extra-terrestrials we’ve seen before. Yet, I’ll take this one as well because he’s narrated into a very mature love story that is hard not to like.

As quick as the movie begins, you know how it is going to end. Again I don’t mind. Most of the execution rescues the story’s predictability.

Del Toro won Best Director and the film was awarded Best Picture at the Oscars. It’s not what I would pick, but there could be worse choices from that year’s selections.

I liked The Shape Of Water. Most of it at least.

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING

By Marc S. Sanders

I remember film critic Gene Siskel once said that to take issue with the length of a film is not entirely fair. After all, you are getting more movie for your buck. Would Siskel have felt that way about The Lord Of The Rings: The Return Of The King? Peter Jackson closes out the film adaptation of JRR Tolkien’s sweeping fantasy with an epic that allows you to marvel at everything you see, but does that mean we want to feel as overly exhausted as its main protagonist, Frodo Baggins, feels? Trust me. Poor Frodo looks wiped.

More battles are enacted in the third film. Jackson just changes the dynamics up a little bit. Now armies don elephants with a number of enormous, curved tusks. Another army has a different looking giant troll. Haven’t seen elephants before. Haven’t seen that kind of troll yet either. As well, there is another King who is apprehensive to cooperate in the fight against Sauran and his Orc minions. There’s also a green glowing ghost army. Meanwhile, Frodo and Sam (Elijah Wood and Sean Astin) continue their journey to Mount Doom where the almighty Ring must be destroyed. Gollum (Andy Serkis) remains as their untrustworthy guide.

Jackson seemingly covers every page written by Tolkien. I’m talking about depicting every dream each character has or line they utter or slow motion expression they offer, or walk that they take. Peter Jackson is a completist.

The Return Of The King won Best Picture along with a bevy of other Oscars. Seemingly it should have won anyway. The first two films were recognized with Best Picture nominations as well. For the third film to win was to honor the entire trilogy and its achievements in filmmaking. The Lord Of The Rings trilogy reinvented movie making as a whole. The bar was set so much higher following its release and huge reception of these films.

That being said, it takes endurance to stay with the picture. Most especially with The Return Of The King as the film has multiple endings. Just when you think it’s over, it’s not, and it’s tedious and a little frustrating. Jackson seemed to have too hard a time saying farewell to his digital Middle Earth with its endearing characters.

The length is a problem I have with the film, but none of it seems wasteful either. Every caption and scene carry an importance to it. At least that’s how Jackson wants you to feel. The question is, if a number of momentary scenes had not been woven into the final edit, would I miss it, and my answer would be likely not.

THE POWER OF THE DOG

By Marc S. Sanders

Don’t blame Jane Campion.  Blame me. 

The ending to The Power Of The Dog feels ambiguous, but writer and director Campion invites you to think and ponder.  It also helps that I have a good friend who shed some light on how the film actually wrapped up.  I’m grateful because I appreciated the picture even more.  Ironically, my friend didn’t care for the movie.

Technically, Jane Campion directs an absolutely breathtaking film with majestic cinematography and art design of open Montana fields taking place in 1926.  Tech work can only take me so far though, and I appreciated the four different perspectives of the headlining cast that includes Benedict Cumberbatch, Jesse Plemons, Kirsten Dunst and Kodi Smit-McPhee. 

Cumberbatch is Phil, a cowboy relic of the Old West.  He’s an expert horseman donned with spurs on his boots, and leather padding on the jeans along with the worn in staple cowboy hat.  He also has a fearful and intimidating temper.  Maybe that’s because his era is soon to be passed by and he’s not designed or updated for anything else.  Plemons is George. Phil’s subdued, business wise brother who knows his way around their Montana ranch, and more importantly knows how to build connections that’ll provide fiscal and political support, while he drives his Ford buggy to get from one place to the next.  Dunst is Rose, the artist of appetizing delicacies and designs who marries George.  She manages the kitchen of her restaurant and can play piano; not exceptionally well but her love for the instrument is what matters.  Her son is Peter, played by Smit-McPhee, a lanky and weak, yet book smart, young adult with his focus on the science of medicine.  He aspires to be surgeon.  So, as the 20th century is now over a quarter complete, these four individuals represent what once was, what is now, what is trending and what will become.

Campion sprinkles her film in more atmosphere than telling dialogue.  The gist of the story is how Phil’s tormenting presence scares both Rose and Peter.  A hair-raising scene occurs midway while Rose attempts to play a song on the piano, only to be drowned out by Phil’s cruel banjo interpretation from the top of the staircase.  Cumberbatch is really scary here as the bear teasing the cub to poke him.  Rose tries again and again to play only to be further interrupted by Phil.  A banjo is an instrument of a bygone era, the Old West.   The piano is the more sophisticated and elegant device to use now within the decorated designs of a reading room.

The future is also upon the characters.  Young Peter purchases a pair of sneakers to wear; not exactly the most appropriate for a horse ranch, nor are his suppressed homosexual yearnings.  Still, the future carries forth as he studies the latest in medicine and surgical practices, whether it is through dissection of a rabbit or studying the most up to date medical journals.

George is the symbol of transition.  He was raised like his brother Phil to be a rancher, but he knows that time has passed.  Currency, technology and longevity are necessary and it is not wise to remain stagnant in a time gone by.  It’s practical to develop connections with the Governor of the state, to drive himself and Rose in a car as opposed to by horseback.  To carry on the family name, it is also prudent he marries and builds a new generation.

I appreciated the subtle visuals and behaviors that Campion weaves into her adaptation from the novel by Thomas Savage.  Over the course of two hours, I was always learning something new, whether it be about the characters or the period setting.  Most telling is the fact that the past can not live in an updated future such as Phil with his suprising and deeply inhibited attraction to Peter.  As well, the future is not going to adjust well to the past like when Peter is trying to learn horse and ranch handling from a teasingly cruel Phil while wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat, white sneakers, and factory tailored jeans.  Furthermore, even if you’re only a frequent movie watcher, you likely are aware that Westerns would pit cowboys against Indians.  Rose demonstrates with her talents for craft how Native Americans are appreciated in this still young new century.  Phil and his ranchers would never imagine such relations to ever exist.

Our history is not comfortable with our eventual future, and our future can not fathom how we ever lived within our past.

Because these two worlds can never mesh in accordance with each other, a loss will have to be committed.  In another storyteller’s hands, The Power Of The Dog, might have resulted in a gun shot, or a stabbing or an illness to eliminate what cannot survive.  As well, long speeches of dialogue would spell out what must cease to continue and what must continue to flourish and go on.  With Campion’s lens, and with Savage’s work, it works atmospherically, however.  The environment of the Montana landscape along with life on a transitioning horse and cattle ranch serve the conflicting time passages and the characters who are relegated to a past, or a present, or a future. 

Don’t watch The Power Of The Dog with expectations of simplicity or quotable dialogue.  I value Campion’s approach to not spoon feed me.  Rather, take in the visuals of the four main characters’ behaviors.  Allow yourself to become more observant of the nature of how things end up.  Powerfully speaking, Jane Campion shows that some people will work well together, while others will crave to blend effectively, and sadly some can never live within another environment or time period, much less someone else’s.

The Power Of The Dog offers a thought-provoking message of loss and reflection while gazing into what’s just beyond.  It’s a very well-made film.

THE LAST EMPOROR

By Marc S. Sanders

Finally, I invested myself in watching Bernardo Bertolucci’s Oscar winning Best Picture The Last Emperor. Honestly, as breathtaking as the undertaking to make this sweeping epic is, it was the first and likely last time I will ever watch the film.

This three hour plus biographical picture focuses on a young child named Puyi, plucked from nowhere to become the next Emperor of China. He is destined to reside in Peking, The Forbidden City amid rich tapestries and deep Chinese culture at the start of the twentieth century. Oddly enough, the would be Emperor is a prisoner of his own surroundings for nearly his entire life. He is forbidden to go beyond the walls of Peking. Later in his adult life, he is a political prisoner and war criminal in the now regarded People’s Republic of China. Puyi was never granted an opportunity to think for himself or act upon his devices. He is forced to become an adaptable symbol to ongoing representations of the country that harbors him.

I watched this film with my wife. The next day we discussed it with my colleague Miguel who regards the picture as one of the best films he’s ever seen. I can not dismiss his viewpoint, but personally the depth of Betolucci’s efforts for maximum authenticity pushed my interest away from the film.

I embrace character arcs in films. It’s what keeps each passing moment of a movie refreshingly interesting. I do not deny the change in the Emperor’s story arc. Puyi changes as his country changes on both a political or militaristic platform. Yet, the film has vague segues in its changes as well.

Characters appear and disappear. Moments in history occur with no build up or explanation. It was challenging to follow who is who, and what has just happened.

Early on, we see how Puyi as a child interacts with his younger brother, Pujie. Much later in the film, Pujie reappears when they are adults. I am not going to pretend I’m a sophisticated enough moviegoer to realize this is the brother we saw as child over an hour earlier in the film. It took some time to realize who this guy was.

I’m also not going to pretend I know enough about Chinese history and culture to comprehend the traditional customs and ceremonies that occur, or China’s relationship that developed with Japan, or China’s significance during World War II.

That’s my problem with the film. Was I supposed to take a college course on Chinese history before watching The Last Emperor? The film is expository for sure, but it presumes the viewer will recollect at what point in history this moment or that moment occurs.

The film flashes forward and back to when Puyi was a prisoner of war in 1952. In prison, he eventually becomes reformed, but it became frustratingly complicated to understand exactly why he was even sentenced.

Following the film, I referenced Wikipedia to grasp the sequence of events. The historical change of this one man certainly merits a film to be made, much like Malcolm X or Born On The Fourth Of July. However, those films had a more comprehensive narration for me and the ongoing changes that the central figures experience are more well defined as the years pass and the people around them change.

The Last Emperor felt unclear to me in its storytelling while still immersing me in a land I’d imagine is unfamiliar to most viewers. For centuries “The Forbidden City” was not open for a public to encounter. If that’s the case, I believe Bertolucci needed to define what he captured much more clearly. Who’s to know what we are looking at, or what significance this setting has if most of the world population has yet to see what is here?

The Last Emperor requires a high threshold of patience and focus to grasp what it presents. It should be seen for the locales that are filmed, which were completely unseen by me personally. You’ll also get some tidbits of Chinese history, for sure.

All I can recommend is not to be so hard on yourself, when you find yourself lost at times in the film.

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN

By Marc S. Sanders

Joel and Ethan Coen have an odd collection of films under their belt. No Country For Old Men, an adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s novel is no exception. You’re likely to meet the oddest hit man you’ve experienced in a film. (Reader, I’m going under the presumption you’ve never encountered a normal or odd hit man in real life. If you survived long enough to read this passage, you are truly blessed.)

Anton Chigrh follows a discipline that likely no one ever taught him. His code is to continue until he finds what he’s looking for and dispose of any lead in his ongoing quest. His weapon of choice-an air gun hose connected to an oxygen tank. It’s instant in serving its purpose. Its sound is quick and jarring.

Javier Bradem delivers an Oscar winning performance as Chigrh in search of $2 million when Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) takes possession of it after coming upon the sight of a drug deal gone bad.

Tommy Lee Jones is perhaps one of the old men in the title. A Texas sheriff not surprised by the carnage he comes upon, but not of much use either. I think he regrets that he can never do more or better and simply can only surmise what’s already been done. I gathered that especially from a scene depicted in a hotel room during the third act of the film. His approach on the scene and his need to sit down translate that for me. His periodic anecdotes during the course of the film seem to say so as well. This sheriff has likely never rescued anyone from harm despite how intuitive he may be.

The Coen Brothers are never shy with blood. A lot of directors are not, really. Yet with the Coens, it seems the bloodshed is disturbingly honest. The instant splatter and flow following another act by Chigrh couldn’t be more truthful. They tell this tale very well, never concerning themselves with how unsettling they can be. Sun filled deserts are not comfortable. Evenings are sleepless. Blood is dark, thick, sticky, messy.

Moss is a hunter who has no idea what he’s up against. Brolin plays him with quiet reservation. He could not resist the urge to take the bag of money, but he also knows he’ll pay for it as well. When he realizes there’s no way to escape, by even crossing the border, he can only try to kill the devil incarnate. He’s likely aware of how this will all play out though.

Among this trio of fine actors (with Woody Harrelson also briefly in the fold), the film is nevertheless celebrated for Bardem. Whenever the story returns to Chigrh, you sit up in your chair a little more alert. He’s got disturbing dialogue exchanges with those he encounters and Bardem’s method makes you wish you never have to decide your fate with a coin toss.

No Country For Old Men is not an action film. The pace takes its time, invested in three men with respective histories who cannot change what their meant for. No incident will change their lifestyles. They are meant to be an assassin, a washed-up lawman, and a poor country hunter. Until they die, no moment in time will alter their caricatures. That’s what I took from the Coens’ Best Picture winner.

I appreciate its honesty.

DANCES WITH WOLVES

By Marc S. Sanders

The western motif of filmmaking really comes alive with the 1990 winner for Best Picture, Dances With Wolves starring Kevin Costner in his astounding directorial debut. Until now, this film eluded me. I just never got around to seeing it. Watching it now is to recognize the parallels of current events in the year 2020. A Native American Facebook friend of mine recently lauded the takedown of a statue of Christopher Columbus. At the risk of sounding like I’m taking political side (I insist that I’m not!), I think understand her position a little more. I’m not saying I agree or disagree with this topic. I’m just saying I understand.

After committing what was seemingly an act of suicide, but instead is recognized as heroic in the eyes of the Union army during the Civil War, John Dunbar (Costner) is offered the pick of location for his next post. He opts for Fort Sedgwick because he wants to witness the frontier out west before it will likely be taken over by the white Americans. As Dunbar waits for fellow infantrymen to arrive, he gets the old fort into shape with his trusty horse Sisco. He also encounters companionship in a lone wolf he names Two Socks. The wolf only gradually learns to trust Dunbar, but that’s a project for the infantryman to occupy himself with. That, and keeping his personal journal.

Shortly after he’s settled in, he comes upon a Sioux Indian named Kicking Bird (an excellent Graham Greene). He and Dunbar are the first to develop trust with one another. Eventually, Dunbar’s good nature allows him the opportunity to rescue a white woman who lives with the Sioux tribe known as Stands With A Fist (Mary McDonnell). She has attempted to kill herself following the death of her husband. As the film continues, she becomes the translator between Dunbar and the other Indian leaders, allowing the story and relationships to move along.

The script by Michael Blake is fascinating simply because we are granted plenty of opportunities for the tribespeople to speak in their native tongue. Forgive me, I thought for a little about Hollywood’s most famous Indian, Tonto, and his laughably limited English. Here, language is instead limited for the white man as Costner does his best charade of buffalo to find initial common ground with the tribe’s holy man played by Greene.

Hollywood westerns seem to equate American Indians as savages, the bad guys of the films, complete with tomahawks and bow and arrows and bellowed battle cries for expression. Not here. Dunbar’s loneliness at the fort without another white man in sight does not allow for the ease of prejudice to interfere. Instead, he is a character who must learn to be accepted by the greater populace. When he is, he realizes that his true name is Dances With Wolves and not John Dunbar. That’s a fascinating character arc of change. The setting and the community within that location change the character. I was really moved by it.

As well, there is struggle and disagreements among the Indian population. Perhaps it truly is in the nature of humanity to be that way. The Sioux tribe must contend violently with the Pawnee tribe in a struggle to protect their territory and their food and supplies. Yet, that is wholly different from what drives the war that Dunbar has heroically served in. It’s not until Dunbar fights alongside his Sioux friends that he realizes he’s not an infantryman. This is another example of Costner effectively directing himself to find a new and enriching identity for his character.

A third example of character change stems from the eventual and expected love story that unfolds between Dunbar and Stands With A Fist. It’s something I’ve seen in countless other films. However, Mary McDonnell is quite good as the white woman whose English is close to being entirely replaced by the Native American tongue. She seems so indoctrinated within the Sioux tribe that when she first comes on the screen I questioned if she was a natural born Indian or an actual white woman.

Costner’s film is full of magnificent imagery. Gorgeous landscapes of the filming locations of South Dakota are like perfect paintings of open fields and endless blue sky. The blu ray transfer I watched was eye popping.

One of the greatest moments was a sequence involving a buffalo stampede. Costner with cast all on horseback ride within, as well as parallel to the animals and if ever a widescreen shot should be appreciated, this is a moment to turn to. The score moves beautifully with the pounding of the horses and buffalo stampeding across the open plains.

A personal sidenote is in regards to John Barry, the film’s music composer. I know this is an unfair criticism but at times his score is so strikingly similar to his work on various James Bond films that it was a distraction for me. Other times, Barry’s work lent well in some of the action scenes.

Nonetheless, what an incredible achievement that Costner commanded. He gives a terrific performance, but his direction is what truly stands out. Particularly, with the battle scenes and animal footage, I questioned how he managed to accomplish all of it. It’s just spectacular.

Dances With Wolves is certainly worthy of the accolades it attained and the reputation it still holds. The production value is easy to admire and unforgettable. Beyond that though, is the converse nature the film adheres to as a Hollywood western. The culture of a Native American tribe never seemed so authentic to me as it does here, accompanied with their sense of humor or even their temptation at playful gossip when observing the central love story between Dunbar and Stands With A Fist. We see what the Sioux tribe does to survive, yes. Still, we also see how they interact with one another and converse, as well as how they respond to a new neighbor, for example.

Dances With Wolves is an authentic masterpiece of a modern western. It’s a must-see film.

THE DEPARTED

By Marc S. Sanders

Martin Scorsese finally won his Best Director Oscar with the 2006 Best Picture The Departed, from a script written by William Monahan. The film is a remake of a Hong Kong crime drama called Infernal Affairs.

Also known as the one film in Scorsese’s library with a linear plot, The Departed depicts the stories of two guys who grew up in the south end of Boston and joined the police academy to serve. Only difference is one is recruited to go undercover within the Irish mob, while the other is recruited by the same mob to become a highly respected police officer and supply an unlimited wealth of information to his criminal boss.

Leonardo DiCaprio is the undercover cop Billy Costigan. Matt Damon is the criminal cop Colin Sullivan. Jack Nicholson is the Irish mob boss in the middle, Frank Costello.

The Departed works because Scorsese and Monahan allow the audience in on every deceit playing against the characters. Pleasantly surprising is that there are even twists to this layered story, and cellular flip phones assist all the players with trying to remain in hiding or hoping to one up and trap the other. However, because everyone is getting tipped from their own respective sources, people are either not ending up dead, or arrested or caught red handed. As Costigan builds his case against Costello, Sullivan is worming his way to protecting his cover in the police force while also tipping off his true boss.

Performances from DiCaprio, Damon and Nicholson are what you’d expect. Nicholson is chewing the scenery again appearing like the devil incarnate while hamming up the facial expressions. Damon is great at playing it like the Boy Scout cop in well-tailored suits, clean shaven and flirtatious within his department and earning respect among his peers, that is until it all seems to unravel. DiCaprio is wired as the cop who needs to show he’s a dangerous hood to be trusted among the mob cohorts. However, he’s getting more paranoid and unwound at the risk of being made.

Thelma Schoonmaker (one of my favorites) does a balanced approach edit to showing a parallel among the cops. She will insert a happening of Costigan for a snippet and then segue to Sullivan appearing to do honest police work, or reaching out to Costello with a warning of what’s coming for him.

Great support also comes from Ray Winstone as Costello’s right hand man, and Alec Baldwin, Anthony Anderson and Martin Sheen, all within the police department.

Ironically, the one Oscar nominated performance was bestowed upon Mark Wahlberg and I grew tired of his presence quickly as the cop who berates Costigan endlessly with yelling and fast one liners that involve someone’s mother. Could we just move on from this please?

I also found Vera Farmiga as a police psychologist to be mostly unnecessary until a contrived ending point needed to arrive. Her character naturally has affairs with both Damon and DiCaprio, who also attend her office for sessions. Of course they do! Whenever the film sidetracks to one of them with Farmiga, The Departed stalls for a moment. Her character carries no stake in the plot line and offers no further dimension to DiCaprio and Damon’s characters.

The film works best as the complications compound on each other. A great moment occurs between the cops when one of them picks up a bloody cell phone to dial back the most recent call. Silence on both ends of the line, and the moment just plays out until someone speaks or hangs up.

Moments like that is suspense similar to when a man is intruding in a dark house. However, this is suspense delivered by Martin Scorsese, and Martin Scorsese will film suspense that is anything but typical. Martin Scorsese’s suspense leaves you breathless.

ORDINARY PEOPLE

By Marc S. Sanders

Psychiatry is regarded as a stigma within the world of Ordinary People.

Robert Redford’s Oscar winning directorial debut centers on a troubled high school student named Conrad (Timothy Hutton in an Oscar winning role) who finally gets the gumption to see Dr. Berger (Judd Hirsch) following a suicide attempt brought on by the guilt he carries when he could not rescue his older brother, Buck, in a stormy boating accident. His parents, Beth and Calvin (Mary Tyler Moore and Donald Sutherland), accept this action with differing viewpoints.

For Beth it’s shameful and unnecessary to see a doctor. Her stance is made all the more clear when her own mother frowns upon this, especially with this doctor being a Jew. On the other hand, Calvin looks at it as an opportunity for a breakthrough. This doctor could really be good for Conrad. Beth is embarrassed when Calvin has a few drinks at a neighborhood dinner party and shares these developments with some friends.

For a WASP community, seeing a psychiatrist is not regarded well. It shows that Beth’s image of a perfect lifestyle is tainted. Any problems they have should be resolved in the home. What never occurs to Beth, however, is the resentment she fails to hide for her second son. There’s nothing breaking through Beth’s exterior to allow her true feelings to come out. By contrast, Conrad gradually lets his inner struggle loose and the film shows that it helps, as challenging as it could be.

In 1980, the prior year’s Best Picture winner was Kramer vs Kramer. Three years later it would be Terms Of Endearment. Hollywood was recognizing an audience’s interest in the domestic life. The Vietnam War was now in the past. Reagan economics were taking over and middle-class America seemed to be doing well. Redford’s adaptation of Judith Guest’s novel with a screenplay by Alvin Sargeant showed what was happening behind closed doors. Dramatic moments occur and they can offer a terrible shock in the moment but as days move on, so does everyone around you. You make efforts to do so as well, but you’re still weighed down by that one moment of loss.

Redford directs Hutton with quiet moments of anguish. Quick cut flashbacks offer a glimpse of what’s running through Conrad’s mind. Fortunately, it doesn’t run too long and upstage Hutton’s performance. Timothy Hutton is astonishing with his twitches and stutters and struggle to simply sit still. His blank stare of his blue eyes covey his deep depression. When a girl classmate takes notice of him, you feel the remedy of his sessions starting to make a difference. Where his mother refuses to recognize his need for love, someone else does and you feel better about yourself as well.

There’s always a reason to live. Dr. Berger reminds Conrad of that. Judd Hirsch is right for his role against the waspy wealth of Conrad’s upbringing. He encourages a “not giving a shit” attitude to how people perceive Conrad. We all want a mother’s love, but it doesn’t always work out that way. We want to be accepted at school. That might not work out either. With his sloven stature and chain-smoking manner, Hirsch is very convincing in reminding Conrad to say it’s okay to tell someone to fuck off, and most importantly to stop punishing himself for saying it.

Mary Tyler Moore and Donald Sutherland work incredibly well at conflicting with each other while also convincing us that before this terrible accident they likely complimented one another perfectly. Yet, as the film explains, life gets messy. The question is how best to respond when the mess appears and stays with you. Conrad finds the benefits in seeing a therapist like Dr. Berger. Beth will hear nothing of the idea. A magnificent scene done with one tracking camera comes out of nowhere while Beth and Calvin are playing golf with relatives. A slight mention of their son by Calvin gradually explodes into what really sets Calvin and Beth apart from one another. All of their sub conscious thoughts explode on a crowded golf course in front of the community they’ve absorbed their history and marriage within. Redford gets the best beats out of his actors because the shields that maintain their personas will only hold for so long. It’ll break down at a time when it’s never opportune or convenient. This scene occurs near the end of the film as we see Conrad’s recovery, while Beth and Calvin are still mired in both individual and shared heartache and resentment. It’s a crescendo moment that the film builds to for these characters.

Within film discussions, Ordinary People is often sadly regarded as the film that once again denied Martin Scorsese of a well-deserved Oscar (for arguably his greatest work Raging Bull). I don’t think that’s fair, however. Some might say Ordinary People may be dated. However, now that I’ve finally seen the film, I can’t deny it’s importance. Mental health has become more apparent through all kinds of different social classes. Yet we still hide ourselves, and are encouraged to shelter ourselves under a facade of happiness. That can’t always be true for any of us. We, as humans, all suffer. We all feel pain or embarrassment or sadness. If anything, a piece like Ordinary People reminds us that we are all typical, and must succumb to dealing with issues far beyond our mental capacity at one time or another.