Oscar Aftermath & a Brief Look at Cinema in 2011

By Steve Evans

Handicapping the Academy Awards can be a fool’s game, as evidenced last night with the Oscars distributed across a slate of wildly different films. The Artist, a French arthouse picture harkening to the silent era and filmed in black and white, came away with five Oscars: for best picture, director Michel Hazanavicius, best actor Jean Dujardin, original musical score and costume design. It was the first silent film since 1929’s Wings to win best picture (in the first year of the Academy Awards) and the first winner shot in the boxlike 4:3 ratio since Marty in 1955. All best picture winners have been filmed in widescreen since Marty.

Francophiles can rejoice. Three of the best picture nominees, The Artist, Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris and Martin Scorsese’s Hugo, were all period pieces set in France.

The Artist and Hugo are movies about the love of movies. Hugo also won a quintet of Oscars, although in technical categories including cinematography and special effects.

Meryl Streep’s win for her portrayal of Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady was expected, although her chances seemed to waver after the film’s producers distributed a reportedly annoying email to the academy’s voting members saying it was “about time” she won again. Streep last received a Best Actress Oscar for Sophie’s Choice in 1982.

I correctly predicted wins for Alexander Payne and Woody Allen in the best adapted and best original screenplay categories, respectively, for The Descendants and Midnight in Paris. George Clooney had been the odds-on favorite to win Best Actor for The Descendants, but left the Hollywood and Highland Center auditorium sporting only a classical tuxedo and dignified smile.

Terence Malick’s Tree of Life, a challenging and beautifully shot film about nothing less than all creation and life itself, was shut out of the Oscars. I saw this mesmerizing film last summer on its original run and about a third of the audience walked out before the credits, scratching their heads. I suspect academy voters did, too. This is depressing since film artists working within the studio system may be less likely to push the boundaries of the medium if they believe their efforts will go unrewarded. While many Indie films continue to challenge audiences, the very nature of independent cinema has evolved dramatically over the last 20 years. Now independent productions are often viewed as a testing ground for aspiring filmmakers who want to win festival prizes that catch the attention of the major leagues in Hollywood. Many independent pictures screen like calling cards from directors who yearn for greater things.

This, of course, misses the point of producing independent cinema, where lower budgets and lesser known actors can take chances with minimal risk.

Here, then, is an apt segue on the state of film: Minimizing risk is what show business is all about. Last year produced a record 28 films that were sequels to earlier hits. Of the top 10 highest-grossing movies in 2011, nine of them were sequels. The final Harry Potter installment topped the list with $1.3 billion in worldwide revenues, followed by Michael Bay’s third Transformers film, and the fourth entries in the Pirates of the Caribbean, Twilight and Mission Impossible franchises. Every single one of them cost more than $175 million to produce and market.

All aesthetic judgements aside, these are the movies most people paid to see in 2011. All are heavy on special effects, with thin, merely serviceable scripts. Story takes a back seat to spectacle and furious, multi-channel sound.

The Artist was shot on a budget of approximately $15 million and produced returns of not-quite $73 million, according to figures from Box Office Mojo. This take represents only 13 percent of the box office produced by Disney/Pixar’s poorly-reviewed Cars 2, which ranked 10th in highest grossing films last year.

Arthouse pictures give Hollywood a thin patina of artistic respectability, but when it comes to bankrolling big movies, studios still place their bets on the sure thing. This is why you can look forward to another Spiderman movie this year, another Batman adventure, a second GI Joe action flick, the final installment of the Twilight series, a remake of Total Recall with Colin Farrell in the Schwarzenegger role, a remake of The Great Gatsby with Leonardo Di Caprio stepping into Robert Redford’s shoes in the title role, a film adaptation of the videogame Halo and, yes, another Godzilla picture.

I could ramble on another six paragraphs, but there are plenty of websites that list the slate of pictures scheduled for release in 2012. If you can find half a dozen original films about something – anything – you’ve never seen before, kindly let me know.

Cinema Uprising copyright © 2012 by Steve Evans. All rights reserved.

Same as it ever was: Taxi Driver's mean streets

By Steve Evans

A recent conversation about the physical transformation of New York City over the last 40 years set my mind to thinking about some of the great films made in Gotham and one picture, in particular, that still works brilliantly today as social commentary. Martin Scorsese’s 1976 classic, Taxi Driver, remains a virtual travelogue of the sights and sounds one could experience in NYC during the city’s seedy low point, when Times Square was as dangerous as any jungle in the Congo and neighborhoods such as the East Village, some 30 blocks south of the Theater District, were home to lost souls and impoverished individuals whose notion of hope consisted of nothing more than surviving through another day.

Scorsese has said that the New York of Taxi Driver was meant to represent all American cities, where structural and social decay might eventually corrode a man’s soul. In the case of the film’s title character, that corrosion leads inexorably to isolation, alienation and murderous madness. I have seen the film many times and explored New York City extensively through the years, from Harlem to Wall Street on the southern tip of Manhattan and east into Brooklyn.

Decades of revitalization and governmental efforts to clean up New York have long since transformed much of the city’s Manhattan borough into a gleaming, gentrified habitat for the rich and those who aspire to be. Most everyone else has been marginalized. Times Square in 2012 is virtually unrecognizable from the steamy, rain-slicked hell that Scorsese captured on film 36 years ago. Gone are the grindhouses, sex shops, the hookers, the drug addicts and the pushers who catered to them, replaced by Starbucks and Sbarros pizzerias, Disney theaters and four-star hotels. Whether this is a good thing may depend on individual notions of adventure. Some people want to feel exhilaration and a sense of danger when exploring major cities. Others may be in town to see a performance of Phantom of the Opera after dining at Sparks Steak House. Street people are not a part of the latter equation, although you can still see them, just off the sidewalks, slouching in the shadows.

Beyond the thick layer of sleaze, the dilapidated buildings and grime that permeate the surface of Taxi Driver, there exists the world of the disenfranchised and the doomed. Midnight Cowboy (1969) explored themes of isolation and hopelessness among society’s outcasts, but Taxi Driver hammered home the point with such force that much of the picture has entered our iconography.

As the unhinged taxi driver Travis Bickle, Robert De Niro famously asks, “You talkin’ to me?” while brandishing his weapons. He speaks to a mirror. The answer comes later, in a gore-drenched shootout with low-level mobsters and a pimp when Travis attempts to rescue a 12-year-old prostitute (Jodie Foster) from a brothel, which was filmed at 226 E. 13th St. in the East Village (above and at right; frames from the film captured from my DVD). The same building’s front steps were later the scene of a real-life tragedy in 1988.

A former slum, the East Village is now home to NYU students, artists and theater folk. The room where Travis Bickle completes his rampage rents today for $1,690 a month, according to a NYC real estate listing (below, the facade of the building as it appears today). The original residents are long gone, perhaps pushed back into Brooklyn. But they are somewhere.

Renovating 100-year-old buildings and converting them into loft apartments might improve property values, but it does little to address the social ills on display in Taxi Driver. That is the real, lingering power of the film, because we can see in hindsight how little has changed in a generation. The streets may be cleaner, but the people who walk them are not demonstrably different.

One minute Travis runs from his failed attempt to assassinate a presidential candidate. The next, he’s gunning down a pimp. Scorsese and Taxi Driver screenwriter Paul Schrader engage in not-so-subtle allegory by making the Machiavellian politician and the sleazy pimp interchangeable in the eyes of their protagonist. Travis Bickle says he feels compelled to “do something” to clean up the streets and, by extension, clear his troubled mind. He is a man sickened by his environment, by his inability to connect to anyone in any meaningful way. He is not a hero.

Decades later, the politicians have cleaned up many streets, but not the minds of the wildly different people who inhabit them. To some extent, the current Occupy movements reflect this idea of the disenfranchised taking a stand. I wonder sometimes how far it will go.

It is said that violence is the final refuge of a man who has run out of options – and ideas.

In this election year, when the wealthy spend millions to elect rich politicians whose ideologies are in sync principally with their campaign contributors, the simmering of the disenfranchised can be felt on the streets, echoing across the Internet and occupying the front pages of the remaining newspapers in America. It can be felt in every budget cut, every rejiggering of social policy that shifts power and wealth to a smaller, more concentrated elite. There is anger. Taxi Driver never seemed more relevant – or frightening.

The original promotional poster for the film featured a tagline: “In every city there is one man….”

Today I suspect there is more than one.

Cinema Uprising copyright © 2012 by Steve Evans. All rights reserved.

Spike Lee is Peeved. Again.

By Steve Evans

The 2012 Sundance Film Festival got an injection of hubris from director Spike Lee, who is angry again, this time at Hollywood for not greenlighting his projects and for offering what he suggested was ...too many suggestions on how he should write his scripts.

"I didn't want to hear no motherf------ notes from the studio telling me ... about what a young 13-year-old boy and girl would do in (Brooklyn neighborhood) Red Hook," he told a Sundance audience. "They know nothing about black people. Nothing!"

http://movies.msn.com/movies/article.aspx?news=697711&silentchk=1&wa=wsignin1.0

Lee catapulted onto the national cinema scene in the 1980s with race-relations films, most notably Do the Right Thing. He made a fortune, seemed to lose his way in the 1990s, and hasn't made anything especially memorable since Malcolm X, with the possible exception of Inside Man (2006), on which he was only a hired gun to direct a screenplay written by Russell Gewirtz.

Spike, baby, you gotta understand: it's not whether Hollywood suits know anything about black people. They are only interested in films that make money. A lot of it. Either pull together financing for your own projects and roll the dice with an indie distributor, or accept the simple verity that Hollywood studios are not going to bend to your churlish tirades.

Spike famously got into a who's-got-a-bigger-dick contest with Quentin Tarantino over the latter's pervasive use of the N-word in Jackie Brown (1997). No less an authority on hipster cool than Samuel Jackson came to Tarantino's defense at the time, saying, "I don't think the word is offensive in the context of this film ... Black artists think they are the only ones allowed to use the word. Well, that's bull. Jackie Brown is a wonderful homage to black exploitation films. This is a good film, and Spike hasn't made one of those in a few years."

Jackson's observation on Lee's output still holds true today.

It seems Lee wants it both ways: to spend Hollywood money and enjoy complete control. That's not a bad goal, per se, and maybe he could have both if his track record of late wasn't so spotty. It's not a matter of having control over, black, white, blue or pale-yellow films. It's about making good films.

For a director who launched himself into the limelight 25 years ago as an angry young man with indie street cred, I note with an air of fatalism that today Lee is a one-trick pony who has grown into little more than an angry old man who used to make good films. His message, if he still has one, is lost in the delivery.

Cinema Uprising copyright © 2012 by Steve Evans. All rights reserved.

Backstage at the Golden Globes

By Steve Evans

Every year Hollywood royalty strut the red carpet outside the Beverly Hilton Hotel, where the Hollywood Foreign Press Association awards the Golden Gobes.

The HFPA does this in January to beat the Academy Awards in February, since passing out Golden Globes after the Oscars would be even more irrelevant than passing them out at all.

It's a little-known fact that a mere 90 people are voting members of the HFPA. They would have you believe that this minuscule gathering of opinion is a barometer of quality in the cinema and on television, since they also dish out TV awards each year. In reality, the awards ceremony gives HFPA members an opportunity to rub elbows with the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio and the Kardashian sisters, whose names I cannot be bothered to look up right now. HFPA members take lots of pictures posing with celebrities and send these digital images back to their respective publications in some 55 nations, where the magazines and newspapers publish them to a fawning audience. This annual activity also helps mollify the editors and publishers at the home office, who might otherwise grouse about the high cost of their correspondents living large in L.A.

They also distribute some philanthropy as a result of revenues generated from televising the show, “more than $12 million in the past seventeen years to entertainment-related charities, as well as funding scholarships and other programs for future film and television professionals,” according to the HFPA website.

But the principal reason so many stars turn out for the event – and one of the main reasons you may want to watch it – is the open bar that flows continuously from well before the ceremony to some indeterminate time thereafter. A crowded ballroom of celebrities drinking heavily makes things a bit loose and funky. You may find it amusing. The Academy Awards are a dry affair, figuratively and literally, but at the Golden Globes movie and TV stars get down.

Here’s a clip of Liz Taylor high as a monkey and presenting the Golden Globe (or in her words, “the Golden Glow”) for Best Drama in 2000:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGT-NUBNTZc

Comedian Ricky Gervais returns this year to host the Globes. He’s one of the funniest comics working today, but the herpity-derp expressions on the drunken faces of his targets will provide far more hilarity come show time. Check those reaction shots when Gervais gets rolling. He was so acerbic last year, he wasn't invited back -- until the producers saw the Nielsen ratings.

So that is the “why” behind the Golden Globes. As for the when, you can watch the awards Jan. 15 on NBC. Show starts at 8 p.m. Eastern.

Above all, keep an eye on Jack Nicholson.

Cinema Uprising © 2012 by Steve Evans. All rights reserved.