The Power In Your Voice. Your Rough Touch. You Keeping Care Of Me, Keeping Watch

The Tree of Life (Malick, 2011)

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding."

And with that brief verse from the Book of Job, Terrence Malick's latest - Palme d'Or winning - film The Tree of Life begins to lay the foundation for a thorough examination of humanity. Moments later we have the primary female voice, via trademark Malickian voice over similar to Badlands and Days of Heaven, posit a thesis that carries throughout the film: during life humans must either walk the path of nature or the path of grace. As we are thrown in to a small 1950's American town the movie makes it blatantly apparent that it casts a wide net, takes on a scope as large as life itself. It really is a beautiful juxtaposition to open the film with, starting as wide and expansive and then keeping those ideas contained to an incredibly specific, focused area. Malick presents the quintessential American life, 1950's USA white, middle class suburbia, and reaches for an understanding of the universal. And from there the film only grows.

And Don't Go Mistaking Paradise For That Home Across The Road

The Sunset Limited (Jones, 2011)

Cormac McCarthy is, in all likelihood, the English language's best writer. At the very least he competes for the title. Lately cinema has latched on to McCarthy's works: the Coen's adapted No Country for Old Men, John Hillcoat brought The Road to life, James Franco is lobbying to helm a screen version of Blood Meridian; however, Tommy Lee Jones may, with The Sunset Limited, be the first to dip in to McCarthy's rather lean dramatic output in an attempt to bring the revered writer's works 'alive.' If movies have proven one thing time and time again it is that simply drawing inspiration from a rich source does not always yield a fruitful harvest, so in adapting one of McCarthy's denser, and much less critically hailed texts, Jones arguably has a much greater challenge than any of the aforementioned directors. The 'action' of The Road does not exist, the comedy of the Coens is not here, and whatever Franco has in mind for a book deemed unfilmable may or may not be present. And even without those qualities, Tommy Lee Jones delivers an adaptation that deserves to be mentioned alongside the best adaptation of the great novelist's works.

Clocking in at a meager 90 minutes, The Sunset Limited plays out as one long scene involving a conversation between the two main characters, Black and White. White, a professor, is saved by Black when he attempts to jump in front of the Sunset Limited train. Black brings him back to his nearly barren apartment in the ghettos of New York City to make sure that White does not attempt to kill himself again, supposedly. The situation is seemingly mundane, so Tommy Lee Jones and Samuel L. Jackson need to bring life to White and Black, respectively, in order to sustain a lofty premise. Both of the actors are firing on all cylinders, but the two are aided even further by the wonderful script. I am not incredibly well versed in McCarthy's works, only having read two or three, but The Sunset Limited stands out as McCarthy at his most philosophic. What appears to be a simple conversation in an apartment becomes a cataclysmic encounter of ideologies, theological and philosophical perspectives being placed together in a room and simply existing. I was not surprised to hear that McCarthy was on set quite often during filming, helping the actors and making sure his script remained almost completely unchanged from the original play.


Jones's The Sunset Limited is, much like the source material, an examination of binaries in relation to the world in which we live. What I find compelling is the dramatic construction of the film, we start out dividing these characters down to their most basic traits. Then the film goes deeper, bypassing race and starting to examine the economic gaps between the two men. White attempts to thank Black by offering him $1000, but he says that sum is minor and ups it to $3000. And it only continues to build until the movie is no longer about two men in an apartment, it becomes two forces in the universe. The film makes it rather apparent that neither of the entities are going to be forced from their position, in fact the struggles they are locked in are so entrenched in the human condition that anything other than the one testing the other seems impossible. What becomes fascinating is not just the way the two men square off, surprisingly on equal ground all things considered, but how they interact, come close to mingling, to co-existing, the hope that they, or rather we, can find reach an understanding, if not a balance. The Sunset Limited is not an exercise in ideology, it is a decathlon in existence.

Essentially, The Sunset Limited is far more dense than a simple review can cover. If I offer interpretations of the themes I would be more or less be exposing my outlooks on life. If the film has a prevalent theme it can be found in the unsolvable of the world and the resolve of humans to continue, one way or another, along the life in which we are trapped. Or given. Perhaps we are too entrenched in society to ever completely let go, or perhaps we simply tethered to a past that guides our future. This film, oddly, is most similar to the work of Sasha Baron Cohen, existing in an odd space that is capable, perhaps more than many other films, what we really know about ourselves. Borat asks the viewer to watch others and judge, but it also asks us to acknowledge how we perceive the world, by presenting constantly opposing forces, but examining them, The Sunset Limited asks us to do the same. It may be scary, it may be frightening, uplifting, depressing, too intense to handle, but with The Sunset Limited we can learn, we can discovery, we can be.


If any complaints can be levied against the movie it would have to be in the technical manner the film is constructed. Tommy Lee Jones simply does not have a camera that can keep up with the rapid exchanges between Black and White, but it also never actively gets in the way either, so it is more pedestrian than anything. At the very least it does not get in the way of the wonderful script, which is more than can be said of the score. While the score itself is beautiful, blending traditional music with the sounds of trains in the distance, it's sparring use is meant to draw attention to the more important monologues in the film; instead, by coming in so heavily and not really existing in any other context the score is simply distracting. This aspect simply seems odd, especially when all of the natural sound does enhance the script by serving as background noise that adds a sense of dread to White's more fervent speeches. Two missteps, one incredibly minor, but large enough to hold the film back from elevating it from a great adaptation to a great film.


And when it comes down to it The Sunset Limited is an outstanding adaptation anchored by a stunning script and two top notch actors giving top notch performances. The best parts of the play are captured in the film without losing any of the aspects that still makes it feel theatrical. This movie is challenging because I love McCarthy's play so much, because the ideas at the heart of the script are so appealing, I almost feel as if saying I love the film is a cop-out. So I will not profess my love for the film, because technically the aspects of the movie that film allows are its weakest parts. What I will say is that Tommy Lee Jones captures the spirit of one of the language's greatest writers and arguably makes a damn fine film in the process.

Comments are encouraged and, for anyone with a literary mind, I encourage checking out my poetry blog filled with all original works for your reading pleasure.

Also I am on the old Twitter thing so I guess you can follow me at twitter.com/FLYmeatwad.

Honey, What Reveals You Is What You Try And Hide Away

Shadow of a Doubt (Hitchcock, 1943)

Prior to going into this film I had known two little facts that had me pretty excited. The first, and most notable, is that Hitchcock has stated that he considers Shadow of a Doubt to be his favorite of his American films. The second, and more interesting to me personally, is the involvement of esteemed American playwright Thornton Wilder in the script writing process. Obviously these two elements had me pretty excited to see how everything came together and, while I was not sure why I was skeptical, everything blended together seamlessly to craft a compelling and incredibly tense film. While I can say right now that my underexposure to the rest of Hitchcock's work, I have only seen Psycho, results in my unable to informatively agree or disagree with Hitchcock's endearment, but I am going to attempt to make out what makes this particular film so compelling.

I could go on about the direction, but the film is from Hitchcock so it is to be expected that a certain level of pedigree can be found in just about every scene. Instead, I shall start with the acting that is on display during the film's nearly two hour run. Anchored by Teresa Wright and Joseph Cotten as the two Charlies, the two have perfect chemistry and offer an engaging back and forth dynamic that covers, and nails, just about every emotion in the book. Cotten obviously gives a chilling performance as Uncle Charlie and the way he constantly changes his mannerisms depending on the situation is mighty fantastic, but I would have to say that Wright is easily the stand out. Every scene she is in she brings human elements to instead of simply acting to emotion. She displays innocence and the shattering of this innocence and she handles it with such magnificence that I could not help but be bowled over by her performance.

Of course a lot of this has to do with the script. Early on sequences with Ann drip of Wilder's writing, but as things continue to move forward and the film offers up scenes like the one between both Charlies in the bar and the final scene with Wright in the church the film starts to take on a theatrical quality and the dialogue becomes almost poetic. The script is so carefully constructed, or more specifically the dialogue, that the film's themes and the ideas presented are almost immediately heightened to such a high level that the film, even if all the other elements were terrible, would be a fine example of film construction simply for the writing. Factor in how well humor is blended in with the plot and how intense Hitchcock makes the suspenseful sequences and the film takes on a quality of brilliance. Perhaps though the film's second greatest strength is how the viewer is always kept guessing and one can never be sure which direction the film will take in the future.

Sadly the film has somewhat of a turning point toward the end where things begin to fall apart. I personally think that everything would have been great if the film has simply stopped when Uncle Charlie makes an ascent up the stairs and we are treated to a beautiful long shot of Charlie holding her hat and standing in the doorway looking upward. But for some unknown reason the film makes one of what quickly become a stream of awkward cuts between scenes and the film starts to show its hand and strip away the ambiguity and suspense in favor of explaining everything to the viewer. A semi romance is tossed in, though mostly handled wonderfully, a few more scenes of visual action instead of the guessing game previously used, and slightly puzzling dinner and train scenes feel incredibly out of place. Now Wilder or Hitchcock attempt to salvage things by having Wright seemingly abandoned by her love interest, keeping the audience on their toes and wondering if Mr. Graham was just leading her along to help with the case, but then he is simply thrown back in at the end to allow for the final monologue to cap off the film. Sure this scene is brilliant and reestablishes the theatrical and poetic aspects of the film, but I must wonder if the film was better off undercutting most of what comes before just to finish on this philosophical note.

However, in the end the film is still a near masterwork and certainly a cut above the other Hitchcock film I have watched. When everything that has come before is so near flawless I can hardly fault a jarring finale, especially when the film actively makes an attempt to atone for these mistakes even in the way the final few scenes are handled. Shadow of a Doubt is a complex, compelling, and suspenseful film that showcases why Alfred Hitchcock is one of the best filmmakers of all time, and the inclusion of Wilder in the script writing process adds a philosophical layer to the film that results in far more than a simple genre film. The film is not without its flaws, but it is one Hell of a ride that has me excited to dive deeper into Hitchcock's stable of films.

A or 4.689825738056123576230981

Comments are welcome and, for anyone with a literary mind, I encourage checking out my poetry blog filled with all original works for your reading pleasure.

Also I am on the old Twitter thing so I guess you can follow me at twitter.com/FLYmeatwad.

Meet The New Boss, Same As The Old Boss

Ikiru (To Live) (Kurosawa, 1952)

The Kurosawa marathon continues with the 1952 film Ikiru (To Live). Now because I know little about Kurosawa outside of what I saw in Rashomon I have to wonder if this film is any indication of what types of films are to come in the future from the acclaimed director. Sure Rashomon started getting all philosophical at the end, but Ikiru starts things off with a metaphoric bang as we quickly learn the circumstances and are introduced to our protagonist. Given the film's description on the Netflix packet I had little idea of what the film would consist of aside from a man trying to build a park, but little did I know just how deceptive such a description is in the film's larger context.

Speaking of larger context let's start pretty broad and begin narrowing things down from there. Kurosawa turns in another fantastic effort behind the camera and, in some ways even more than Rashomon, makes for a visually compelling film. Seeing how differently he handles shots in a larger and congested city as opposed to the tangled forests was interesting and really gave the film its own stylistic feel while keeping with elements that are quickly becoming Kurosawa trademarks. Once again seeing the influence that the man has had on future films is near unmistakable when watching Ikiru, but in some ways I almost felt that, as far as direction is concerned, Rashomon is just slightly stronger. However, every time I thought this we would get sequences like the playground one or the one in the bar early on. In other words, the film looks pretty damn beautiful.

So now we'll get a little more concise and focus on the acting. While the film is littered with a ton of really good performances throughout, the anchor, as the script demands, must be Watanabe. Thankfully, Takashi Shimura turns in a top notch performance that hits all of the right notes. Even if the script was horrible, the direction terrible, and the other actors particularly dreadful, I am completely confident that Shimura's performance alone would make for compelling cinema. Obviously none of that is the case though and all the surrounding elements only help to enhance his job on screen. He captures the mentality of man perfectly and seeing him develop in the face of certain death and a crumbling family life is handled masterfully, both by Shimura and Kurosawa. The performance is truly incredible and certainly had me impressed throughout the hefty two and a half hour run time.

Now the run time could have easily been a flaw, and there were one or two scenes where things slowed down a noticeable bit, but for the most part the film was paced excellently. It clearly followed a very direct Three Act structure, but age old tales have always been told about how life is, at its core, three different parts all making up a whole. I do not think it is by coincidence that Kurosawa structured the film in such a manner, and taken in context it's a truly remarkable technique. Actually, most of the artistic value of the film is handled wonderfully and just about all of the philosophical stuff is given ample attention.

The one problem I had with the film was in the bureaucratic commentary. The film starts off with a whole round about sequence of going from department to department that is used incredibly, and most of the stuff in the third act, especially the final returning to work portion, is flawlessly executed, but the theme feels a bit underdeveloped during the middle portion. Now I know this theme was not supposed to act as the backbone of this portion, but having a little more there could have really pushed the film over the top for me. When the number of successes in a film are so plentiful, as is the case with Ikiru, the one flaw tends to stand out, but as I evaluate it I am able to realize that it does not hurt the film all that much. The only other potential problem I can think of, as was the case with Rashomon, is how direct the ending is, though thankfully nothing feels rushed or forced here, so the problem here is more personal and less technical, so my supporting evidence is limited.

Ultimately, my second experience with Akira Kurosawa was similar to my first. Things start off fairly simple, but as the film builds it picks up momentum at an astounding rate and makes for an incredibly compelling film. I think the sheer amount of material here, extraneous ideas given to each individual viewer I mean, is so numerous that I need at least one more viewing to process everything, but I can say without a doubt that Ikiru demonstrates Kurosawa's versatility as a storyteller and as a director while still existing wonderfully as a narrative. Ikiru hits every note pitch perfect and has me, once again, excited to see more Kurosawa.

A[/A+?] or 4.672348239143679563159783

Comments are welcome and, for anyone with a literary mind, I encourage checking out my poetry blog filled with all original works for your reading pleasure.

Also I am on the old Twitter thing so I guess you can follow me at twitter.com/FLYmeatwad.

She Looked At Him And He Felt A Spark Tingle To His Bones

Before Sunrise (Linklater, 1995)

Upon the start of Richard Linklater's film Before Sunrise I was aware of two things: it is followed up by a film called Before Sunset that I also had not watched and this was the guy who directed Dazed and Confused. It was not until I began writing this review that I learned that Mr. Linklater brings disgrace to all associated with his first name by also being the director of the dreadful School of Rock starring the waste of space known as Jack Black. Regardless, the point is that none of these things stood out as very impressive. Perhaps because of my ignorance I was able to take such joy in what I was to encounter in Before Sunrise. To put the film simply, it chronicles two people who meet on a train and spend an evening in Paris. However, the film takes a basic premise and elevates it to mighty impressive levels, putting an interesting spin on the common romance tale that has been told time and time again.

Part of the reason the film is so engaging is because it is anchored by two leads who each give performances for the ages. Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy are near flawless as the two lovers, both bringing so much joy and humanity to the characters that it is near impossible for the viewer to not be wrapped up in the conversations that take place. And boy do conversations take place. Practically the entire film is spent alongside dialogue. Hawke starts and then Delpy picks up, Delpy starts and then Hawke picks up. They overlap each other, they ping pong off each other, they do it all and they keep the conversations going. Sure it's all off a script, but the chemistry here is truly amazing and it really sells the romance aspect the film presents. There is no questioning that these two people work together and that the stars have simply aligned perfectly for this evening.

Of course the film is not without its flaws, the film gets a little talky, of course nothing all that surprising considering the amount of dialogue, but since just about all the conversations are either entertaining, intellectually stimulating, or a combination of both, the one or two slower sequences are not all that detrimental to the film as a whole. The ambiguous note that the film ends on is absolutely perfect too and the fact that everything all takes place over the course of one night is pretty damn impressive. The film is as entertaining as it is beautiful and, much like Jesse and Celine's night before the sunrise, the film goes by in what seems like a flash.

A- or 4.12893127428147281470124

Before Sunset (Linklater, 2004)

Of course all this beautiful ambiguity, perfect portrayal of passion, and poetic waxing on romance can all quickly be ruined by returning to the same area about nine years later, both in time between films and time in the films, and trying to recapture the simple magic that made the first film such a joy. Thankfully, Before Sunset does not fall into this trap and surpasses Before Sunrise in just about every regard. Hawke and Delpy pick up right where things left off, falling back into the roles with masterful grace and selling the relationship almost instantaneously. All the charm is not only recaptured in the film, but delivered completely differently as time also breeds experience and knowledge, two traits that both of the performers portray beautifully. All of the magic is here. All the lengthy conversations about love, about life, and even an incredibly blow up delivered by Delpy, who is also stunningly beautiful in the film. Perhaps the most impressive choice is to not fill in the gaps and just let the film exist, as the first one does, in a short amount of time: Jesse's countdown to his flight before one Parisian sunset. The audience learns just as much as they need and the beautiful ambiguity is never sacrificed.

But going on about all of these great elements does a disservice to the greatest stride that this film makes in the ten year span since the release of Sunrise, and that would be the direction. Linklater's camera work here is incredibly impressive and each shot feels so carefully constructed. Actually, the majority of the film stands out to me, at least visually, as similar to moving photographs. I am unable to really pick out a single shot that captures the Parisian beauty because the film is really packed full of them. The scenes in the cafe, the boarding of the boat, the walk to Celine's apartment, even the beginning sequence at the book store just bleed masterful craft. The film is a visual powerhouse.

Particularly interesting is comparing how the more 'free' camera in the first film mirrors the relationship between Jesse and Celine as they met the first time and how the more focused and developed camera work now mirrors the more mature people as they have grown older and are reunited. Was this done intentionally? Going by what I saw in Dazed and Confused and School of Rock I'd say probably not, but seeing how Linklater has grown as a filmmaker just as Jesse and Celine have grown as people is, forgive me for dropping the formalities, pretty damn cool.

Before Sunset flies by just as quickly as Before Sunrise, but everything in the film is just so much more heightened and developed that it is not only the superior film, but an incredible film on its own merit. Linklater forsakes all the flash of the standard romance film, he strips away everything except the most basic of elements, and he lets things play out as two people reconnect. Linklater takes three basic elements (woman, man, and love) and weaves a compelling narrative with all the primal power of the greatest story tellers. It suffers a few of the same downfalls that I had with Sunrise, except toned down a bit, but once again the problems are not as noticeable in such a great film. And then there's always that beautiful ambiguity.

A or 4.38948320417305712375813

So I was going to write a bit more about how the two films connect, but I think I have compared, and used the word beautiful, more than enough for one blog post. The one thing I do want to say is that as individual films I am not sure that either is a masterpiece, but when taken together the whole experience is elevated. As a combination there are very few film experiences that I have had with the raw power and enjoyment from the Before Sunrise/Sunset series. Together they are a masterpiece and, I'll say it one last time, a true work of beauty.

Comments are welcome and, for anyone with a literary mind, I encourage checking out my poetry blog filled with all original works for your reading pleasure.

Also I am on the old Twitter thing so I guess you can follow me at twitter.com/FLYmeatwad.

What I Read Between The Lines: Your Lies

Rashomon (Kurosawa, 1950)

It has taken me needlessly long to get started with Akria Kurosawa's films. Finally, the Filmspotting marathon that Adam and Matty are doing on the podcast has allowed me the chance to really start watching films from a man who is considered to be a master filmmaker. I'm going to skip all of the historical background and things of that nature, not that I would likely be able to offer much insight in the way of correctly placing him in his time period or alongside his contemporaries anyhow, in order to focus on my reaction to my first venture into Kurosawa's robust library of films.

Rashomon has a pretty interesting structure, following a recurring narrative that offers four different occurrences of the same event as a man is put on trial. However, these narrations are narrated by two men at a temple, so really we are hearing a story of a story, and if you take into account the fact that the film is apparently based on another story it adds another fun little layer into the mix. As for the style, it is used much to the film's benefit. Paired with meandering shots through a dreamlike, or perhaps nightmare would be more fitting, forest, the viewer is made to be swept away with each narrative as the idea of fact versus fallacy is constantly in one's mind, but hardly ever able to be discerned in any tangible fashion. Really all we know is what is shown at the Rashomon temple and that the one man is dead, everything else is open to interpretation.

Of course even the way the audience is asked to be engaged and how any individual viewer should interpret the scenario is enhanced by having a faceless inquisitor prod each of the characters to make direct appeals to the camera. The technique is really brilliant and is sure to never give away any details that may place more fact in the hands of a viewer. In a sense, the character that is being told the story by the axeman and the priest is placed in the same situation as a viewer and, towards the end, begins piecing things together on his own as any viewer of the film likely would as well. The film's construction is pretty damn masterful and thought provoking all the way up to a mostly beautiful finale.

Now I have talked all about the construction and have yet to mention the direction and the cinematography. Both are beautifully in the purest sense of the word, Kurosawa's control of the camera paired with Miyagawa's beautifully constructed scenes makes for an experience that is phenomenally striking purely from a visual level, but also one that allows the film to exist almost silently. The dialogue at points is minimal, but none of the tension is ever lost nor does the narrative ever slow down. Dialogue becomes an equal with the images, breaking the barrier between story and painting and doing it wonderfully.

Of course the film's ability to work even in elongated silent sequences, especially when most of the film is so concerned with narrating stories, is also largely thanks to the actors involved. All of the actors give spectacular performances and nothing less than a solid performance can be found. However, mixed in with a slew of really good performances, two particular ones stand out as incredibly impressive. Toshiro Mifune turns in a wonderfully maniacal effort as the bandit Tajomaru, categorized by a signature cackle that embodies the best and the worst of the human experience, while Machiko Kyo is phenomenal as Masako Kanazawa, the wife of the murdered man. Both show an impressive range and turn in riveting performances in their respective roles, but the one scene that really sold it for me is how both act in the axe man's tale. Both interact with each other wonderfully without Mifune or Kyo losing anything to the other.

I have very few gripes with the film. The picture is perfectly paced and sustains its running time nicely, clocking in around 88 minutes. The one part that struck me as odd, though not really a flaw in the film I would say, was the conclusion. I did question the priest's reaction at a pivotal point, and his change actions seemed a little forced, though they worked nicely with what Kurosawa was trying to do, which is the trade off when using characters as representations, as the case appears in the final scene. I am also still wrestling with the film's concluding message, I believe it is rather obvious and if that is true then I suppose I have a bit of a personal problem with what the film is saying rather than a technical problem. To have things end how they do after a wonderfully human and pretty nihilistic speech is delivered seems to undercut what just occurred rather than provide a juxtaposition. Still, I am aware that this problem is purely personal and not a flaw of the film.

Ultimately, I found my first experience with Kurosawa particularly impressive and I cannot wait to delve deeper into the man's body of work. Rashomon takes a seemingly simple tale, shoots it beautifully, tells a story, and then unloads a shotgun shell's worth of philosophy upon the viewer towards the end. The results are hardly painful though, the experience proves mentally stimulating and utterly flooring, capturing the mentality of a lone bowling pin in the ninth frame. I look forward to hearing Adam and Matty discuss the film on the podcast this week and am positive that this marathon is going to be spectacular.

A/A+ or 4.76827914623149236452397856

Comments are welcome and, for anyone with a literary mind, I encourage checking out my poetry blog filled with all original works for your reading pleasure.

Also I am on the old Twitter thing so I guess you can follow me at twitter.com/FLYmeatwad.

And You Say, "Oh My God Am I Here All Alone?"

Moon (Jones, 2009)

Let's cut the crap. I'm going to keep the references about Bowie and Ziggy Stardust limited in this review. Just getting that out of the way now. There will likely be one in the title because people will expect it and I'll give in slightly to those who think that obvious humor is good stuff. Hell, I can even appreciate the apparent things every so often, so why not draw attention to the fact that David Bowie's son is making a sci-fi film that takes place in outer space, right? It must run in the family, or rather fly in the family. Okay, enough of that shit, let's get down to looking at what is, for the purposes of this review, Duncan Jones's debut feature.

The plot, on the surface, seems fairly simplistic. Sam Bell, portrayed by the ever awesome Sam Rockwell, is working on the Moon for three years to harvest energy. He shares his base with GERTY, a machine apparently designed to assist him during his time on the base. Things start to go awry and the action begins picking up as the tangled web of the LUNAR company slowly begins to unwind during the film's rather lean 97 minute run time. I'll toss up a spoiler section towards the end where I go into more plot details and more of my thoughts about what specifically was so wonderfully handled by Mr. Jones's careful hands. Also, if it has not become at least slightly apparent, I am about to give this film a ton of praise and debate whether or not it can rival Adventureland and Lymelife for the current top spot on my list of Best Films of 2009.

So, speaking of mastery and careful craft, the film possesses an incredibly polished look throughout that really makes the entire film simply stunning to look at, whether it deal with cinematography, direction, or even art direction. The film is mostly minimalistic in terms of colors used, but the way everything blends together is simply wonderful and really makes for a visceral experience that, even if the plot and actors sucked, would mostly make the film worth watching at least once anyhow. From the opening credit sequence to the repeating shots of the harvest machines chugging along on the moon's surface to the simply stunning shot of Sam's rover toward the film's end, the way that Jones works the camera comes with all the mastery of a pastry chef in a bake off. I often found myself wondering if the direction was not as great as the cinematography or if I was just duped into thinking the direction was good because the film looked so good, but every time I started to think about that Jones would offer a shot that quelled my fears. I look forward, greatly, to whatever film Jones decides to tackle next.

I guess for those who are really ultra sensitive, spoilers begin HERE!


In fact, tackling is a pretty nice word to transition into my next paragraph. This film has a good deal of Rockwell on Rockwell action where Sam is tackling Sam and they start to fight. Sure this may sound comedic in nature, or simply ludicrous if a lesser actor had been given the material, but Rockwell provides a tour de force performance that immediately vaults to one of the best in recent memory. While the script allows for the range, Rockwell's ability to sell the performance and really establish the tension between his two selves is impressive and indicative of the man's talents. The real strength in the performance is found in Rockwell's ability to deliver emotion in a film that had mostly sacrificed it in the script in order to make sure the narrative continued and that the philosophical tension really took center stage. Actually, sacrificed is not the right word since the relationship between Sam and Tess is apparent all during the narrative, but rather it is used as a distraction from the film's apparent purpose, which is more philosophical.

The script relies on playing and manipulating expectations to draw more attention to the philosophical questions and the character study that is going on during the film, so the use of various red herrings is nearly always successful and adds another layer to the overall film instead of feeling cheap or gimmicky. The trailer begins to toy with certain cinematic expectations by portraying GERTY as a H.A.L type robot, and despite helping Sam throughout the film the robot's intentions are always under question, it requires the viewer to be attentive. Even the casting of Kevin Spacey, who gives a stellar performance that showcases, once again, his voice acting prowess, seems to make the viewer suspect that there may be something sinister at work in GERTY's system. Even as the mystery of the LUNAR company begins to become more apparent the film never spells things out yet always seems to provide answers, but also asks that the viewer look for the answers rather than be spoke at, as a film like Star Trek seemed more than willing to do numerous times during the film. An example is found in the decaying of Sam. The film continues to make it apparent why he is decaying, but I do not think the film ever comes out and says that he is decaying because it has been three years. Jones taps the viewer on the shoulder, he does not hit the viewer over the head, it is because of this the film is so successful.

Though perhaps not only because of this fact; the film also is incredibly approachable for a science fiction film and for a film that does get fairly existential at points. On the surface everything in the film is so simplistic, but if the viewer so desires the motivations and consequences of each action on and off the space station can not only be explored, but also found in the film through the subtleties that Jones has so carefully scattered throughout the film. I think that, eventually, the film runs too deep if one begins to try and unravel things too much there is a noticeable collapsing point, but the sheer care that has gone into making the script complex yet still so utterly accessible to any viewer makes up for that fact. The script really hits everything perfectly, and it even manages to blend humor in naturally rather than simply taking a break from the film's progression to inject purely comedic scenes. While it may be an odd aspect to wrap up with, the film's pacing is spectacular and ties things together beautifully.

The film is ambitious, intriguing, and near flawless. A fantastic journey about self discovery and a character study for the ages. Will Moon top my list? Currently, no, but as my rankings continue to shift it will continue to fight for the top spot. Let's toss genre's aside, Moon is not simply one of the best science fiction films ever made, Moon is one of the best films ever made.

A or 4.7742389048123758123750235213

Comments are welcome and, for anyone with a literary mind, I encourage checking out my poetry blog filled with all original works for your reading pleasure.

Also I am on the old Twitter thing so I guess you can follow me at twitter.com/FLYmeatwad.