Inglorious Basterds

So I saw Inglorious Basterds, because when Quentin Tarantino makes a good movie, it's hard to ignore it, because it's probably a damn good movie. Tarantino may be the only person in Hollywood who enjoys his own insecurities. Fortunately for the rest of us, his talent - and ego - are greater than his nervous tics and personality quirks, so he can actually channel his bizarre obsessions in artistically productive ways. It's also quite helpful that his tendency towards self-indulgence is matched by a dedication to the craft of filmmaking. And it doesn't hurt that he's supported by a studio executive - Harvey Weinstein - with just about the same level of talent, ego, insecurities, and dedication to the craft.

Watching Inglorious Basterds, you get the feeling that Quentin Tarantino wakes up on the wrong side of ridiculous a little more than is really healthy. But you also get the feeling that one thing that pulls him back to the sublime is his technical brilliance, and his extraordinary command of pure technique. The cinematography particularly stands out. Much as I admire most of Pulp Fiction, I found the camera work uninspired. Not so here; Tarantino knows exactly how and when to take risks, and then pulls them off. There's not really anything flashy; it is simply superb. The same can be said of the performances. There is already much discussion of an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor for Christopher Waltz as the Nazi Col. Hans Landa. He's certainly my favorite so far this year. I'm reminded of that old saying that the devil can be charming, and he almost makes you forget Hannah Ahrendt's observation that evil is banal. Until Tarantino cuts to shots of Hitler.

Brad Pitt won't be getting an Oscar nom, but only because he chose to deliberately go way over the top as Lt. Aldo Raine, the leader of the Basterds. This is one of Tarantino's riskiest bets, and it mostly pays off, but it definitely inches the film towards the absurd.

But then almost every other performance drags it back to wonderful. Melanie Laurent is a marvel as Shosanna Dreyfus, a Jew who runs a cinema in Paris. Diane Kruger shines as a German movie star. Tarantino's Promethean confidence in himself does wonders for his performers. His confidence is justified in part because he's providing them with the verbiage. One reason Brad Pitt can pull off a Tennessee accent that makes Bo and Luke Duke sound like Yankee frat boys is that he's interrogating German prisoners through the pen of Quentin Tarantino. It's not quite as memorable as Samuel L. Jackson's discourse on foot massages - which is one reason he's a movie star today - but it's still in the context of a Tarantino script.

Unfortunately for me, it's a little too much of a Quentin Tarantino script. What would a Tarantino script be without constant violence, highly choreographed gunfire, bodies everywhere? A more interesting movie, would be my guess. It's very tempting to analyze and criticize and comment and scrutinize and debate whatever message is in the movie, but I'm going to resist, not least because I don't think Tarantino himself really cares that much about a message. He's still having too much fun impressing himself and us.

Sitting in a bar afterwards, drinking a blueberry martini, I said to Peter, the friend that I had seen it with, "I'll be really impressed with Quentin Tarantino when he grows up." "But he never will," said Peter. Which with I could not help but agree.

Tarantino's technical ability as a filmmaker has progressed dramatically. He was always a brilliant writer, and he is now a craftsman of the highest order. But he is still too clever for his own good. I judge movies by their endings; whether or not everything comes together is the test, for me, of whether or not the director has had a clue what s/he is doing all along. The ending left me a little cold; the revenge fantasy felt too self-indulgent.

I can think of two reasons why Quentin Tarantino should ultimately grow up. One, because he will eventually be able to make the best movie that he possibly can, which I don't think he has done yet, and two, because then he might have a chance of winning the Oscar for Best Director.

Brancy: Brad Pitt meets Nancy Pelosi

Brad Pitt traveled to Capitol Hill today, and met with Nancy Pelosi. They held a joint press conference, with Pelosi just gushing. Dana Milbank, WaPo columnist, let his imagination run wild, and came up with a couple of alternative takes on Brad Pitt movies: What if it was Nancy Pelosi in Mr. and Mrs. Smith, instead of Angelina Jolie? This is hysterical.

Julia Roberts and Sarah Palin

This is a clip from The Mexican, a somewhat underrated movie starring Brad Pitt, Julia Roberts, and James Gandolfini. I say "somewhat" underrated because it's a good movie, not great, but not particularly well edited. It's very complicated - I watched it at least three times before I really understood the plot. Once you get it, it's fun.

The basics are this: Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts are a young couple who can't quite get it together, either in their respective personal lives, or in their relationship. Pitt's in a spot of trouble with the local Mob. Julia Roberts decides to leave him, but inadvertently gets caught up in the same trouble. Said trouble comes in the form of Gandolfini, a gay and somewhat oddly enlightened hit man. As Roberts tells him at one point, "You're a very sensitive person for a cold-blooded killer."

This clip comes near the end of the movie. I love Julia Roberts' monologue here. It clearly makes sense to her, but not to anyone else. Sort of like Sarah Palin!

As a bonus, Gandolfini's answer is actually rather touching and sort of profound. Keep in mind that he is a hit man.



Gandolfini also has one of my all-time favorite quotes in this movie:

"I'm here to regulate funkiness."

Burn After Reading

So I saw Burn After Reading. There are some movies that are very sweet and wholesome, yet not saccharine or sentimental, and that engage audiences across all demographics, young and old, rich and poor, those on the mainstream and those on the fringes.

This is not one of those movies.

There is something insanely wonderful about a movie that, taken as the sum of its parts, makes perfect sense, but, taken as a whole, is largely meaningless and pointless, and yet somehow ends up being deliciously wicked and fun.

When I say "insanely wonderful," I mean that in both senses of the word "insane" - insane in the sense of being beyond normal expectations, and insane meaning lacking rationality or logic. The Coen brothers have made a ruthlessly whimsical movie, with smart, beautiful stars playing people who are stupid, or clueless, or both, and alternately charming and nasty.

John Malkovich plays a CIA agent, Osborne Cox, who has been "reassigned" to the State Department, against his wishes. He's not happy about this. You have the feeling he's not happy about much. He's married to Katie Cox, played by Tilda Swinton, who owes the cinematographer and costume designer some big favors for a couple of shots where she is simply stunning. She's gorgeous, the shots are gorgeous, and you have the feeling that the Coen brothers said to themselves "You know what? We're going to make this gorgeous just because we can." Most fortunately, they take that attitude with gleeful abandon at random points throughout the movie. Even when they're not having ridiculous amounts of fun with lighting and camera angles and production design, they're still having fun. This is an exceptionally well-directed movie.

Kaite Cox is not happy about the fact that she's married to Osborne, so she's having an affair with Harry Pfarrer, played by George Clooney, who of course needs no help looking gorgeous. He's married, too, and not terribly happy about that, either, although he's not super-thrilled with this affair, either. Which is one reason he has several others.

Including one with Linda Litzki (Frances McDormand), a trainer at a local gym. She's not happy with her body, and desperately needs cosmetic surgery, although her HMO won't pay for it, which she's not happy about, either. She's also not happy with her romantic prospects, despite the fact that her boss, Ted (Richard Jenkins) all but lays roses at her feet to try to get her attention. Naturally, he's not that excited about the fact that he's invisible to her.

One of Linda's coworkers is Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt). He's actually not that unhappy. He's pretty much grooving through life, not thinking too much about much of anything, except how much fun he's having on the treadmill (oh the metaphors) until someone finds a CD with lots of weird data on it in the gym locker room. He and Linda decide to have a little fun with it. This is what some people, usually law enforcement officials, refer to as "blackmail." Don't try this at home.

All this unhappiness and lack of good sex makes for some volatile people and even more volatile situations. Individually, everyone is mostly normal, or at least not that abnormal. The things they do are not that weird. Lots of people have affairs, particularly in movies. Lots of people try online dating. Washed-up alcoholics get fired from the CIA all the time.

Not that many people, however, try blackmail when they have no idea what they are doing, or who they are trying to blackmail, or even what they are trying to blackmail with. Linda and Chad (I love the name "Chad Feldheimer") decide to engage in a little extemporaneous fundraising for Linda's cosmetic surgery needs when they find Mr. Cox's CD. Things don't go as planned.

At this point I have to stop describing the plot, because we are now entering who-cares-what-makes-sense territory. I don't think I have ever been so happy that I did not care one iota that the plot was basically pointless. The performances are just so good, the directing is so good, that I just enjoyed the experience. The actors are clearly having the times of their lives. I think John Malkovich has been waiting his entire career for this combination of self-destructiveness, articulate rage, wildly misdirected competence, and impotent ennui. Frances McDormand throws off an endless stream of cliches, deluding herself that she's smart with all these great insights wrapped up in succinct, trite little packages.

J.K. Simmons has a cameo as some kind of boss at the CIA, who is trying to follow this without the benefit of great cinematography or editing. People he's never heard of are doing strange things for reasons he can't begin to understand. He finally tells his underling, the one feeding him the details, "Report back to me when it all makes sense."

It never does. It never will. At least not to someone outside all the nonsense. To someone on the inside, however, watching this madcap explosion of absurdity turning semi-normal people's lives inside out, it makes perfect sense.

Not that you want it to. That might ruin the fun.

Fun with geneaology

How bizarre is this: Some geneaologists in New England, apparently with too much time on their hands, discovered some interesting connections. Barack Obama is distantly related to Brad Pitt, and Angelina Jolie is distantly related to Hillary Clinton. Maybe I should do some more genealogical research! I hope I'm related either Claire Danes or Natalie Portman.