Films of the 1970s: NASHVILLE (1975) Directed by Robert Altman

Fragile Barbara Jean (Ronee Blakley) sings her heart out in Robert Altman's greatest film, Nashville (1975)

 
Nashville (1975) Directed by Robert Altman. Written by Joan Tewkesbury. Starring Ronee Blakley, Henry Gibson, Keith Carradine, Lily Tomlin, Ned Beatty, Karen Black, Barbara Harris, Gwen Welles, Geraldine Chaplin, Shelley Duvall, and dozens more.

Nashville features some of the best actors native to 1970s Hollywood under the creative direction of the man who represented the bleeding edge of narrative innovation in that place and time. In 1970, Robert Altman emerged from a career in industrial films, television, and occasional features, with M*A*S*H, an anti-establishment, anti-war film - a novelty in a Hollywood still making films with John Wayne, not to mention in the middle of the Vietnam war. Hollywood had produced anti-war "message" films before, but Altman's anarchic, psuedo-Chekhovian semi-improvisational smorgasbord was, at the time, a unique and revolutionary beast. The method, in many ways, is more astonishing thant the message. Altman followed the great success of M*A*S*H with a number of other films in his style reviewing the western (McCabe and Mrs. Miller) and detective genres (The Long Goodbye), among others (Thieves Like Us, California Split), but Altman was building to something greater; rather than merely subverting American and Hollywood film, Altman hoped to focus his lens on America itself.

At times both a precocious and prescient look at the post-Watergate, fin de Vietnam United States, Nashville represents an arthroscopic examination of the nation's damaged but still-beating heart. There are over two dozen major characters in the film, each of them substantive enough to be the subject of their own feature, but all of them representing one part of a listless, wounded population. Each character is equal parts an Alice in Wonderland lunatic and the sanest person you will ever meet. Their chorus, for what ultimately becomes a tragedy, is the quintessential fool in the form of a never-seen but always-talking independent political candidate, Hal Phillip Walker (Thomas Hal Phillips) spouting folksy idealized nonsense from a roving loudspeaker mounted on a van.

When I say that Nashville ultimately settles on being a tragedy, this is incredibly imprecise. Just as there are dozens of characters interacting within the film, each of them seems to be performing within the confines of their own personal genre. Ronee Blakley as Barbara Jean is clearly moving through a tragedy, as she suffers breakdown after breakdown, left brittle by the demands of fame and the hard-driving and abusive tendencies of her husband/manager Barnett (Allen Garfield). She's reflected by two would-be performers, Sueleen Gay (Gwen Welles) and Albuquerque (Barbara Harris). Sueleen, despite being untalented, believes that she can become a Country/Western star, and seems destined to be exploited by those who would prey upon her dreams - definitely a tragedy. Meanwhile, Albuquerque, a.k.a. Winifred, seems to be escaping a tragedy of mediocrity and walking into stardom at the perfect moment - surely a comedy/drama with a big happy ending.

Other characters are pure comedy. Altman's perverse irony is at work in casting Geraldine Chaplin, daughter of Charlie Chaplin, the biggest star of silent film, as a character who simply cannot shut up. Her boundary-free Opal is an outsider in America and, therefore, perfectly free to be open about American taboos, all while remaining virulently bigoted or prejudiced against the disabled, the non-white, the lower class, and, indeed, anyone who isn't a massive celebrity. Jeff Goldblum is a strange presence (in what film isn't that true) as the silent "Tricycle Man," driving his unusual motorcycle from scene to scene, performing magic tricks and physical comedy, and generally unnerving people. Ned Beatty and Michael Murphy, two of the greatest supporting actors in American film, play scheming political operatives, manipulating (read: bullying) the Nashvillians into supporting candidate Walker. But the crown -- or, perhaps, the toupee -- goes to Henry Gibson's Haven Hamilton, who is, at once, both King of Nashville, and the biggest fool. Petty and jingoistic, a Napoleon in a Nudie Suit, he demands total control of the chaos around him, even as he's dragged by his thinning hairline into the tragedy that ends the film.

It's unsurprising, looking at the totality of Altman's work, that his greatest sympathy is for the female characters. Joan Tewkesbury, longtime Altman friend, wrote the intial script. While that script ultimately became a guideline more than anything, Tewksbury was on set helping to craft scenes on the fly with dialogue and other guidance. In Nashville, the film and the city in Altman's film, women seem to have notable prominence in society, but they are sexualized, drained, and cast aside. The perversity in the dynamic is that the culture in place has no shortage of willing female volunteers for this exploitation. That the psychic vampirism of fame draws the groupie L.A. Joan to forsake her family to hook up with musicians isn't much of a stretch, but even the overworked gospel singer and devoted mother, the closest the film comes to a pure soul, is seduced by the temptations offered. Altman and Tewkesbury seem to be riffing on Original Sin a bit, which isn't all that original in practice. I would offer that every character, both female as well as male, has wallowed in the chaotic malaise of the American 1970s for so long that every one of them is vulnerable to whatever temptation comes their way, whether it be sex, money, fame, or hope.

But hope proves to be the greatest tempter of all, and perhaps what all of those other temptations represent. Keenan Wynn's Mr. Green, the uncle to L.A. Donna (a.k.a. Martha) is clearly painfully lonely as his wife, never seen on camera, ails from cancer off-screen. While he is caught up in the chaos of Nashville, it's ultimately his righteous anger, tired of being the only family attending his wife, and furious at his niece and her neglect of family to worship fame that conveys his boarder, the cypher Kenny, into position for the final tragedy. Mr. Green, at his lowest point, indulges in rage, but he ultimately has hope that he may stem his loneliness.

To have gone this far without talking about the music is a bit of an omission. If I have a criticism of Nashville, it may be that the songs don't really feel like they would be Country/Western hits, even in the 1970s. None of the singers are musicians of any note, even Best Song Oscar-Winner Keith Carradine, who is more interesting as a representation of oversexed toxic masculinity than as a guitar player. This feels like a real omission. One of the great hallmarks of C&W was musicianship. While it's true that many stars of the genre are known primarily as singers the absence of strummers in the vein of Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Walyon Jennings (Carradine's Tom Frank is, after all, a folk rocker and an out-of-towner) seems like a big blind spot.

While it's true that, at the time, this was the tail end of a period in the music business where a good song was a good song, and that any tune could be a pop, R&B, or C&W hit, many of the songs feel like self-conscious attempts to create plausible C&W hits. This is not to say that they are bad songs, or wholly unsuccessful. They just don't feel representative of the real world, a bit like how a rock and roll song created for a 1960s Bob Hope comedy might sound. While the songs created for the film would undoubtedly influence later generations of alternative-country musicians, they seem to only exist in the film Nashville rather than feel like an honest product of the real Nashville.  

This is a nitpick. Nashville is, in some ways, Altman's subversive pass at the musical genre (oddly, his later Popeye, a fascinating, yet imperfect film, is a traditional musical). The music, then, creates stakes for the people. Some characters are struggling, some are untalented, some are psychotically jealous, and some are effortless. You could very well replace the music with money or love, but it would be a lesser film. 

The songs exist partially to illuminate the characters of the players, and they do reveal much. Though, in part because of the themes of the film, they also serve as shields, bringing the performers their desired fame, wealth, and control over the chaos. In Nashville, music represents power; the power that you gain, the power that you exert, and the power that you lose. In that aspect, the music is very successful.

In many ways, Nashville is Altman's greatest accomplishment. It's certainly a triumph for sound editing, with every major character wearing a personal microphone, creating the effect of turning an entire city into a sound stage, perfecting the roving giant cast that Altman had been cultivating since M*A*S*H, and allowing him to create films that worked somewhat like the plays of Chekhov, depicting not a hero, or a family, but an entire community. The film endures tremendously, in part, because there are always troubled times, and people will always relate to them.

An American Perspective on British Reality Shows: Why "I'm a Celeb" Trumps "Big Brother"

I spent many years sneering at reality programming. And it is fair, I think, to criticize the concept of something calling itself "reality" when it's often so contrived. That said, I generally watch TV for escapism as opposed to voyeurism... I mean, my favorite show has been Doctor Who since I was seven years old, and that's about as diametrically opposed to something like Jersey Shore or its kin as a fruit salad is different from a fruitbat. I just don't care to watch people acting like fools for the sake of acting like fools. I'd rather watch people acting like fools in the effort of rescuing the universe from the Daleks.

It shouldn't be surprising, then, that something related to Britain's favorite Time Lord got me to try on a reality program. In 2012, news reached Who fandom that Colin Baker, known to us as the sixth incarnation of the Doctor (1984-6), would be one of the contestants on ITV's I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here! For me, Mr. Baker is a sentimental favorite. Despite being treated poorly behind the scenes at the BBC during his TARDIS tenure, Colin Baker has remained loyal and dedicated to his many fans. On a personal level, I met Colin Baker at a convention in 1986. Baker had very recently been ousted from the role, in spite of the fact that he was in no way to blame for any of the show's problems at the time. (More on that another time, perhaps.) This American convention was one of the first (if not the first in this country) he attended after this blow, and there had been some speculation in local newspapers regarding whether or not he would attend. In America, we tend to expect entitled diva behavior from stars, demanding that candies be divided by color and so on. But Colin Baker showed up and, with cheerful wit and professionalism, entertained young and old and gave the fans a memorable afternoon. Being 10 years old, it left a lasting impression on me that someone who had been treated so unfairly remained so professional and good humored at what must have been a difficult time. I feel like I learned something important about being an adult that day.

This impression, more than mere fandom, is what made me curious to see Mr. Baker on I'm a Celeb. It's one thing to show grace under fire when you're the only one on stage, but what about dealing with an unfamiliar environment and diverse personalities? Not to mention the ridiculous and frightening games and challenges? Not to mention being separated from family and friends? Not to mention having nothing we take for granted, like plumbing, electricity, access to food, or soap? (For that last one, family and friends are likely happy to be separated from you.)

So, I started watching, hoping to root for Gallifrey, and planning to stop if and when Mr. Baker got sent home. What I did not expect was how much I was drawn into the program. Twelve celebrities, mostly known only to Britons and those who watch British television (with one or two American or International celebs), are send to camp out in the jungle, forgoing almost all of the comforts of home. Along the way, the British public vote to determine which campmate must take part in a "Bushtucker Trial," usually a somewhat difficult task in which the player encounters all manner of smelly and exotic animals in hopes of winning meals for the camp. This can take the form of a maze, a cage, an obstacle course, or a dinner table; in eating challenges, players are invited to ingest the unpleasant parts of unpleasant animals, usually in the form of a large bite of the animal's penis or anus, or a frappe made of insects. The object, of course, is to see the celebrity scream bloody murder in the face of what is really very mild danger or, at the very least, an unpleasant task. Snakes, for instance, are almost always constrictors rather than venomous, and the rats always look suspiciously clean. The player has the option of yelling "I'm a Celebrity... et cetera, et cetera" and getting pulled out, but doing so means they go back to camp without meals, meaning the campmates get nothing but rice and beans to eat.

While there is a certain game show drama in watching the trials and other side games, sort of like a sadomasochistic version of The Price is Right, the real enjoyment I get from the show is watching how the campmates get along. Colin Baker got along rather well, if a bit quietly. It's possible that he was too weak to speak, because campmate Helen Flanagan kept getting sent to the trials. At the time, Ms. Flanagan was best known as an actress on Coronation Street, one of the U.K.'s most popular soaps, in addition to having an impressive figure. She also seemed to be in possession of the widest array of phobias known to man, making the cockatoos and kookaburras deaf with her shrieking and weeping. The lack of food made the camp grumpy, even with a celebrity chef in attendance, as they lived on near starvation rations for weeks on end.

Eventually, campmates began to be voted out. By the time Mr. Baker left, I found myself rooting just as hard for the remaining campmates, minus Ms. Flanagan. At this point in the game, the public stops voting for Bushtucker Trials and the camp selects their own champions. Once her entertainment value diminished, Ms. Flanagan didn't last long compared to other attractive women who simply knuckled down and got on with the tasks at hand. By the end, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the program. It wasn't long before I started actually missing it.

The void was temporarily filled with the UK's Celebrity Big Brother, which appears on Channel Four. It had the same tension and silliness and is enjoyable, but in all honesty it's a cheaper and chintzier show, methadone when compared to I'm a Celeb's black tar heroin. It's a good thing that both networks are careful not to schedule their contests opposite one another, because I'm a Celeb would win handily.

Those familiar with the U.S. version of Big Brother will recognize much in the regular and celebrity versions of the U.K. version, though there are significant differences. The main difference is the fact that by airing between 21:00 and 05:30 means that they are "after watershed" and can get away with offensive language, subject matter, and even nudity. This difference makes the U.K. Big Brother a far more intense experience, as contestants openly argue and lust from inside their fishbowl. BB can never quite decide if it's a game show, soap opera, or psychological experiment.

The celebrity version typically has at least two American celebrities on hand. The 2014 edition included Emmy winner Leslie French and Oscar nominee and noted eccentric Gary Busey. Mr. Busey charmed the Brits with a strange combination of aggravating behavior and sympathy, topped with a healthy dose of unpredictable behavior. This bravura performance made Mr. Busey the first American to win.

While the regular Big Brother doesn't lack for drama, it also doesn't lack for minor celebrities. This summer, BB featured a number of contestants who could have almost passed for the celebrity version, including three models and a woman linked to a sex scandal involving a footballer. It's a very fine line, indeed, as many of the actual celebs on the celebrity version have zero international identification, and are even hard-pressed to call themselves celebrities when facing more experienced actors, athletes, and musicians. I enjoy the show, but it's very trashy; it's all a very ostentatious career move for many involved, and a rather cynical one at that. Unlike I'm a Celeb, the winner of Big Brother is usually the biggest and most entertaining personality, as opposed to someone who actually does something. It makes winning the show a very dubious distinction. It's no wonder few sensible people reach the final.

A notable exception to these criticisms was Edele Lynch, lead singer of the Irish girl group B*Witched, who followed up her win on the Irish Celebrity Apprentice with 6th place on CBB. On a Busey-free year, Ms. Lynch might have gone much further. I really came to admire her no-nonsense attitude and relative dignity, but it's very hard to shine with that in the middle of all of that madness. I really hope I'm a Celeb producers think of her for a future series, as she would be a wonderful contestant.

This gets back to the reason I've come to look forward to I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here! every year. While you do get plenty of silliness with all of the screaming at cockroaches and bitching and moaning about who's cooking what and how, the winner is usually the person who gets along with everyone, pulls their weight, and treats the camp as a team that they can't let down as opposed to a bunch of strangers they'll never speak to again in a month's time. The 2014 winner, Carl "Foggy" Fogarty, is such an example. A motorcycling legend who earned an MBE after his third championship, he managed to be charming without being smug, amusing without being annoying, and took on trials and challenges with a sportsman's relish. That iron will and good grace made him tough to beat, in my opinion, but any individual with the grit to do it could accomplish the same without having medals and trophies already waiting for them at home. Rather than being a personality contest, I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here! actually rewards contestants for being better than the entitled, spoiled brats alluded to in the title. It's an exhilarating feeling, as opposed to an exhausting one, and that's a nice comfort to have in these colder months. Already looking forward to next year, though.

Citizen Johnny: Why I Love The Carson Podcast

My favorite podcast... the podcast that got me listening to podcasts... is about a dead person. No, it's not Serial. It's Mark Malkoff's The Carson Podcast. Malkoff, a behind-the-scenes veteran of numerous shows, as well as a comedian in his own right, has been offering his podcast since February of 2014. Every week, he speaks to someone with a connection to the late Johnny Carson, former host of NBC's The Tonight Show.

From 1962 to 1992, Carson went from being a talented television personality to the Emperor of Late Night. Yes, calling him a mere "king" seems inadequate, especially in light of the fact that his empire was divided and never reunified after his retirement. It could be said that a great deal of Carson's appeal as an everyman mid-westerner, with his twinkling smile, world-class wit, and lethal timing, was that the audience "knew" him without truly knowing him. Like many great showmen, Carson cultivated a certain mystique. Yet he managed to keep the balance between familiarity and contempt firmly square. Johnny Carson, in one of show businesses' greatest sleight-of-hand maneuvers, managed to be the most private man in Hollywood while remaining at the top of his field for most of his career.

In recent years, efforts have been made to pull back the multicolored curtain and see the man behind the wizard. Peter Jones' Johnny Carson: King of Late Night, an excellent documentary shown on PBS (and still available on Netflix as of this posting), was the first attempt at summarizing Carson for an America where he is no longer ubiquitous. His former lawyer Henry Bushkin has written a memoir of his time with Carson that is reportedly something of a seedy tome. However, Malkoff's podcast may turn out to be the definitive work on the man. The podcast has gossip, but it is rarely of the warts-and-all variety; Malkoff clearly sees Carson as a folk hero and has expressed mild disappointment with Bushkin's approach. While I share Malkoff's admiration for Jones' film, which delves into Carson's family life in a way rarely seen (and in a way one imagines Carson himself would have squashed were he alive to do so), it is also too short to truly capture the full picture of Carson's influence, both in the 20th Century as well as today. In short, Malkoff isn't keeping Carson relevant, he's exploring the reasons why Carson remains relevant, a generation later.

Many high school seniors who graduated the year Carson retired turned 40 this year. Likewise, a number of Tonight Show alumni reach Mark Malkoff in a reflective and jovial mood, much like people attending a school reunion where everyone grew up to be incredibly successful. Truly, Carson's legacy is seen in the Tonight Show writers, many of whom have gone on to even higher heights. So, too, have the comedians, and it is interesting to note how Carson's blessing and the tacit endorsement of being called over to the panel essentially created dozens of the most prominent careers in comedy. An unintentional running gag of the podcast comes in the form of the guest revealing that, while Carson allegedly "never" visited with his guests before the show, that exceptions were gladly made for people who the host found interesting or with whom he had built a rapport; if there were a Carson Podcast drinking game, Johnny visiting before the taping would be the point at which you finished your drink.

While I've never met Mark Malkoff, we've exchanged tweets here and there. His personality is light, friendly, and, as you might expect from a fan discussing a favorite topic, slightly reverential. The podcast is always PG-13, with any word you might not hear on late night TV today bleeped out. This is in no way to its detriment; the podcast is largely about the Carson legacy and his mystique, and that can be told without crass language. Malkoff himself has referred to some of the stories about Pat McCormick, the hell-raising former Tonight Show writer who famously streaked on-air, as outside of his comfort zone. While that might disappoint those looking for the definitive version of the helicopter story (no, I'm not going to elaborate; you can do your own research), I suggest that Malkoff is correct to be so judicious in his tone. For evidence as to why, I point you to fellow alliteratively-named comedian Gilbert Gottfried's Amazing Colossal Podcast. While Malkoff and Gottfried are about as diametrically opposed as two people could be (What little I know of Malkoff's comedy career suggests that he doesn't work blue, and even if he occasionally dropped the f-bomb, there's no way he could be as depraved as the legendary Gottfried), their podcasts occasionally cover very similar ground; in addition to being one of the smuttiest standups alive, Gilbert Gottfried is also a rather serious film buff and clearly loves talking about old show-business. In this regard, Amazing Colossal Podcast is either Carson Podcast's evil twin or Bizarro clone, because Gilbert Gottfried has gladly covered Pat McCormick and the helicopter story in graphic and lurid detail, but he lacks Mark Malkoff's focus as an interviewer, not to mention his respect for all of his guests (And yet, oddly, this disrespect is why I listen to the ACP, in spite of it occasionally turning into a one-man roast).

(One last aside about the strange parallel between these two podcasts, which I acknowledge may only exist in my mind: Gottfried will likely never appear on Malkoff's podcast, mostly because I don't think he ever appeared on The Tonight Show with Johnny, but there is a part of me that would be interested in hearing Gottfried and co-host Frank Santopadre interview Malkoff. "Weird Al" Yankovic managed to skillfully and good-naturedly deflect Gottfried's attempts to draw him into filthy humor, and I imagine Malkoff would do the same. That said, I think the two of them would have a lot of interesting things to talk about, specifically Gottfried 's recollections and perspective on comics and personalities who are no longer around to be interviewed, but appeared with Carson. I think it would be an interesting addendum, so I'm putting it out there in hopes that both parties make it happen someday.)

While the show centers on Carson, this is not to say that Malkoff is so focused that he doesn't let his guests roam off the reservation a bit. He allows his subjects to add context to the interview by covering the world beyond Carson. (Yes, one exists.) Their careers before and since Carson, their Tonight Show experiences pre- and post-Johnny, David Letterman's late night and daytime offerings, and all of these meanderings serve the podcast's central thesis, if it can be said to have one, which is Carson's overall influence on entertainment and (more so than the Jones documentary, I would argue) the quiet, curious soul of the man himself.

That Carson touched lives is crystal clear. But the podcast is inching closer, almost like a novel, to a clearer portrait of who Carson really was; think Citizen Johnny and you're starting to get the idea. While Malkoff hasn't interviewed too many people who might have a harsh word to say about Johnny (i.e. none of the ex-wives, nor his widow or surviving sons, nor Henry Bushkin have made an appearance, and the only blood relative interviewed so far has been Jeff Sotzing, Carson's nephew and the controller to the surviving archive of The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson), the podcast isn't meant to cover peccadilloes and settle scores. That said, recent episodes have increasingly given a peek into Carson's inner life. Jim Fowler offers an unassuming and endearing recollection of a man with a curious mind and a daring spirit. James Randi offers a heartfelt and tearful appraisal of a man with a fierce intelligence and a dedication to reason led him to expose charlatans on-air and offer considerable support to Randi's organization. Bob Saget and Paul Provenza offer memories of an avuncular craftsman, sharing his wisdom with two rising journeymen. With the help of Mark Malkoff's friendly and encouraging presence, the podcast conjures up a romanticized yet, I feel, largely accurate picture of the man. Like Charles Foster Kane in Orson Welles' film, Johnny Carson isn't waiting for us at the end of the podcast, but he lives on in these stories, more alive than in the clips his nephew posts regularly to YouTube.

This approach, a podcast devoted to a single figure, is so evocative and effective, like a serialized oral history, that it won't surprise me to see historians mimic it for their own efforts. I can easily see a presidential library or a society devoted to a particular author or filmmaker making good use of this format.

The trick, of course, is to cover the subject while the people involved are still alive. You could fill pages with the names of notable guests and colleagues who are no longer with us. The most notable absences are most likely announcer, sidekick, and erstwhile friend Ed McMahon and producer and occasional whipping boy, Fred de Cordova, but like Carson they show up in stories and anecdotes. (While Malkoff has a clear fascination with de Cordova and his strained relationship with Carson, Ed McMahon comes across like a relative cypher in the podcast, though there's probably a good reason for that: Malkoff occasionally throws in a game "Let's talk about Ed" to which the guest invariably replies some variation on, "Well... Ed was Ed." Another one for the Carson Podcast Drinking Game.)

In spite of these absences, Malkoff keeps providing conversations with those who survive. He's reportedly approaching Doc Severinson, the bandleader during most of Johnny's run and the most significant surviving figure from that era of the show (after Peter Lassally, who has already granted a rare interview to the podcast). Each week, opening iTunes or Twitter to see who Mark has talked to is like a little Christmas morning and the listening itself is always an amusing, enjoyable experience.

Finally, it's interesting to see something of the quality and depth of The Carson Podcast emerge from the podcast form. The podcast is more than just radio on the Internet. Let's be honest: no radio station anywhere would buy a show like The Carson Podcast. In spite of the big name guests and fascinating subject matter, I think that most stations would laugh at the idea, if only because they would question its ability to sell airtime or, in the case of public radio, they would wonder how many listeners it served. Yet it's an important, smart, funny show that preserves something for posterity. It opens the door for other highly focused podcasting and demonstrates that there is a place in the world for something that you don't see often on TV or hear on the radio that much anymore: Good, intelligent conversation. For that much, Johnny would gladly wave Mark Malkoff over to the panel.

The Carson Podcast is here: http://carsonpodcast.com/

On iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-carson-podcast/id824049190?mt=2

GRAVITY is the Best Science-Fiction Film in Decades

by C. Christopher Hart

The first part of this review is spoiler-free. 

Gravity is the best science-fiction film in decades. In spite of our regular diet of 3D, big budget spectaculars, we don’t get many honest-to-goodness science-fiction films. Most popular movies that take place in outer space should be called “science-fantasy.” If you are hearing sound effects and explosions in the dead of space, you are watching “science-fantasy.” Gravity does, according to Neil DeGrasse Tyson, head of the Hayden Planetarium in New York, bend quite a few rules of physics, but even he admits, via Twitter, to enjoying the film “very much.” 

Dr. Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock)

You should not only see this film in theaters, I also strongly encourage you to see it in 3D. One of the reasons we American moviegoers tend to prefer superheroes and Jedi Knights in our entertainment is the spectacle they bring with them. There’s lots of explosions and very unlikely violence. This is fun, but it’s not to be confused with anything too consequential. Director Alfonso Cuaron is no stranger to this sort of fantasy filmmaking, having directed the only watchable edition of the Harry Potter series (2004’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). He manages to create a 3D film that uses the medium to its full potential. Gravity is a fully immersive film experience, bridging the gap between the adrenaline rush of a Hitchcock thriller and the visual daring of James Cameron. It approaches, but does not surpass, Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey; the fact that I can even make that statement with a straight face should give you an idea of how much I respect what Cuaron has achieved. 

Commander Matt Kowalski (George Clooney)

Before I talk about the movie itself, a quick plea… bring kids to see it. I think it would be nice if kids wanted to grow up to be astronauts again. I know it’s PG-13 and there are swears in it, but it’s nothing your little angels haven’t heard before when you stub your toe or burn your finger. Considering what Sandra Bullock goes through, I’m surprised she didn't say more. If it were me, I would eventually have Mission Control asking me to lay off the f-bombs. 

Here beginneth the SPOILERS… 

She is not having a good day!

Gravity is an action film, to be sure, but it never insults your intelligence. It places exceptional people in extraordinary circumstances. In the film, debris from a destroyed satellite wreaks havoc upon billions of dollars of space exploration equipment. Initially, the debris field cripples the Space Shuttle Explorer, sending Bullock’s character, Dr. Ryan Stone, hurtling through the void. After being rescued by the Shuttle’s pilot Matt Kowalski (George Clooney, giving a charming performance as a veteran space cowboy), via his jetpack, they return to find the rest of the crew dead and the Shuttle in no condition to return to Earth. The next option, with oxygen and the thrusters depleted and lack of radio leaving them “in the blind,” is the International Space Station. Unable to guide their approach, Kowalski is forced to sacrifice himself so that Stone, who has a tentative grip on the Station, can save herself. Truly alone, Stone is forced to rely on her wits, skill, and training to get back to Earth or die trying. 

Quick note: if "Houston in the blind" doesn't replace "Houston, we have a problem" as a national catchphrase, there is no justice.

The casting of Sandra Bullock, one of America’s best-known film actresses, is a stroke of genius, on par with Hitchcock’s exploitation of James Stewart. Bullock is vulnerable in a way that few Hollywood stars allow themselves to be. While I have no doubt that there are a number of actresses could have given life to Dr. Stone, Bullock brings an eerie teetering between hope and hopelessness to the astronaut. World-weariness has rarely been so literal; after her young daughter’s death in a freak accident, Dr. Stone joins NASA and leaves the planet altogether. Unlike the happy-go-lucky Kowalski, one gets the feeling that Stone is genuinely running from something. Bullock allows herself to go to a dark place, and we follow her. This isn't like Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo, but it’s a cousin to that depiction of a broken human spirit. Dr. Ryan Stone isn't fully connected to the human race at the start of the film. As her adventure unfolds and will to live is challenged, she finds that spirit once again and makes peace with her demons. There is already talk that Sandra Bullock will be looking at gowns come awards season, and I see no reason not to consider her a strong contender. 

Clooney, Bulock, and director Alfonso Cuarón

Cuaron, though, is the true star of Gravity. In trusting that his audience is sophisticated and hungry for this kind of spectacle, he creates the foundation of the latest leg of his career: director of intelligent blockbuster films. In making the decision to infuse the film with humor both dark (a floating Marvin the Martian figurine joins the bobbing corpses of astronauts) and goofy (Stone has no access to Earth via radio for most of the film, barring a brief exchange with an Inuit fisherman and his dogs) and even metatextual (casting Ed Harris as the voice of Mission Control), he demonstrates that he is a warrior against the lowest common denominator. Finally, in giving us this film, he opens the door for filmmakers looking to bring intelligence back to action, thriller, and science-fiction films. People have felt physically and emotionally exhausted by this film, as if they went through it themselves. If that isn't movie magic, I don’t know what is. 

On a final note, I wanted to remark on the irony of the fact that the #1 film in America during the United States’ first government shutdown in 17 years, features almost exclusively government employees behaving in heroic and selfless manners. That might not mean much to someone reading this five years from now, but it sure feels good tonight.

The Quotable DOCTOR WHO, Part 2

Carole Ann Ford as Susan, 1964

"One day, we'll know all the mysteries of the skies... and we'll stop our wandering." 

- Susan, from "The Singing Sands" (Marco Polo, Episode Two) by John Lucarotti

The Quotable DOCTOR WHO, Part 1

John Stratton as Shockeye, 1985

"Religion? I'm not interested in the beliefs of primitives - only in what they taste like!" 

- Shockeye of the Quawncing Grig, from The Two Doctors by Robert Holmes.

MAN OF STEEL (2013)

MAN OF STEEL (2013) Director: Zack Snyder 

SPOILERS AHEAD

Even though he is the most recognizable of the super heroes, Superman's representation in Hollywood has been hampered in recent years by a demure attempt at a reboot (2006's Superman Returns) and the long shadow of Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie (1978) and its three sequels, which starred the late Christopher Reeve in a performance that both defined the actor and the character (for better and for worse) for a generation. I had a very negative reaction to this new film when I first saw it and found it difficult to enjoy it on its own terms, thanks to one particular story point.

Kneel Before Flying

First, it's worthwhile to note what the movie gets right. There are no bad performances in the film; each of the actors deals well with the material and finds their character. Henry Cavill meets the unenviable task of playing an American icon (whilst being British, not as easy as it looks) and creates a charming and human character in a way that is true to the source material and manages to distinguish himself from Reeve. Michael Shannon as Zod separates himself from the fey and, yes, two-dimensional performance of his predecessor Terence Stamp. The film and the actor dispense with the "Kneel Before Zod" theatrics and give the villain a clear and understandable motivation, perhaps even one that the audience might sympathize with, emphasizing the character's implied military background above his dictatorial ambitions. The difference is comparable, in comic book movie terms, to the difference between Jack Nicholson's pop art Joker and Heath Ledger's psychopathic and, perhaps, more realistic take on Batman's archenemy.

Kneel Before Zod!

While the film suffers from a desire to ape the style of producer Christopher Nolan's Batman films, it does remain visually interesting throughout. The special effects are, of course, astonishing on the occasions when they further the plot (I felt that Zod's doomsday device, the "World Engine," is as menacing a McGuffin as has ever been seen in this sort of film) and boring and confusing when they don't (see Russell Crowe as Jor-El, Superman's biological father, who rides a sort of flying dinosaur-horse... I'm not sure what was going on there, other than a desire to create something that will get kids to buy Jor-El action figures.) The film gets two things fundamentally wrong. The first is Lois Lane. There are only three elements of the Superman mythology that date back to the character's initial appearance: Superman, Clark Kent, and Lois Lane. Literally everything else, every character, every nuance, shows up later on to flesh out the character's history. Another character like that from comics history is Commissioner Gordon, who is similarly the only element from the Batman comics, outside of the main character, that originates from that initial story. In Nolan's Batman films, that importance is noted and Gordon becomes Batman's most important ally (if not Bruce Wayne's; the Gordon in the Nolan films isn't privy to the hero's double identity, ostensibly for his own protection). Lois Lane is, therefore, an important part of the Superman legend. I would argue that she's the most important character to get right, as (like Gordon) she serves as the hero's connection to the real world, a tether that brings the high concept some reality, an ordinary person thrust into extraordinary circumstances.

Noel Neill Before Amy Adams

(Am I being too nerdy there? Sorry.) 

Unfortunately, the character is very underwritten. The writers have, wisely I think, dispensed with the "two-person love triangle" concept of Lois, who is supposed to be a great reporter, yet unable to tell that the man she is in love with is, in fact, her milquetoast co-worker Clark Kent. Charming though it is, that scenario has always ignored the fact that if Superman can't trust Lois, he has no business loving her in either of his identities. The new dynamic is that Lois is sort of the Boswell to Kal-El, going so far as to (almost) give him his nom du guerre and becoming a trusted partner, a resourceful romantic interest/sidekick who can move the plot and even get the hero out of trouble in certain situations. This newer avenue makes Lois's frequent damsel in distress situations a little more palatable, but one still feels that screen time given to her Daily Planet co-workers would have been more interesting if they were in service to Lois demonstrating her capabilities as a reporter as opposed to setting up victimization set pieces. This isn't to say that Amy Adams doesn't give a great performance; she's just not given as much to work with as she could have been.

The second thing that the film gets wrong is even more shocking and speaks to what I see as a deep misunderstanding of the source material, and I'm referring to the violence and the eventual execution of General Zod. As to the general comic book violence, the film uses special effects in a way that no Superman film has before. The Man of Steel does the usual Superman business of flying, being bulletproof, projecting heat rays from his eyes, and being incredibly strong. And I grant you that the destruction that would follow a group of villains with Superman's range of abilities would be massive, especially if they were fighting one another. But Superman, as a story or myth, really isn't about slugfests.

At the time Superman was created, the 1930s, his stories were on a much smaller scale. In his earliest adventures, Superman saves a woman from the electric chair by storming the Governor's mansion, stops a lynching, interferes with a man beating his wife, torments a corrupt politician in Washington D.C., and saves Lois Lane from an abduction by gangsters (one of whom is attracted to her and pushes Clark out of the way to take her against her will). Created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, two Jewish teenagers living through the Great Depression, the early Superman is a sort of anarchistic angel, a merry strongman who acts benevolently wherever he finds an injustice. The idea of Superman as a Christ-figure (as presented in Superman Returns as well as this film, and to a lesser extent in the Christopher Reeve films) ignores the purpose of the character. If anything, Superman is more of a Moses-figure (replace floating down the Nile with a spaceship and they even have the same basic origin story), an exceptional man who protects and gives wisdom, who shows a moral way of living and uses his great abilities not for personal gain, but for the purpose of inspiring ordinary people with his example.

A page from Action Comics #1, the first appearance of Superman. 

It's inconsistent, though. If you're setting up Superman as a Christ-figure, why is he punching anyone? If Superman is meant for greater things, to inspire humanity, and if he's like a god to us mortal and fragile human beings, why is he not setting a higher moral example? Specifically, why is he unable to resolve the problem presented by General Zod without killing him?

Taking "Superman as Christ-figure" to the next level by giving him a beard.

I'm not suggesting that there was a better way of resolving the Zod plot-line than killing him off. I can buy that it made dramatic sense, or that Shannon might not have wanted the door open for a return engagement, but there should have been a way of doing it without making Superman the executioner. The idea that Kal-El's parents sent him to Earth because they had hope, and the idea that he was raised as Clark Kent to resolve matters with his mind and use his gifts for good, and the thread that his parents see great things for him is entirely negated for me by the idea that this "greater thing" is a spontaneous and knee-jerk execution.

Maybe if there was time for him to talk about the consequences of his actions and discuss the toll it would obviously take on him. Maybe if he made a vow that he would never again take a life for any reason. Maybe if he indicated that he found his actions distasteful and against his own principles. Maybe if any of that had happened, and Superman refuted the notion that the ends justified the means, I could have accepted it. 

There's another, bigger logic hole here, though. If these Kryptonians are so powerful and indestructible that they can beat and bash one another without drawing blood or raising so much as a single bruise, how is it possible for even Kal-El to snap Zod's neck? It would seem unlikely to me, given what is established in the film.

Superman, again from Action Comics #1, stopping an execution, rather than performing one.

I think, though, the bigger problem here is an overall super hero fatigue. These films have become visual wonders, but the stories are lacking in the imagination and thoughtfulness of their paper counterparts. More super hero flicks are on the way, so I may be tilting at a windmill. I think that the wasted opportunity here was to do something more uplifting and life-affirming than the bleakness of Nolan's Batman films and Snyder's earlier Watchmen. The darkness suited those stories, I suppose, but Superman demands a lighter approach. It seems that there will be other opportunities to get it right, as sequels follow superhero movies like stench follows garbage.