The MacGuffin

There is an uncomfortable, eerie, and saddening feeling that runs throughout the course of the documentary Girl Model (2011). Directed by Ashley Sabin and David Redmon, the film examines the life of young fashion models as they embark on a strange and disconcerting trip that takes them from their home country to a foreign place where success and fame are apparently waiting for them. The harsh reality, though, is anything but that dream. When speaking of the world of fashion and modeling, one might think of flashing lights, bright runways, and designer clothing. This film, however, sheds all of the glitz and glamour to reveal something very unsettling, where certain people’s moral compasses are turned upside down, and where young girls get into situations that are beyond their understanding and control. It’s a film that’s effectiveness strengthens more after you have seen it, because you start to realize that it goes far beyond those that are portrayed.

“Off the record, on the QT, and very hush-hush.”

So says reporter Sid Hudgens (Danny DeVito) at the end each of his articles in the tabloid paper Hush-Hush. While Sid works as a supporting character in Curtis Hanson’s masterful crime drama L.A. Confidential (1997), his part is essential in establishing and maintaining the tone and style of the piece. There is a reason why Sid is the main narrator, setting up the story and guiding us through its intricate twists. He is representative of the ever-growing fascination the public has with scandal and sleaze news, especially when it deals with the glitz and glamour of 1950s Hollywood. While that kind of journalism seems to dominate mainstream media today, Sid is a symbol of its birth. In a time when Hollywood and the movie industry were in their so-called “golden age,” this movie peers beneath those layers toward its seedy underbelly in gritty fashion.

With another year well underway, do you know what time it is? Why, time for another Dr. Seuss adaptation, of course! This go-around, the studio that brought us the highly popular Despicable Me (2010) is back with The Lorax (2012), directed by Chris Renaud and Kyle Balda and written by Ken Daurio. Now, to be completely honest with you, this particular story was not one of the Dr. Seuss books that I held very close to my heart; I was more of a How The Grinch Stole Christmas, The Cat in the Hat, and Green Eggs and Ham kind of a kid. I was slightly aware of what the story was about—regarding an imaginary creature and his attempt to stop a number of trees from being chopped down—but other than that I have to admit I walked into the movie with a pretty clean slate. A number of recent Dr. Seuss film adaptations have turned out fairly unmemorable, to put it nicely—would this one actually break ground?

One of the surprises of the 2012 Academy Awards was the nomination of a Spanish film called Chico & Rita (2010) for Best Animated Feature. I’m assuming that not many people have heard of this film, but they should. It is a vibrant, colorful love story that borders near perfection in its music, animation, and narrative skill. Directed by the trio of Tono Errando, Javier Mariscal, and Fernando Trueba, the film does not necessarily push the boundaries of animation, and because of that must rely more on its characterizations and ability to tell an engaging tale—and it does so in the best way possible. Filled from beginning to end with rhythmic Latin beats and cool emotional jazz, the film is very much a melodrama. But don’t let that deter you; yes, the story here is melodramatic, but in the sweetest way possible. We fall in love with the characters just as easily as they fall in love with each other.

Do you play video games, in particular first-person shooters? These include games such as Call of Duty, Battlefield, Halo, so on and so forth? I ask this because the connections between those kinds of games and the latest film Act of Valor (2012) had been swirling around by the time I got to view it. The similar traits are clear: military and armed forces deep in the middle of special operations, where men do courageous things in the midst of intense battle. I understand what directors Mike McCoy and Scott Waugh (along with writer Kurt Johnstad) wanted to do: present these individuals and come as close as they possibly could to reenacting missions that have happened in real life (an opening title screen says as much). However, while there is much to admire, from their intentions to the very people they put on screen, the film falters from a number of cinematic missteps, resulting in a film that feels all too much like an episodic, real-life version of a video game.

Steve James, the filmmaker who made one of the best American documentaries in Hoop Dreams (1994), has returned with yet another great, fascinating, and engaging film in The Interrupters (2011). This time, his story deals with urban and gang violence among the youth in Chicago neighborhoods, so prominent that it has recently received nationwide attention. In a way, this film is more urgent than his previous one, as the lives involved struggle every day just to survive. It’s a heartwrenching tale of a few brave souls who take it upon themselves to step deep into this world—a world that so many have chosen to turn away from—and do what they can to prevent further tragedy from happening. We get a glimpse into what life is like for these young individuals, we learn names and stories of those that would normally be represented only by statistics. And because of that, James has made a film that every single person should see.

In the trailer of Oren Moverman’s latest film, Rampart (2011), a quote says that “Woody Harrelson is the most corrupt cop you’ve ever seen on screen.” I would guess that that statement is fairly accurate. The character Harrelson plays, L.A. police officer Dave Brown, is not a good man. Heck, he’s not even a descent man. Brown is a down-and-dirty son of a gun in the worst way possible. He’s a hateful, misogynistic, egocentric, adulterous drunk who does whatever he wants, all the while hiding behind the protection of his badge and the power of his gun. When it comes to cinematic anti-heroes, you can’t get much worse than this guy. I usually like protagonists that tiptoe that moral line, who do questionable things as a means to an end. It’s much more interesting to see a person who has faults and eccentricities; it makes their journey much more fascinating to watch and analyze. So why exactly didn’t that work for me here?

There are some films that have become so familiar to us that watching them again feels a bit like coming home. We know the characters, we know the sequences, and sometimes we can even say the lines of dialogue before they come. They are so a part of who we are that we associate the film with our own upbringing. That’s how I feel every time I see Robert Zemeckis’s Back to the Future (1985). One of the essential films of the 1980s, I feel that it’s safe to say that just about everyone knows and has seen it, and for some of us, couldn’t fathom what growing up would be like without it. It does everything that you can expect out of pure entertainment—with names, places, and images that have lasted in contemporary popular culture. I’ve become so familiar with the film that I can’t remember the first time ever seeing it.

Here’s what I’ve been watching recently:

The opening shot is as striking as any you’ll see. Up high in the Peruvian mountains, amongst the clouds and mist, a line of soldiers, animals, and workers snake their way down a steep path. While the shot is taken from a distance, it’s clear that this moment is not manipulated at any point—those are real people steadily going through the dangerous cliffs of the rock side, with the green canyon thousands of feet below. This is just one of the many haunting images that populate Werner Herzog’s daring and ambitious examination of human nature, Aguirre: The Wrath of God (1972). It’s a film that examines the depths to which obsession can take a person, created by a man who has made a career out of his obsession for the cinema. There are some filmmakers who do the work as a job, others because they simply enjoy it. Herzog does it because it is ingrained in his very being.