Godzilla Raids Again (1955)

Welcome back to the Criterion Challenge/October Franchise Run/Godzilla Deep Dive (it's a little of all three for now.)

We're a bit late into the month, but still determined to keep moving. Over the next few days, we'll be covering the first 'arc' of Godzilla - from atomic menace to what I'd like to call 'friend to all children', but that's Gamera's beat.

Anyway, that's getting ahead of ourselves.

Flashback to 1954 - in the wake of Honda's original Godzilla becoming a success, Toho producer, Iwao Mori, already had the word 'sequel' on his lips.

An ambitious idea, to be sure. Save for the fact that the titular monster was dead.

Not that that's ever stopped a sequel before, of course.

Taking inspiration from a line from Professor Yamane (Shimura Takashi, briefly reprising his role in this) the movie found its hook - when your first radioactive dinosaur dies, get yourself another one. Or two, as the case may be here.

Going in this, and the subsequent entries, I am coming at this with a particular primary focus - tracking the franchise as a whole, and how each property evolves that from its beginnings to what is considered the 'traditional' Godzilla film.

The decision to have multiple kaiju is where Godzilla Raids Again distinguishes itself in that line. Godzilla is back, but audiences are also introduced to the second of what would become Toho's extensive bestiary - the giant ankylosaurus, Anguirus.

Okay, one new observation here - this is the first time it really hit me how at first they tried to keep to dinosaurs as far as expanding the roster went.

At first, anyway, but we'll come back to that.

Besides the another kaiju, the most marked change this movie has over its predecessor is that it is considerably less grim. This doesn't make it a light-hearted movie, of course, but it also avoids anything on the level of the destructive horror of the previous movie's Tokyo attack and its somber aftermath.

There is still a fair amount of destruction to go around (including a subplot involving one of cinema's more unlucky jail breaks) but it also spends much of its time looking at the impact of these giant monsters from a trade and supply line perspective. Which is an interesting take, don't get me wrong, but it also causes this to lose out on the horror of the previous movie.

Despite that, it does keep with its predecessor in its view of its titular monster - yes, Godzilla is fighting another kaiju in this, but that doesn't mean he's our hero. In fact, neither Godzilla nor Anguirus really pays any mind to what the humans around them are doing. They're just destroying whatever gets in their path - including each other - and the humans are left to determine how to handle the winner.

How those humans handle that marks the last major difference between this and the original - there is no oxygen destroyer and no troubled scientist to really drive the nuclear comparison this time. Which isn't a bad thing - as much as I love that aspect of the original, it's not an element you can expect to keep repeating to the same returns. In that case, I'd prefer they give it one good go rather than keep repeating it till the tank runs out of gas.

In turn, this version emphasizes the human effort in terms of trying to trap the surviving monster (including two pilots, one of whom is played by Kurosawa alum Minoru Chiaki.) There isn't a superweapon to save the day - just risky planning and a willingness to put one's life on the line to try and stop another catastrophe in the form of a radioactive dinosaur.

Godzilla Raids Again is an interesting part of the larger lore for me. On the one hand, it lacks the punch of its predecessor. On the other, it still makes a good effort to stand on its own, and marks the first expansion of the kaiju roster. It's a generally well made, eminently watchable Godzilla movie, especially if you're looking for titles from the era when the character was still seen as, literally, a walking disaster.

This also marks the last of the black and white era for Godzilla. Next time we step into the world of color, and Godzilla's first warm-blooded opponent, with the vaunted (and rumored) throwdown King Kong vs Godzilla.

Till then.

Godzilla (1954)

Well, I warned you all it was coming. If you didn't heed me before, now is the time to report to your nearest shelter.

Because October has come to the Criterion Challenge, and kaiju are coming with it!

As promised last time, from here till the end of the year, it's a deep dive into the complete Showa Era of Japan's most successful giant lizard himself - Godzilla.

So, let's begin --

This isn't my first time writing about Ishiro Honda's 1954 classic for this blog. It's not even my first time doing for October. Despite that, I'm not terribly worried about repeating myself, though I will be hitting a few familiar points in more detail.

The original Godzilla has an interesting place in my heart and in my life. It's one of those certain things - we all have them - that I come back to over the years and my experience with it is different every time.

There are two things I will say this movie has stayed consistent on for me. The first is that it has been a genuinely well made movie that still holds up for me. The other is that, for a film in which a giant lizard rampages through a city, it finds ways to genuinely unsettle me.

To give this some context - Godzilla, as a character, has been a part of my life since I was a little kid. To the point where what memories I have of my grandfather on my mother's side (who died when I was young) were watching some of the Godzilla vs movies with him. The big lizard has been a nerd gateway drug for me in a lot of ways.

I say this to make clear - I first knew the version of Godzilla that was akin to The Incredible Hulk: he's big, he's destructive, but at the end of the day, he's still on humanity's side.

So, as a kid, my first time watching this movie (in its Americanized King of the Monsters cut) was like watching Superman toss a little old lady into traffic.

I had gone in not knowing this started as a very direct take on the impact of the atomic bomb on Japan, so I was shaken by seeing this character I had come to love as a horrific force. I still liked the movie, but seeing the very human toll of destruction was genuinely upsetting to me at the time.

I would come back to the movie over the years, first through that redone version and later when the original Japanese finally became more readily available, and over time, I've been pleasantly surprised to realize it still shakes me, but for different reasons.

A big part of that comes down to how I've looked at the movie over time. As a kid, I came to the movie for Godzilla, so my attention was largely there for Godzilla (and credit where it's due, for pushing 70, the effects work still looks good in this movie.) As I've gotten older, the human face of the movie becomes more prominent.

Which is part of what makes it fascinating to watch in the larger arc of the property. A lot of the later installments in the series we'll get to are over the top, silly, and yeah, I'll say - fun.

By comparison, the first movie in this series, true to its origins as a movie made in response to the horrors of the atomic bomb, is a very somber, human story. Even the movie's main set piece - in which Godzilla rampages through Tokyo - takes a lot of time to focus on the people on the ground caught up in the destruction. As a result, moments like the news crew reporting on the rampage to their bitter end, or a terrified mother trying to reassure her children as death bears down on them give the scene more heft than it would have as just an actor in a suit tearing up a cardboard city.

That the movie commits as much to showing the destruction and aftermath on that level is part of what makes it work so well. It takes itself seriously enough that it's hard not to engage with it on its own terms, rather than just a kaiju rampage.

Alongside the destruction, there is one other part of the movie's human side I have to acknowledge my increased appreciation for. That is the depiction of the brooding, troubled Dr. Serizawa.

For much of the first two acts, the man is framed as a cypher - his major role being as the fiancé to Emiko that complicates her relationship to Ogata. His work is secretive, he is aloof, and even his appearance, complete with eyepatch, suggests a mystery. It's only in the wake of Godzilla's destruction that his secret comes - not even from himself, but from Emiko recognizing his research could be vital.

With the reveal, in which we learn of his work developing the device known as the Oxygen Destroyer, our perspective on the character changes. If Godzilla is the atomic bomb, Serizawa is the movie's answer to Oppenheimer - he didn't have a hand in the lizard's creation or rampage, but in turn, his research has birthed the one destructive force that could match or surpass him. Like his real life analogue, he's not proud of what he's created - the reason he is secretive is because he's horrified with the potential for what he's created. Even when Ogata and Emiko come to him to ask him help stop Godzilla, he is justifiably reluctant - he recognizes the good, but is also all too aware of the evil that his research could do in the wrong hands. When he ultimately does agree, he does so with the assertion that this will be the only time his device is used - a vow he guarantees in his decision to die with Godzilla.

That the movie presents Serizawa in as nuanced a light as it does is a pleasant surprise. Given how fairly fresh the memory of the atomic bombs was at that point, one could see a lesser version of this where a character in this role would be as a monster in his own right. Instead, the movie frames him much as history would come to remember him - someone who didn't set out to unleash this sort of power, and who genuinely regretted it on seeing what it could do.

It's also part of why the ending has come to resonate more for me over time. Those final scenes draw a  comparison, even a kind of kinship between Serizawa and Godzilla. Ultimately, neither set out intending to be destructive (while a stand-in for the bomb, the movie also frames Godzilla's dinosaur origin as tragic - potentially the last of his kind, out of his own time) but the fact remains, their paths have both led them to that outcome. More simply put, wo beings who, like it or not, are too dangerous to live in the world as we know it. I realize that makes it sound edgy put into text, but it's a tragic beat within the film, and the fact the movie commits to it as seriously as it does helps offset any underlying silliness the premise could otherwise have.

In a few years, this movie will turn 70 years old. It speaks to the dedication of the people involved that, even after all this time, there is a power to how it commits to its themes. This isn't to say it's all silliness from here on out, but that this can still resonate this much after all this time is something to commend this movie for.

Yeah. What can I say? I have a lot of feelings on this one.

As we're at the end of the movie with that point, it seems as fitting a place as any to wrap up the writeup. Keep an eye out, we'll be back soon with the still serious, if less grim follow up to this in Godzilla Raids Again.

Till next time.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year...

Well, it is for me, anyway.

The Criterion Challenge may be a new idea for this year, but I still wanted to continue my custom of the past few years, dedicating October to a seasonally appropriate franchise.

Within the confines of the Criterion Collection, that limits the options.

Limits, but does not exclude.

In truth, this was something I had started this project fully intending to build to - the Godzilla Showa collection. Fifteen entries for Toho's king of the kaiju.

To anyone who's reading this and thinking "Two to three entries a month and now fifteen? You're insane!"

Well, you're right.

I'm not going to run these all this month. This is the rest of the year.

That's right, folks. I hope you weren't pinning hopes on a holiday theme, cause it's kaiju all the way down from here through December!

(Maybe next year. I've had fun with this.)

So, the big press begins, starting with Ishiro Honda's 1954 classic here real soon.

Till then.

Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982)

Welcome back. Class is still in session here at the Criterion Challenge, albeit not for much longer.

Now that we got class elections out of the way (give or take a disgraced educator), it seemed fitting to find a movie that would cover the rest of the school year.

Okay, not my sharpest transition, but deal with it, we're here to talk about Amy Heckerling's seminal high school comedy Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

This was a first for me - I knew the angle I wanted to dig into as soon as the movie was done, but it took a while to figure out how to put it.

Which is even more fitting because I wanted to focus on the movie's surprisingly sharp sense of awkwardness.

Yes, this is a good thing.

It's something I'd been kind of aware of before, but this is the first time that I really appreciated how much this movie is willing to let its teenage characters be, well, teenagers.

I'm impressed with how it's willing to have that awkwardness while also never quite feeling like a cringe comedy (and I'm a sucker for a good cringe comedy, so don't take that as a dig.) The movie is able to have an arc like Sean Penn's surfer burnout Jeff Spicoli and at the same time Jennifer Jason Leigh's Stacy Hamilton navigating dating and the significance of losing one's virginity, and the shifts never feel jarring.

Part of what helps is that it never leans too heavily to either side of that line. To use them as examples again: as goofy as Spicoli is, the wildest his stunts get is having a pizza ordered into school or having to bluff out of getting a car wrecked. Stacy, meanwhile, has moments like her less than romantic first time - in a baseball dugout (a great detail being her being distracted by the obscene graffiti on the ceiling above her) and for as weird as it gets, it never feels like the movie is trying to heap abuse on her for it.

The movie is more than Stacy and Jeff, of course. We also have the similarly young and inexperienced Mark (Brian Backer), the increasingly unlucky Brad (Judge Reinhold) and the older, presumably wiser Linda and Mike (Phoebe Cates and Robert Romanus respectively.)

If there's a word that sums up the larger arc of all of these characters, it's 'unromantic.' Not in the sense of relationships, though there is some of that as shown by scenes like the above-mentioned dugout. In this case, unromantic being with regards to the idea of a rose-tinted high school experience. It's surprising to remember two years after this would see the rise of John Hughes's teen comedies ,given how differently Heckerling tackles things by comparison.

There's something that feels more, for lack of a better term, human in the way Heckerling presents her teens. They can be messy. They can make mistakes with consequences that aren't simply written off the very next day. As cool and experienced as an older kid may be, they may not have all the answers they want you to believe they do (as the movie shows from both Linda and Mike.) They are flawed, but ultimately likable individuals in a way that it feels like many later mainstream high school comedies are reluctant to show.

To bring this full circle, the culmination of Stacy's story is one that feels strange to see in a modern mainstream high school film - after an awkward hook-up with Mike, she finds herself pregnant and in need of an abortion (that alone being a risky prospect.) The resolution of the arc isn't a big dramatic beat, but a few smaller ones - an attempt to get a ride from her older brother (Brad) which he figures out, but ultimately still supports without asking too many questions, and an act of revenge by Linda in the form of graffiti. Despite being smaller beats, they still feel like a satisfying resolution narratively and thematically.

Also, it's not part of my main point, but I do feel like
I need to give a shout out to the late, great Ray Walston
as the put-upon Mr. Hand. Another great showcasing
of that crotchety snark that he could play so very, very well.

I don't want to say 'they couldn't make this movie anymore', because that is a phrase that feels like it's been misused too often for misguided commentary on culture. At the same time, this is a movie it's hard to picture being made now because of how frank, if funny, it is about the messier sides of teenage life. I wouldn't say it can't be made, but it would definitely not be on the level of a studio release quite like this one.

Which makes me appreciate that this happened at the level it did even more.

I could take this as a moment to add my vote to the larger sentiment that we as a society never really gave Heckerling her due as a director, but that would be a whole other topic, and the fact is, I'm running out of September.

October is right around the corner, and, as I promised, I'll be doing another franchise this time out.

And at the risk of laying it on too thick, this one's gonna be a real monster.

Till then

Election (1999)

Ahhh, fall. Possibly my favorite time of year.

The days are getting cooler, the leaves are turning, and Halloween is right around the corner.

But first, it's September, and for many, including the Criterion Challenge, that means back to school.

To kick things off, we're going back to the far off (oh God, I'm old) year of 1999 with Alexander Payne's black comedy Election. A movie that touches on all the high school experiences - finding yourself, running for student government and...let me check this note again...torpedoing your career when you take out your newfound midlife crisis on the overachieving student in your class.

I'm sure that was a high school experience for some. Thankfully I dodged that bullet.

As a rule, I try not to go into these with a direct focus picked out. A broad direction sometimes, but I feel if I zero in too much, I could miss something, so I'm reluctant to pre-plan too much.

I did break that rule a bit this time. It was hard not to with the debate this movie has sparked with regards to how we're meant to see the above-mentioned overachieving Tracy Flick.

If it helps, that became a jumping off point rather than the sole topic (hence 'a bit'.) As that question kicked around, I found myself instead focusing on a throughline of the movie that I hadn't put too much thought into before - misplaced blame.

Election is a movie that is spurred forward often by grievance. It's the entire reason Jim McAllister feels the need to try and put a stop to Tracy's presidential ambitions. It's what pushes Tracy to nurse a venomous degree of hate for opponents who don't share her enmity. Finally, it's what leads to Tammy Metzler's 'burn it all down' bid for class presidency that throws even McAllister's plans into disarray.

In the interests of some semblance of order, let's start from the bottom of that list and work our way to the top.

Of the three lashing out in this movie, I feel like Tammy is the one who comes out the best, both in terms of recognizing her misplaced anger and how to address that. Yes, her grudge with Paul and Tracy is largely a consequence of her much more justified anger with her former friend/spurned romantic interest Lisa, but that also allows her to step back from it, rather than let it consume her. By the end, even though she's expelled, she is ultimately happy at her new school with the bad blood left in the past.

Tracy's issues with blame are what really got me on this path in the first place. First and foremost in this movie, Tracy Flick is a victim. This is presented to us on multiple levels - first and most abhorrent being her sexual relationship with disgraced teacher Dave Novotny. Behind him, we have her mother, Judith, who is presented as channeling her own frustrations with unfulfilled ambitions into her daughter (I let out an audible 'oof' this time around when her mother's reaction to Tracy's losing is simply "maybe you needed more posters.") Bringing up the rear, of course, is Jim McAllister, Novotny's friend who ultimately makes Tracy the target of his own anger born out of his blossoming midlife crisis (we'll get back to that.)

I mulled over numerous ways to compare the dynamic
between Tracy and Paul to Frank Grimes and Homer Simpson.
I couldn't quite make it stick, but I maintain there is
a case to be made.

Despite how clearly toxic these adults are, Tracy bears them no ill will in her narrations. She commends her mother's drive, she speaks of Novotny sympathetically and recalls their relationship fondly, and even after McAllister's efforts to sabotage her election, she looks on him with pity more than anything else. By comparison, her attitude towards Paul and Tammy is one of complete and utter scorn. She views them as unworthy of the presidency and beneath her, even though neither has done anything to slight her personally.

This watch was the first time I ever really processed how much those toxic adults have affected Tracy. Her narrations give the impression of someone still unwilling to admit they were a victim, and rather than fire back at those who did mistreat her, she takes out her anger on those she sees as beneath her instead. It's part of why, while working on this writeup, I was pleasantly surprised by the reports of Tom Perotta looking to write a follow up to the original novel where Tracy coming to terms with what happened to her is a factor.

I can't really say I see her as a hero or villain as some would contest, but I have to admit, she is a fascinating, complicated character the more I look at her.

If there's anyone I WOULD say is a hero in this movie,
it's the janitor who undoes McAllister's plan because he's
had enough of his shit.

Finally, we have Jim McAllister. Like Tracy, I was struck by how differently he read to me on this viewing. If anyone in this film could be read as a villain (besides Novotny), it's McAllister. A big part of that is just how far he slides over the course of the film. At the start, the depiction of McAllister is, decidedly, positive (taken with a grain of salt, of course - the movie is rife with unreliable narrators). He is a respected teacher, well liked by his students, and when Novotny confides in his affair, his response is one of shock and disapproval. When Novotny's subsequent disgrace is recounted, McAllister isn't immediately hostile to Tracy. It starts to creep its way in as the first signs of what the movie ultimately plays out as a mid-life crisis, not unlike the one that destroyed his former colleague. Perhaps because of that point of reference, rather than recognize what he's going through and trying to sort himself out, he instead focuses himself on Tracy and destroying her ambitions.

Unlike Tammy or Tracy, McAllister's behavior is much harder to forgive, especially because of how he's introduced. He is presented to us as a man who, for all intents and purposes, should know better - he has a good life, is well respected, and at first has a recognition of how reckless and stupid his friend is being. When it happens to him, however, he ignores that, and ultimately abuses the trusts of his students, his friends, and his wife.

The movie's epilogue further adds to why it's harder to forgive him. As everything settles, we see each of the students finding their way in life - Paul and Tammy each happy with the paths they choose, Tracy continuing to aspire higher and still begrudging those around her. McAllister, we find out, lands himself a museum job and seemingly gets his life back on track. He does see Tracy one more time, this time in the cadre of a noted politician. At first, the movie gives you the impression he's let go and moved on, until he dwells on it more, and we find out he still has some unresolved blame for her and her ambitions proceeding while his are stymied. It's a feeling that then carries into the last scene, as he once again finds himself haunted by an overeager student, reluctant to acknowledge her.

Adding a bit of a darker note -
Remembering that this was a movie made in 99, following
the Clinton scandals, this scene very clearly implies
Tracy is again being taken advantage of by someone
abusing their authority.
Which, sadly, ties well with her never quite reckoning
with what happened to her.

Whew. This was a lot.

What can I say? After taking the summer easy, this one gave me a lot to turn over, and I'm glad to be back in the swing of things.

We have one more entry left before October (where, as I promised, we're still doing a franchise dive, and oh what a dive it will be!)

Stick around for one more class next week and then we'll be on our way!

Till then

Local Hero (1983)

Ahh, the dog days of summer.

Enjoying the last of the wind down before September, then it's back to the grind.

I suppose The Criterion Challenge counts as part of that, huh?

Well, I've still got one more day of vacation left. So after Hausu, I decided the best way to end this month was Bill Forsyth's funny, charming 1983 comedy, Local Hero.

 

 
This time last month, I wouldn't have thought I'd spend this much time comparing this movie and Hausu. As I tried to explore this as a vacation movie, however, it was hard not to.

It's not as though these are especially similar in terms of set-up or style. In fact, even as experiences, they're vastly different - where Hausu is like a funhouse ride, Local Hero is more like a warm bath or a comfortable sweater. Despite that, much of what I find appealing in this is similar to what appealed to me last time.

Like Hausu, I'm hard pressed to think of many other movies I'd say quite hit me the way Local Hero does. There's movies that get parts of it right, but something about the way it all comes together makes this one unique for me.

I know I've said it before, but over the past year, my view of movies has shifted from 'this could have been better with' and more to 'this could have gone *, and I'm glad it didn't.'

I can see a lot of the ways a more generic take on this could have played out - how Peter Riegert's Mac could have been the cocky big city fast talker (with shades of his earlier role in Animal House). How Burt Lancaster's Happer could have been the cold-blooded dollars and cents boss. How Denis Lawson's Gordon could have been the more 'pure' country figure to counter Mac and refuse to sell out his home town.

All familiar tropes. None of which Forsyth settles for.

Instead, Riegert is a man out of his element, able to local down a deal easily by telex, but much less certain having to close the deal in person. Happer is working to advance his company, but his heart is more in his dreams of the stars. Gordon is very willing to cash out, as are most of the other locals, and they are happy to welcome Mac to help close the deal. That Mac is then charmed by their small town happens inadvertently as a result of their efforts to help sweeten the deal.

I also can't not give a shout out to a young Peter Capaldi
as well. For someone who first encountered the man as
the surly, foul-mouthed Malcolm Tucker on The Thick of It,
his turn in this was an awkwardly pleasant surprise.

On paper, Local Hero has a lot of familiar elements of the 'city v country' fish out of water comedy. It plays a few straight, but for every one of those, there are one or more it subverts or takes for a fresh spin. There is no heavy dramatic baggage, no overtly villainous presence, or moments of severe stakes. It's a very relaxed, funny movie where the big mystery is how everything will play out while still seeing everyone's desires fulfilled. We come to like these people and, despite their clashing goals, want to see everything work out for all involved.

This really is the perfect movie to close out the summer with. It's light, but involving, warm, funny, visually striking for the local scenery. Even the final scene, with Mac back in the states feeling a sort of melancholy for the Scottish village that became home for him is a feeling that seems appropriate as one unwinds from their vacation and prepares to return to daily life.

Even if you're reading this in early September, I'd recommend giving this one a watch as the temperatures start to cool and the leaves change. After how hectic this month has been, it's a downright therapeutic 110 minutes.

Of course, with September around the corner, the challenge rolls on and it's time for this writer to get ready for something he hasn't had to do in quite some time - go back to school.

Come back next month for a few trips into cinematic academia as we ramp up for October.

And oooh, that's gonna be a doozy.

Till then.

Hausu (1977)

 Hello and welcome back to another round of the Criterion Challenge.

And let me start by saying - oof.

It's been a rough summer here. Technical issues. The heat. The weirdly dark turn last month's entries took.

Oh, and just about the entirety of the world at large right now. But, that's a talk for another time.

As we come into the dog days of summer, I decided there was only one way to end this summer - vacations! So, for the next couple of entries, we'll be looking at films about packing up and getting away from it all.

So what better place to start this trip than one of the most batshit haunted houses in cinema?

This isn't my first time seeing, or writing about, Nobuhiko Obayashi's cult classic Hausu (officially House, but the other pronunciation has been adopted to help avoid confusion with the 1986 haunted house movie with the same name.) At first, I wasn't sure what would be a good new perspective here.

Then it hit me - lean in to the vacation. Yes, this is a movie about a group of schoolgirls who take a fateful trip to a friend's aunt's haunted house. But it's also a movie that is its own miniature ninety-minute vacation.

This is a refreshing movie to watch for how weird it is, and how unapologetic it is about that, from start to finish.  This is a movie where, among other things - someone is eaten by a piano, people are turned into produce on multiple occasions, and someone is killed by being attacked by futons.

No, I don't feel bad about telling you this up front, because reading it is one thing, seeing it is something else.

For Hausu, it's all in seeing the weirdness unfold. It sounds pretentious to say, but this really is an experience. There's a lot of great haunted house movies out there (I can't recommend the likes of The Innocents and The Changeling enough come October) but I'd be hard pressed to think of another quite like Hausu.

A large part of this is thanks to Obayashi's direction. From the start, this was going to be a wild, imaginative movie, thanks to his decision to make his creative partner his young daughter Chigumi. That helped give the movie a lot of its more imaginative touches (Obayashi has been quoted as saying he felt like adult thoughts would cause the film to stay "on a boring, human level.")

From there, Obayashi's direction adds to the stylish strangeness. Between the animated tangents, the stop-motion style of some scenes, and the musical numbers (did I forget to mention this movie is also kind of a musical?) Obayashi keeps the movie lively. Even at the one serious beat, exploring protagonist Gorgeous's aunt's tragic backstory, is presented in a visually striking way that keeps it from snapping the tone in a way it can't recover from.

Seriously. Did I forget to mention the musical thing?

Cause it sort of goes there. This little dance number also
involves a cat.

I admit I haven't seen much of Obayashi's other work (though having seen his earlier short, Emotion, I can definitely see that his bold directorial streak wasn't an isolated aspect) but this has me wanting to see more. There's a lot of great haunted house movies out there, but not many (if any) others like this - it's a movie that captures the feel of being a kid on a well made haunted house ride. Once you're on, it's a blast from start to finish.

To pivot on this theme - it's a movie about a vacation that also doubles as a short trip all on its own.

Ahhh. I needed this.

One more trip to come this month before it's time to be moving on with fall, and coming into the big project for year one.

But that can come later. For now, still on vacation and enjoying it.

Till next time.

Blue Velvet (1986)

 Hello and welcome back for another round of the Criterion Challenge to close out July.

First, my apologies again for the shorter entry last time. Been working with some tech difficulties (non-film related piece of advice - Dell laptops are not your friend!) Also, the more I looked at the film through this particular lens, the more I realized my takeaway was 'This movie is great, but damn if time hasn't left it a grim aftertaste.'

I would still recommend giving it a watch, just - bear in mind, with the angle I was trying to write that from, it got kind of darker than I intended. It's still a great time in its own right.

In hindsight, this is probably NOT the best way to set up an entry on Blue Velvet, but we're rolling, so too bad!

 

 
Like last time, I knew this movie was a definite pick for this theme. Which, given it's David Lynch, is amusing to me - for as much as his work has been studied, scrutinized, debated, and picked apart in film circles - Blue Velvet is arguably one of his most straightforward feature. So much so that, in discussing it with a friend recently for this, she put it best saying it's a movie that lets you know what it's about within the first few minutes.

Granted, it doesn't just say it, but the visual language is clear enough: opening with a scene of sunny, everytown Lumberton, USA, subsequently disrupted as a man has a stroke, collapsing in his yard. From his fall, Lynch keeps cutting closer, moving past him to the insects scrabbling in the dirt under the pristine green grass.

That single beat encapsulates the journey protagonist Jeffrey Beaumont (Lynch alum Kyle MacLachlan) will find himself on. Digging past the charming hometown he grew up in and remembered to discover the dark, rotting underbelly hiding under the smalltown charm, best embodied in the psychopathic Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper in one of the definitive roles of his career.)

It's certainly not a particularly new idea to fiction - Stephen King alone could put together a mini-library about the number of works he's done that dissect the assumed morality of small town America - but it's clearly an idea that resonated for Lynch. So much so that it became one of the major threads he dug into with the series Twin Peaks years later.

All the same, there's something striking about how it's addressed in Blue Velvet - particularly because it feels almost uncharacteristically straightforward for Lynch. The movie has several of his stylistic tells to it, and some of the direction and editing gives certain scenes a dreamlike feel even if the story itself is meant to be seen as more 'real' than the subsequent TV series that shares its themes and some cast members.

That 'real' aspect is, I think, part of what I've found myself dwelling on the most this time around. Particular with regards to the dynamic between Jeffrey and Frank.

One of the things that really strikes me about Frank as a villain in this is that, thematically, he's not presented as an outsider. He's not some 'other' who's come in to corrupt the pure people of Lumberton. The implication is that Frank, and just about everyone around him could easily be just that person down the street. In fact, the one figure in the movie that could almost be seen as an 'other', Isabella Rosselini's Dorothy Vallens, is herself a victim of Frank and his group.

It's honestly the scariest part about Frank - he's not framed as some strange outside monster. Just based on what we see, he could be a home-grown, all-American maniac that Jeffrey simply never noticed growing up. In fact, there's a scene between Jeffrey and Dorothy that even seems to suggest that there is the potential for someone like Jeffrey to become like Frank if he lets himself.

Which is where I come to the weirdest realization I took away from this rewatch - despite this being easily the darker the two movies watched, thematically, I came away from this with a slightly more optimistic sense than I did with watching Lost in America through this lens.

A big part of this is due to the fact that, ultimately, though this movie is about that darker heart under 'wholesome' America, it's also a movie that advocates the idea of not ignoring it, trying to confront it for what it is. The movie makes it clear that Jeffrey's own attempts to investigate it nearly get him killed at multiple points, but it also puts him in a position where he can't simply ignore everything he has seen and learned over the course of the film.

Yeah, in the end, it almost feels a bit too clean (as partly shown by the discourse over the fake robin in the final scene - a prop that Lynch has admitted was born of function rather than theme) but there is still something oddly encouraging about that stance in this day and age. Framing it not as an act of machismo or anything like that, but simply recognizing it's the right thing to do.

No. Really.
For all the discourse over whether the clearly
fake robin symbolized a false happiness,
Lynch admitted they just weren't able to get a
live robin the day of the shoot. This was the solution
from props.

And again, coming into this after reflecting on Lost in America and realizing "Wow, we learned nothing from this," there is a certain strange sense of therapy that comes with a movie that flat-out says 'It's out there, and pretending it isn't won't make it go away.'

Okay, so that brings an end to a thematically darker month than I intended.

Tell you what? Pack your bags everyone. We're going on a vacation next month.

Better yet, we're going on a couple of vacations!

So see you guys again in August, where we're taking some trips.

Till then!

Lost in America (1985)

 Hello and welcome back for the back end of another month for the Criterion Challenge.

As I'd said last time, this month kind of went with a bit of a broader theme. I'd toyed with a few ideas before I decided to try and do a spin on the 4th of July (my first planned theme was moved to next month.)

I toyed with a few angles before settling on two movies that play to the idea of the American Dream, with an emphasis on the 'dream' part.

Albert Brooks's Lost in America was an immediate lock from there. The wonderfully sarcastic comedy, with its story of Brooks and Julie Hagerty as David and Linda Howard, a well off couple who decide to pitch their life of comfort to get away from it all has been hailed by many as one of the ultimate cinematic critiques of the Baby Boomer generation.

 

 
Watching it in 2021, I find myself both agreeing and feeling like that doesn't quite go far enough. In the context of the movie, the comedy of errors is definitely a riff on David and Linda's boomer sensibilities - they base their entire new life plan around the movie Easy Rider, then invest in a fancy RV, for example. 

That Easy Rider point especially sticks out to me now - the idea that these two uproot themselves and ultimately financially hobble themselves in the pursuit of a lifestyle they saw in a movie feels like an idea that has aged perhaps too well. 

This isn't to say that the movie isn't funny anymore. In fact, there are still several parts of this that get a solid laugh from me. Rather, the idea of seeing people commit themselves, often to their detriment, to actions born of an idea that never actually existed has become a much darker joke in the cold light of 2021.

I do have to say as far as the humor goes.
As famous as the Gary Marshall scene is,
the roulette table might be one of the funniest
scenes Julie Hagerty has done to date.
And yes, I say this as a fan of Airplane!

I do feel a bit like I'm underselling it here, because again, this is a very funny, biting satire. Rather, like Do the Right Thing earlier this year, it's a movie that has, through no fault of its own, gained a darker shadow from the fact that we learned nothing from it.

If anything, more people could probably stand to learn from David and Linda and recognize when it's time to hang the fantasy up, even if it means you have to eat some shit.

(Not literally - I already reviewed Salo once. Once was enough.)

Okay, tasteless joke aside, that about wraps it up for this entry.

Sorry this one was a bit shorter. Mix of technical issues this month and several attempts to flesh this angle out getting exceedingly pessimistic.

We have one more for this month coming up.

I'd say we're going to be less dark next time, but, well, I'd be lying.

Till then.

Virus-free. www.avast.com

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

 I promised you guys a third feature for the Criterion Challenge, and we're coming close to the wire, but here it is!

A heads-up - as a rule, I've tried to anchor these entries on a particular point or aspect of the film. It became a good way to vary the writeups rather than do every one by the same format. I bring this up because, in the case of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, I realized the point I wanted to come at it from is the movie's ending.

So if you haven't seen it yet and would wish to avoid spoilers, I'd recommend putting this one aside for now and going to watch the film. It's worth seeing and this will be here when you get back.

Still here? Okay. Anyone who's not seen it has been warned, and hopefully will still seek it out.

This was an interesting revisit for me. The last time I'd seen this, it was in theaters - the last weekend before everything locked down due to COVID. This isn't really related to my main point, I just wanted to note it and use it as a context note.

Since that first viewing, that final scene has stuck with me. It was the moment I was both most curious, and most apprehensive, to revisit after over a year and see if it was as good as I remembered or if time and memory had overextended it for me.

I'm pleased to see it's held up well, and, if anything, I feel like I appreciate it more this time around.

For anyone who hasn't seen the movie and decided 'Spoilers be damned!' or those who don't remember as well, a quick refresher -

The bulk of the movie recounts the arrival of Marianne (Noémie Merlant) to a remote island where she's been commissioned to paint a portrait of the soon to be married Héloïse (Adèle Haenel.) In the relative isolation, spending much of their time together, the two women fall in love. Ultimately, however, they are unable to avoid the larger world - Héloïse still has to go ahead with the marriage, even as it hurts both women to have to end what they have together.

Having gone their separate ways, Marianne recalls two times since then that she saw Héloïse. The first in the form of a portrait, in which the depicted woman left a visible clue to her past romance. The second at a concert years later, unknown to Héloïse. This is the moment that stuck with me - the performance being from Vivaldi's Four Seasons, a piece Marianne previously played for her. As the song plays, we hold on Héloïse, watching the performance entirely in Haenel's non-verbal expressions as she's overcome with emotions remembering what she had with Marianne.

It's a shot that's simple on paper, but powerful and beautiful to watch played out.

Rewatching it, the scene resonated for me even more care of an observation from another conversation with Jamie (hey, her perspective has been a big help this month.) That regarding how the ending feels in the larger history of queer cinema - most notably with regards to the infamous concept known as 'bury your gays.'

This refers to the long, checkered tendency for cinematic depictions of queer relationships to ultimately end tragically with one or both parties dead, institutionalized, or similarly having left that part of their life behind.

This is also part of why La Cage's earlier depiction of Renato and Albin was so surprising in how it bucked against type, especially for the late 70's.

As for Portrait, I have to admit, a part of me did briefly wonder that first time if this film was going to go with the more common BYG trope (anyone who's seen the trailers can see where that feeling would come from.)

Instead we get this ending. Yeah, it's not conventionally happy - ultimately Marianne and Héloïse can't be together as a consequence of the larger world at the time - but it's still a push back against the trope. Héloïse is married, but she hasn't fallen out of love with Marianne. In fact, the portrait and the concert show she has kept those feelings alive, just as the framing of the flashbacks show Marianne has kept Héloïse in her heart as well.

It's an ending that was powerful to me the first time, and it resonated even more looked at in that larger context.

The whole movie is well worth the watch, but it's those final few minutes especially that have, and will likely continue to, stay with me.

Whew. That was a lot more than I initially expected to say for one scene. What can I say? It was that good for me.

This brings Pride Month to a close here and just in time to keep rolling into July - where I'll be celebrating the Fourth in a suitably questionable fashion with two films that dig into the darker corners of the American dream.

Till then.

La Cage Aux Folles (1978)

 Welcome back to the Criterion Challenge.

As I said last time, we're doing something a little bit different today. Along with this writeup on the 1978 French-Italian comedy, La Cage Aux Folles, I'm taking part in a crossover discussion with a friend, offering a second perspective on the movie. In particular, discussing how it compares to its 1996 American remake, The Birdcage.

That discussion will be available to read here: https://theguyinthe3rdrow.blogspot.com/2021/06/la-cage-aux-folles-1978-discussion.html

There's no intended reading order here - whichever appeals to you to read first, by all means, do so.
With the majority of the comparisons in that discussion, I'm looking to focus on just the merits of La Cage on its own, but I apologize in advance if I retread ground. I say this because, honestly, the thing I keep coming back to with this movie is how relatively well it has aged.

Ordinarily, doing a movie with this subject matter, especially as a comedy, is a really iffy prospect. As Drew McWeeny arguably put it best, comedy ages faster than almost any other type of film. So much so that, on paper, the idea of a late 1970s comedy about a homosexual couple automatically sounds like a representational minefield.

To be fair, there are some aspects that haven't held up well - the racial dynamics of the movie, care of the houseboy, Jacob, come to mind  - but as far as its central couple is concerned, this holds up surprisingly well.

To clarify - Jacob is the ONLY non-white character in this
movie.
Yeeeeeeeeeeah...

A big part of where this comes from is Ugo Tognazzi and Michel Serrault as the film's central couple. I will admit there are some cliched and stereotypical aspects to the performances, most notably in Serrault's Albin, who fits a lot of the effete gay man tropes. Several of those work in the context of the film, both as a farce and as far as Albin's character as an aging drag performer.

Even with the broader cliches and comedic elements, however, the movie works because of the chemistry between the two. From their first scene together, playing as a bickering couple, to moments like the genuinely touching scene at Albin's cemetery, when Tognazzi's Renato tells him of his desire for them to share a plot together, the movie maintains the love between its two leads.

For not being explicitly presented as a romantic movie, that love is the central piece that the entire story hangs on. It's the complication that Renato's son's marriage hinges on, it's the relationship that they try to fool the conservative in-laws about, and at the end, it's the genuine love between Renato and Albin that winds up bringing the film to its entertaining conclusion.

With that as the lynchpin, this movie could have aged like milk if it hadn't been done well. Instead, it's one of the strongest parts of the movie and part of why, comparisons to its remake aside, it's still a very entertaining farce with a lot of heart at its own center.
Two down, one to go.

Catch you for the end of Pride Month next time.

Till then

La Cage Aux Folles (1978) - The Discussion

As mentioned in the other entry, this is the other piece to the discussion of La Cage Aux Folles - in which I'm joined by Jamie, a good friend of mine, to offer a queer perspective, both on this movie and its subsequent American remake, The Birdcage in terms of representation then and now.

The main writeup can be viewed here: https://theguyinthe3rdrow.blogspot.com/2021/06/la-cage-aux-folles-1978.html

and Jamie's writing can be found here: https://elessar42.medium.com/

Enjoy

---

Todd: Hello and welcome, dear readers.

This is a bit of a different approach from usual, so I will ask that you bear with us, as this discussion is going to be posted on two different sites.

So, in the interests of addressing the readers wondering 'Who the Hell is this?', let's get started with some introductions.

I'm Todd, aka TheGuyinthe3rdRow. I'm here for this as part of a long term project digging into the films of the Criterion Collection with a thematic twist per month.

And for this particular entry, I'll be doing something of a crossover event with another site, so for that, I turn the proverbial mic over to Jamie.

Jamie: Hi everyone, I'm Jamie! I also go by Elessar42 on twitter and similar stuff everywhere else. And since this month is pride month I thought I would assist my buddy Todd with his criterion project, because I figured he needed a queer perspective. You see, I'm both a trans woman AND I'm bi. A queer two-fer

Todd: Indeed!

It's a perspective I'm definitely welcoming for this one (and honestly, something will be open to doing more with in the future!)

And with that in mind, we're here to discuss a title that Jamie actually suggested (and I will admit, got me to cave and pick up the Blu Ray on) - the 1978 French-Italian farce La Cage Aux Folles

Jamie: And what better time to cover an Italian made film than 2021, the year that Italy won Eurovision.

...so I was the only one who watch-oh okay. Anyway, I picked up my own copy of La Cage Aux Folles for my birthday this year and thought that a compare and contrast between it and it's 1996 remake The Birdcage would make for good Pride Month Content. And knowing Todd is doing a similar project meant I felt we should talk about it together before we separated to write about them apart

Todd: and I'm glad you wanted to make that the main point of discussion for this, cause I was telling myself I wasn't going to try and do that for the write-up on this end (it's probably still going to happen to an extent) so this is a great way to still dig into that as its own topic.

Because watching the two in close proximity it's really striking how the movies manage to be both incredibly similar - to the point where many jokes are played with the same beats - while also having a very different feeling just in terms of context and delivery

Jamie: It is kind of fascinating to watch the points of this movie where they are, essentially, doing the exact same jokes with the exact same timing. Honestly, one of the main things that keeps this from being a Gus Van Sant's Psycho remake is that occasionally the movie just has to stop to let Robin Williams Robin Williams everywhere.

But even when they're doing the exact same lines, a lot of them land kind of different in the remake and part of that I put down to the shift in time. 1978 and 1996 are only 18 years apart, but in terms of where gay rights and representation were, they are centuries apart

Todd: Very much agreed on Williams. The dance rehearsal scene especially comes to mind there as probably his most heavily Williams-style riff.
It's a little jarring given the dynamic is supposed to be Armand/Renato as the serious, occasionally harried one while Albert/Albin gets to riff it up (and to be fair, Lane gets his moments there too) but it does work for the movie.

As far as the shift in time, I have to credit you as being one of the people who's pointed out one of the biggest differences there - Armand and Albert's longstanding relationship carries a lot more emotional heft watched in the wake of the 1980s and the AIDS crisis (it's honestly kind of jarring to remember La Cage was RIGHT on the cusp of that.)

Jamie: La Cage existed at a fascinating moment in queer history. It was right on that cusp, where queer people were starting to be treated like people in media (Boys in the Band and Private Life of Sherlock Holmes were 1970, Dog Day Afternoon and Rocky Horror were both 1975) but then right after, the AIDS crisis hit and basically completely upended what kind of movies were getting made about queer people.

And I do stand by my comment, that a line about being here for 20 years does hit very different in a post-AIDS film, and I think the movie knows it because...well the director and co-star were both queer, something the original just did not have.

Todd:  Memory serves, isn't that line exclusive to the remake? I just did a rewatch on La Cage before we started this, but I didn't catch that sentiment in there.

Jamie: There's a similar line. I don't recall the exact line so it might be slightly different, but the line happens at more or less the same moment, and it serves more or less the same purpose: To draw attention to the fact that this story is about straight people, intruding on an explicitly queer space and being asked to change to suit their needs

Todd: Fair enough. That does speak to how much that context really adds to the moment.

And as far as the intrusion aspect, one of the takeaways this time out is how, while the movie positions the in-laws as the designated antagonist, it's the character of the son that winds up coming out of this looking particularly bad.

Jamie: I think that's one of the places that the remake benefits from having Nathan Lane in the cast and Mike Nichols (who supposedly had a decades long affair with a man) directing.

The original is very sympathetic to the gay couple, but it doesn't seem to realize what a huge, selfish ask the son is making of them. The remake does get bogged down in a lot of ancillary stuff (my brain had completely deleted all the OJ jokes) but it does seem to realize the son is being a complete asshole.

Todd:  (If anything puts that movie at a set point in time...)

And Nichols definitely seems more willing to push back on the son, particularly in that last act.

La Cage ALMOST seems like it's aware of Laurent's unreasonable side, but it mostly just takes the form of scenes of the rooms being redecorated than then cut to him just looking not particularly phased by how much this is visibly affecting his parents.
No one really pushes back on him quite as much as there is in the remake.

Jamie: I'll admit, I was a baby gay when I first watched this movie (11) and while I never responded as strongly to stories about gay men as I did to stories about lesbians (gee wonder why that is) I do think the moment where both Armand and Val confirm that Albert is one of Val's parents is one that the story sorely needs and I don't think that moment lands quite as hard in the original.

I think that might be the core thing that separates the remake from the original; While both of them play Albert/Albin's overreactions for comedy, the remake is a little more willing to let some moments actually be taken seriously. The original does take Albin seriously, but not as often and not as much (although that might just be the increased runtime)

Todd: There is something to be said for the run time factor. That said, I agree as far as the remake's willingness to take some scenes more seriously. The conversation at the cemetery comes to mind as a big example of that. The scene is structurally and functionally the same in both versions, but the remake holds the scene a bit more, just giving us more time to remember that, amid all the farce and absurdity, the core of this story is these two men and the life they've built together.

Jamie: That's another reason why I think the same story, told 18 years later, is so interesting. Both of them try to take the relationship seriously, but La Cage is so much more daring at that moment in history for even trying to do that. Stonewall was only 7 years before La Cage (and only 4 years before the play came out). Hell, Lawrence v. Texas, the Supreme Court case that declared anti-sodomy laws were unconstitutional wasn't until 2003. 1976 doesn't seem THAT long ago, but in terms of gay acceptance, it feels like a million years.

Todd: In that context, it becomes that much more impressive that the film became as much of a hit as it was at the time.

Jamie: It is pretty impressive that they were both smash hits (although the remake can be at least partially attributed to the fact that Robin Williams was white hot at that point). I remember reading The Final Cut, about the making of Heaven's Gate and they get the opportunity to distribute La Cage in the US and the writer mentions that he loved it, but thought they could never release it in the US

Todd: Sidenote - holy Hell, the opportunities UA passed up in the back half of that book are painful to read.

and reading up on the impact earlier, I genuinely had a doubletake being reminded Molinaro actually got an Oscar nomination for best director.

A film about a gay couple in a foreign language getting that high an accolade would have seemed unreal here even up to five years ago

Jamie: The Academy is...very mixed on gay rights stuff. They occasionally get it Very Right (Moonlight, for example) and other times they get it Very Wrong (I still need to write a strongly worded letter to every singly member of the academy for every time they've tossed an Oscar to a cis man for playing a trans woman)

Todd: (That it's been multiple times now is...that's a whole other discussion right there.)

Jamie: Yeahhhhh. I was going over some of the Academy's queer representation and I remembered that The Crying Game got a bunch of nominations. And also remembered that that movie has its lead respond to finding out his love interest is a trans woman by throwing up. So that's uh, that's where we were in the 90s.

Todd: Oh jeez, that's right.

Again, really says something pretty impressive that this remake managed to be both a critical and box office hit

Jamie: It does, and the fact that it's worth discussing I feel shows how fast we've moved on a lot of stuff in terms of representation. I mean, in 1993 (within my lifetime) we were so starved for any even kind of positive portrayal of queer relationships that the Seinfeld episode The Outing won a GLAAD media award.

Which I guess is as good a way as any to segue into talking about the elephant in the room; The ways in which this movie has aged...awkwardly

Todd: This is the moment where I'd call for Jacob and Agadore to take a bow, but...maybe not on this one.

Jamie: Oh Agadore.

I know that Sephardic Jews are from the Spain/Portugal area but...could you not find anyone else to play a Guatemalan Gay Man than Hank Azaria?

Todd: At that point in time? Tough to say.

Then again, the role in general is kind of an awkward blind spot in both versions - what with the only non-white character being the main couple's houseboy, which is...yeah

Jamie: The African houseboy is easily the worst element of La Cage Aux Folles. Like, I understand that France and Italy don't have America's exact history of slavery but like...their history with Africa isn't much more positive. France still has a massive amount of financial and political control over its former colonies to this day

Todd: I get the sense when Nichols looked this over for adapting, that change was one of the first things on the block.
Because that definitely would come with a LOT of uncomfortable extra baggage in the US, especially with Jacob's repeatedly calling Laurent 'Little White Master'

Jamie: Yeah I dunno if I've ever been able to track down the original US translation, but I feel like even in 1978 someone knew that was a problem, and by 1996 everyone knew there was no way in hell that was gonna fly.

But on the other hand I don't think Hank Azaria's performance in The Birdcage would fly right now, so who knows

Todd: I do wonder if anyone's asked Hank how he feels about the role nowadays, especially in light of some of the Simpsons controversy over the past few years

Jamie: I feel like everyone memory holed it pretty hard, but I also recall that when the Simpsons got incredibly weird and defensive over the Apu thing, he was the one who said "Yeah this is shit, I'm sorry, I'll stop playing him" so maybe he'd feel different if someone asked him now.

Todd: Exactly why I'm wondering. He was the one who chose to step away from Apu, I wonder how he looks at Agadore nowadays in that light.

Jamie:  I think the Apu thing was, in miniature, a really good example of how lots of media, comedy in particular, can wind up insensitive. Apu wasn't originally written as Indian in his first script, he was just a convenience store clerk, and Azaria did the line in an Indian accent, it got a laugh and it stuck. No one made a conscious choice to have a white dude doing a comedy Indian accent, but that's still what happened in the end.

Todd: Now this has me really wanting to dig more into the behind the scenes on The Birdcage and see how much of what we got was always the plan and how much was just what it evolved into

Jamie: That is sort of the thing. None of these choices get made in a vacuum but the movie we get is the movie we get, and there is a lot of stuff in there that reads as...stereotypical. Albert mostly escapes because Nathan Lane is imbuing it with some authentic emotion (even if he wouldn't come out for 3 more years) but a lot of the rest of it...has aged poorly, we'll just say that

Todd: In hindsight, it's really no surprise this was Lane's live action breakout. He pulls that balancing act off altogether well.

And as for the rest...such is the drawback of cinematic progress in that way, yeah. For the time it was progress, but at the same looked back at, it also calls attention to how much things have come since then.

Jamie:  It does, but it doesn't need to be perfect forever, it just kind of needed to be...well the movie that they needed in 1996. And I guess that's kind of what they needed in 1996.

Any final thoughts?

Todd:  That's a good way to look at it. Commend the steps it took, but also realize there was still a long way to go.

And that prettywell sums up my final thoughts on this comparison in general. Yeah, some aspects of both versions are dated now, but taken in their places in history, it's fairly impressive how much ground the two takes on the same story each accomplish.

You?

Jamie: I think I summed up my last thoughts with the comment that while it's not a perfect movie, it's the movie they needed in 1996. And 1978 I guess.

And no, I'm not gonna end this on a quote from The Dark Knight.

Todd:  Fair enough.
Gotta say though, that'd be one Hell of a pivot to close on.

 ---

 Again, catch you guys soon with the next entry to close out June.