THE BREAKFAST CLUB (1984)

80’s movies I forgot to watch the first time around month Post #1

Breakfast Club

Why haven’t I seen this before? Because I was just never excited about seeing films with members of the brat pack. No, a movie with Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson would have never been on my must see list.

After viewing: How you relate to certain movies depends on where you were in your life when it came out. I was probably about the same age as most of the people in this movie when it came out, though they were playing high school students. So I’m 21 or 22 years old and I’m suppose to relate to these constantly whining teengaers? I’m supposed to relate to a movie with Judd Nelson in it?

But you know, it’s not all that bad and does have some occasional insight.

I do give the movie points for being set in a library as well, though I did have to close my eyes during the scenes where Judd Nelson began defacing library property.

I did see a lot nostalgic sadness when director John Hughes passed away a couple of years ago, so I do understand that many related to and grew up with his films. If only it would have come out in 1979, I might like this one as much as Rock n Roll N'High School. Of course, P. J. Soles wasn't in The Breakfast Club either.

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BATMAN: THE SERIES (1966-1968), BATMAN (1989), THE DARK KNIGHT (2008)

Batman: The Series (1966-1968), Batman (1989), The Dark Knight (2008)

Joker…Joker… Joker

It’s interesting that the only two Superhero movies on any of the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die lists are both Batman movies. And it is no accident that both of the Batman movies listed have the same supervillain: The Joker.

I grew up watching the campy but endearing Batman television series. One of its many pleasures was the villain of the week. We had the waddling Penguin, The constantly giggling Riddler, the sexy Catwoman and many, many other guest bad guys or gals visit Gotham City during the three year run of the show. But I’ve got to admit, that despite the infectious laugh of the Riddler, that weird quacking noise the Penguin made and the obvious charms of Julie Newmar in the Catwoman outfit, the one that stood out the most was The Joker.

Cesar Romero was kind of a second tier Latin lover leading man during the 1930’s and 1940’s, but I really only think of him as The Joker. Bright green hair, white face makeup painted right over Romero’s moustache and that purple suit were The Joker’s signatures and this pretty much cemented into my head how The Joker was supposed to be. The way Romero drew out his words, “Yeeees, Batman,” the way he clapped his gloved hands together in rapid succession and of course that laugh, (Hoo hoo hoo hoo)were all signatures. I also liked the scenes when the Joker traded fisticuffs with the caped crusader and a stuntman for Romero in a Joker’s getup would get really get it! Biff! Kapow! Splaat!

The impression of the television show (as well as the comic books) was pretty strong and I really didn’t think anyone could make a successful Batman movie that wasn’t camp. Then Tim Burton brought his Batman to the screen in 1989. I don’t have any direct proof of this statement, but my guess is that it was the most hyped movie ever up until that time. At least it seemed that way. When it was announced that the Joker was going to be the villain, there was clearly only one choice for the role: Jack Nicholson.

Some have said about Burton’s Batman, that it should actually have been called The Joker and it is really just as much about him as Batman.

In this Batman, Jack Napier is a criminal long before he becomes The Joker. We find out later that Jack was the one that killed Bruce Wayne’s parents("Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight"). It is during an altercation with Batman that Jack falls into acid, which disfigures him and turns him into The Joker. Nicholson’s Joker is hammy, but scary. He’s full of one-liners, (“Where does he get those wonderful toys?” “Those are my balloons. He stole my balloons! Why didn't anyone tell me he had one of those... things?") He even compares their respective origins with Batman during their final scene ("Give me a break! I was a kid when I killed your parents. When I say 'I made you' you gotta say 'you made me.' How childish can you get?"). IDespite the oddity of seeing Nicholson prance around to Prince songs, Nicholson’s Joker works, and Batman's initial return to the screen was a success. Subsequent films were popular, but as the Batmen kept changing (Michael Keaton to Val Kilmer to George Clooney) and the villains became a little less compelling (Arnold Schwarenaggers’ endless cold related puns from Batman and Robin), the series eventually died.

Christopher Nolan brought the series back in 2005 with the film Batman Begins, based on The Dark Knight graphic novels by Frank Miller. Nolan’s films are bleaker than the Burton inspired series and are about as far away from the original Batman television show as you can get. But it’s the second film, The Dark Knight that is included on the 1001 list. What sets it apart from Batman Begins? The obvious answer is that villain of villains: The Joker. But unlike the casting of Jack Nicholson in the previous series, the casting of Heath Ledger seemed a bit odd. You mean one of the gay cowboys from Brokeback Mountain as The Joker? Obviously, Nolan or whoever cast Ledger in the part knew what they were doing. In the Burton Batman, you might really like what Nicholson does with The Joker, but you never forget that it’s Nicholson’s Joker. In The Dark Knight, I don’t think of it being Ledger’s Joker, that’s just the freaking Joker! Unlike Nicholson’s Joker, The Dark Knight’s Joker has no past, no origin story, no traditional criminal motivation and no previous connection with Batman/Bruce Wayne. He is a terrorist, pure and simple whose modus operandi is identified by Alfred the butler in that some people just want to see the world burn. That is what makes this the scariest Joker of all.

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CHARIOTS OF FIRE* (1981, GREAT BRITAIN)

*Today’s blog isn’t really about Chariots of Fire

I have now been doing this blog since Septemeber 2009. I have seen 450 movies so far out of 1103 from the original 1001 list and all updated lists. Yes, I am now working from the 1100-Plus list of Movies You Must See Before You Die. I've seen a little over 40% of the films on all the lists.

Maybe I’ll finish. Maybe I’ll quit. Maybe I’ll die first.

If it is the latter, please have my obituary read something like “Keeled over from angst while experiencing an Antonioni film or dropped dead from an excessive adrenaline rush while watching The Seven Samurai.”

You just never know what will happen in this life. As they say in one of the 1001 films, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.” I can’t remember which film that is from, but you get the idea.

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THE SHINING (1980)

Color Me Kubrick Month: Final Installment

The Kubricking

2PM
The distinct clanging of the food tray signaled the writer’s wife’s entrance into the living room. The writer shot up from the keyboard of his computer and closed the program he had been on.

“How’s it coming along, honey?,” she asked him.

“Oh, it’s moving along just fine,” he said as he stretched his arms.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt I brought you a sandwich and some milk”

“No. No. That’s fine. Most thoughtful of you. Thank you, dear.” The writer took the plate from his wife and took a bite of the grilled cheese.

“Mmmm. Good stuff,” he said.

The wife looked around the room at the pictures on the wall.

“Honey…how long are you going to keep these photographs up here? I mean…if you need them, it’s okay. I was just wondering,” she said.

The writer wiped his mouth. “Now, dearest. You know I need these pictures on the wall to inspire me to finish my Stanley Kubrick book. A picture of Kubrick at the helm of every one of his films and...” He paused long enough to point to the picture hung on the wall next to the stairs. "This one of the young Kubrick with his camera, the one taken of him when he was at Look magazine! That’s my favorite.”

His wife nodded. She had heard this explanation several times already, but was too tired to call him on it.

Noticing her quiet demeanor, he became less animated. “I’m sorry, dear. You know with this house being built directly above an old Chickasaw Indian burial ground, I just feel the spirit rise within me at times.”

“I know you do,” she said. “But I was wondering how much more do you have left to do on this book?”

“I’m almost finished,’ the writer said. I’m on page 237, which is going to be the last page. This is truly going to be the best book on Kubrick yet. I know there have been others, many others, but my point of view is going to be unique.”

“Of course it is dear. But don’t you think it’s time for you to go to bed?”

“No, I’ve got to think a little bit more. I’ve still got to come up with a good way to end it.”

The writer stood up and began to pace around. He picked up his baseball bat and rubber ball and tossed the ball against the side wall and gently poked at it with the bat when it returned to him. When he picked up the ball to do it again, his wife interrupted him.

“Please don’t play ball in the house. I’ve told you not to do that.”

“But I was just bunting. I wasn’t swinging for the fences or anything.”

The writer’s wife didn’t answer him but gave him the stare that he had seen so many times before.

“All right. You’re the boss.” The writer said laughing. “I think I’ll go in the kitchen and fix myself a glass of milk from the bar before bed.”


3PM
The writer went into his kitchen, the door from the living room swinging behind him as he entered. The glow from the fluorescent light above him seemed brighter than normal. He stopped at the front of the kitchen bar and sat down for a moment, remembering all the times when the refrigerator had been stocked with sustenance a lot more exciting than milk. As he sat down on the stool, he got the odd feeling it was like old times. The writer grabbed a glass from the bar and looked at the empty contents within before staring into the mirror ahead. ”Set 'em up, Joe” he said.

“My name’s not Joe,” a voice from behind the bar said and would certainly would have caused the writer to do a spit take if he had been drinking at the time.

The man that stood behind the bar was a tall, impressive figure who wore an army officer’s uniform. The man was chomping on a cigar, his craggy features and slightly graying hair making him look like there was nothing in this world he hadn’t ever seen or experienced. The writer looked at the man’s nametag, which read General Jack D. Ripper.

The writer breathed a sigh of relief as a snap of recognition sank in. He rocked back from his stool.

“Jack. Old Jack. I didn’t know you did any bartending.”

Jack took out the unlit cigar from his mouth to speak. “Just because I’m probably the most vital cog in the machinery of the United States Army doesn’t mean I can’t also be a certified bartender.”

The writer nodded in agreement and couldn’t suppress a smile as he noticed that behind Jack, the bar seemed to now be fully stocked. He rubbed his hands together. “So.”

“You want a drink? You sure wifey will let you have one?”

The smile disappeared from the writer’s face.

“She has no say so on this issue, Jack and yes, I could use a beer if it’s not troubling you too much.”

Jack shook his head.

“I think you need something a little stronger. Here you go. Bourbon and water." He placed the drink in front of the writer who stared at it for a minute before smiling and picking it up.

“Hair of the dog that bit me, Jack,” he said as he brought it to his mouth. “Hair of the dog that bit me.” The writer paused for a moment. “You didn’t use that fluoridated water did you.”

“You know better than that. All my water comes from Norway springs. Nobody does water like the Norwegians in the search for preservation of our precious bodily fluids.”

The writer smiled again. “That’s good. Because there’s nothing wrong with my fluids. And another thing, Whatever I do with my said precious bodily fluids is my business and my business only.” He downed the drink in one long gulp. He stood up and put his right arm under his left armpit and began flapping his left arm. “Nyick. Nyick. Nyick. Hoooo! That’s some good stuff Jack. Think I’ll have another.”

The writer sat back down and noticed the next drink was already waiting for him. “My wife,” the writer began. “I always had this childhood dream about becoming a ballerina before she squashed those ambitions…”

Ripper slapped the writer across the face.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” Ripper said. “That’s wasn’t your ambition! That was the dream of those twin girls that grew up down the street from you. You know the ones that were…”

“Murdered.” The writer finished the general’s sentence as he rubbed the side of his face. “I wonder why I said that about being a ballerina?”

“Your wires are just crossed, man. I tell you what. Let’s play a game of chess. That should clear your mind up.”

“I don’t have a chessboard handy. I think I sold the last one in the house at a yard…”

Before the writer could complete his sentence, he noticed a new chess board on the bar next to him ready for playing.

“Your move,” General Ripper said.

After a few moments of silence during the first moves of the game, the writer finally spoke.

“I had forgotten what a great combination bourbon and chess were.”

“Absolutely.” Ripper said. “We need to stay sharp on the chessboard to keep up with the Ruskies. Now that your head is clear, tell me what you were saying about your wife.”

“Well, you know about her and that navy officer don’t you?”

Jack shook his head. “Damn Navy men!”

“Well, two can play at his game, eh Jack?” The writer leaned over the bar and gave Ripper an lighthearted tap on the shoulder.

“Speaking of your wife,” Ripper said as he poured the next drink. “There is something about her that I think you may not be aware of.”

The writer looked at Ripper but didn’t say anything.

Ripper leaned over the bar and looked around the room before whispering in the writer’s ear. “She’s a red.”

The writer looked confused. “She’s red?”

“No, she’s a red. A pinko. A subversive. A Commie.”

“What? Come on. The Cold War is over. We won. Jack.”

Ripper whispered to him again. That’s just what the Ruskies want us to think and while our guards down…Fluoridation! Or maybe something even worse.”

“Or something even worse,” the writer said before taking another drink.

Ripper placed something to the side of the chessboard. “You know what this is?” he asked.

“It looks like an old dueling pistol.”

“That’s right. A Queen Mary Dueling Pistol manufactured during the seventh year of The Seven Years War if you believe the legend behind it. But you better believe it is loaded and fully functional. You think you know how to use it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t fired a gun in….”

“We can’t have any hesitation soldier. Do you know how to use it or not?”

When the writer didn’t answer, Jack cleared his throat and began singing the German folk ballad La Troeyer Hussar to the writer. When the song of a man’s love for a young maiden was completed, the overwhelmed writer was on his feet with tears streaming down his face.

“Yes, I know how to use it,” the writer said. “And use it I shall.”

6PM
The writer’s wife was about to go see what was keeping her husband for so long in the kitchen when curiosity overcame her. She looked around to see if he was coming before turning on his computer screen. She knew his password, which was the password he used for everything, HAL9000. She went into his Word documents and pulled up the file that said Kubrick Book.

Kubrick Book 237 pages.

The first page contained nothing but the repeated sentence

Kubrick is God.
Kubrick is God.
Kubrick is God.

The second page had only a caps variation.

KUBRICK IS GOD.
KUBRICK IS GOD.
KUBRICK IS GOD.

The third page had the same phrase alternating between upper and lower case

KuBrIcK iS gOd
KuBrIcK iS gOd
KuBrIcK iS gOd

The fourth page had the same three words all in lower case

kubrick is god
kubrick is god
kubrick is god

And so forth. And so forth. And so forth.

The text ran for 237 pages, all with those same three words.

The writer’s wife felt faint as she struggled with the keyboard and log out of the computer. She turned around quickly to make sure her husband hadn’t seen what she had been up to…but it was too late. He was only a few feet away from her with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You like it?” he asked as he raised the pistol in her direction.

“One…” he began counting as he pointed the weapon in her direction.

His wife began hyperventilating while at the same time desperately seeking out something to defend herself.

“Two!” he continued a little louder.

“Three!” The gun went off but the bullet pounded into the floor. The writer’s wife had grabbed her husband’s baseball bat and smashed it against his right wrist just as the gun fired. The writer grimaced as he held tightly to his broken wrist.

“That really hurt. You could kill somebody doing that,” he said.

He reached slowly in an attempt to grab his pistol with his one good hand, but noticed her ready to strike again with the baseball bat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dave,” he said robotically as he reached for the pistol before being thwacked again by his own baseball bat. She had swung wildly this time and hit the writer on his left ankle, but it was effective. The writer moaned in agony as he lunged at his wife, knocking the bat out of her hand as he plowed into her.

Both of them were knocked to the floor, but the uninjured but frightened wife got up first and managed to run up the steps away from him.

The writer struggled to get up, balancing himself on his one working hand. He smiled manically as he made his way to the hall closet door and went inside. On the top shelf was an army helmet that had BORN TO KILL inscribed on it. He pulled it down and put it on. He began to make his way up the stairs slowly, dragging his bad leg methodically up the stairs. He tried to think about where she might be hiding and put his hand up to his ear. He smiled as he heard a rustle from the guest room.

Then he began warbling,

I’m singin in the rain. Just singing in the rain.

What a glorious feeling. I’m…happy again.

As he got to the top of the stairs, he turned in front of the closed guest room door.

He cleared his throat and began talking to her in a calm voice, “Oh, Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Please open up the goddam door, my dearest angel!”

When she didn’t answer his face contorted.

“We can play it your way then. You want to see my war face dear? Ahhhhhh!”

He let out a yell as he crashed his head into the door. His entire upper torso smashed through the top part of the door.

He raised his one good hand on the other side of the door in a triumphant fist, “I AM SPARTACUS!”

But as he turned his gaze to her, a Doc Marten came crashing down on his head. The helmet protected part of the impact of his wife’s blow, but the force of it knocked him down. He tumbled over just enough for him to land on the top step where he continued rolling down to the first floor and crashed hard onto the landing. As he lay on his side, the writer realized he couldn’t move his body. He began fading from consciousness as he looked at that picture on the wall of Kubrick with his camera from Look magazine. The writer swore he could hear Beethoven’s Ninth gently playing in the background. He looked intently at the photograph and noticed something astonishing. The picture of Kubrick with the camera wasn’t Kubrick after all. It was the writer. It had been the writer all along.

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A. I. ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE (2001)

Color Me Kubrick Month Post #10

Uncolor Me Kubrick: A. I. Artificial Intelligence

One of the most frustrating things about looking at the film career of Stanley Kubrick, is that he was such a perfectionist that he made so few films. The Shining came out in 1980 and it was seven years before Full Metal Jacket was released. Then it was twelve years before his final film, Eyes Wide Shut came out. And then the final credits rolled. Where was that great biopic of Napoleon that he researched? Jack Nicholson in Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon? What about Kubrick’s holocaust movie? What about Artificial Intelligence?

Well, Artificial Intelligence was made, but not by Kubrick, of course. Steven Spielberg tried to make it in the style that Kubrick would have wanted, but it really feels much more like a Steven Speilberg picture more than a Stanley Kubrick picture. The brand of sentimentality of the robot boy searching for the elusive blue fairy is definitely more Speilberg than Kubrick. The high spectacle of the flesh fair scene where the robots are exploited for sport (and my favorite scene in the film) is also definitely more Spielberg than Kubrick. The film does leave a lot of unanswered questions. That's like Kubrick. Like why does the robot child and Gigolo Joe have to go to the flooded out Man-hattan to find the Professor. I know it looks visually spectacular but where the heck is that to have a place of business? Of course, I can't really explain the end of 2001 (which is sort of the point, I think) so I guess it is like Kubrick in some ways.

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FULL METAL JACKET (1987)

Color Me Kubrick Month Post #9

Full Metal Jacket

Full Metal Jacket is broken into two sections. The first section has a platoon of Marines being trained by a colorfully relentless drill instructor in preparation for Vietnam.

The second part of the film has one of those Marines actually joining a platoon on the actual field of battle.

The first time I saw it, the problem I had was that the first part was so intense, it made the second section pale by comparison. However,on my most recent viewing, I really appreciated the second part as well, especially the platoon’s desperate search to find a sniper.

Three memorable scenes:

1.It’s hard to break his scenes down into one, so I will just say any part with D. I. Hartman (Lee Ermey) addressing his troops. As long as he's not talking to me, I could listen to Lee Ermey all day long.

2. The desperate attempt of the platoon looking for the hidden sniper.

3. The final confrontation between Pvt. Lawrence and Hartman. And what emotional depths did Vincent D'Onofrio have to go to come up with that maniacal stare?

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BARRY LYNDON (1975)

Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #8)

Barry Lyndon

This 18th century period piece is certianly one of Kubrick's most beautiful films to look at.

Three memorable scenes:
1.The first dueling scene with Barry and Captain Quinn, which comes off as pretty funny largely to the comic skills of Leonard Rossiter.

2.The last dueling scene with Barry and his stepson, which comes off as anything but comic.

3.Barry Lyndon and wife crying over their dying son.

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