Marathon Man

Marathon Man (1976)


“Is it safe?”-Dr. Szell

-Directed by: John Schlesinger
-Written by: William Goldman (adapted from his novel)
-Director of Photography: Conrad L. Hall
-Cast: Dustin Hoffman, Roy Scheider, Laurence Olivier, William Devane and Marthe Keller
-Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OK26KtN99R4&feature=related

Ah yes, the 70’s. How I love that decade. Somehow filmmakers have never been able to replicate the perfect balance of camp (synthesizer soundtracks, oh god yes), paranoia and grit we got from 70’s thrillers. For camp, I’m talking about The Warriors and John Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13. For paranoia, watch Sydney Pollack’s excellent Three Days of the Condor and one of my favorite films, Coppola’s The Conversation, and tell me you don’t distrust the government a little more once the credits roll. Whether it was the ‘Nam and Watergate disillusionment, the rogue filmmaking derived from the experimental nature of that period’s lifestyle, or stricter studio control today to blame, our entertainment paid the price. Until writers and directors get a clue, Marathon Man is a worthy fix; a melting pot of all the aforementioned goodies. It’s on Netflix instant right now…

In a Nutshell
Seriously, my writing’s not THAT good. Netflix. Instant, like right now. Go to it my children. Back? You’re welcome. So, unless you readers are two-faced liars, I’m not entirely sure why I need to heighten my chance for Carpal Tunnel by churning out a plot synopsis. But I set the precedent with past reviews and I’m a slave to expectations. Right then…

The film opens with the death of a mysterious, elderly German after he collides with an oil truck during a fit of road rage with an impatient Jew on the bustling streets of Manhattan. From there, it’s crucial to note that Marathon Man’s climax (basically its entire second half) is the apex of two converging plots. One follows a covert, secret-agent type in Paris named Doc, played by Roy Scheider (Chief Brody from Jaws), who is clearly on edge as he negotiates a trade of ominous nature. Before long he is the victim of a failed car bombing (rigged to a creepy baby-doll, but then again what dolls aren’t? Those blank stares…) and failed strangling attempt (silencers for, you know, guns work too). As you might have guessed from the dual failures, Doc is a fit, alert badass. The second, parallel story is that of Doc’s brother Babe (Doc and Babe, really? Shoot the parents), played by Dustin Hoffman (Tootsie, The Graduate). He’s a history grad student at a New York university who is obsessively training for his first marathon while wooing a quiet German student (Marthe Keller). His thesis paper about government control is forcing him to confront the reality of his father’s suicide (he was labeled a communist suspect by Senator McCarthy), so Babe, like his older brother, is not having the bestest of weeks. The excrement hits the fan when Babe and his girlfriend are randomly mugged by two suits (government look about them, not hovering garments). Upon hearing the news, Doc rushes to NY, but the mastermind behind the attempts in Paris, an ex-Nazi dentist at Auschwitz named Dr. Szell aka the “the White Angel” (ruthlessly acted by Laurence Olivier), is close at his heels.

Solidness
The performances and characters carry this film. Scheider is fully convincing as a paranoid operative, Hoffman is at his best playing Babe as skittish and neurotic, and while a crazy retired Nazi who tortures with dental equipment would be welcome as a tongue-in-cheek Bond villain (in fact it looks like Jaws may have been a victim), Olivier manages to skirt the edge of this pitfall without plummeting down to the B-movie stakes at its base.

Like any solid globe-trotting espionage thriller the locations are tangible, have depth and are unique. There are scenes in lavish Paris hotels, a Jewish city block of Manhattan, a South American rainforest, a derelict warehouse, Arco Plaza in LA and a water treatment plant at the border of Central Park that would serve a steam punk climax well.

The cinematography for the thrill sequences, primarily a lengthy foot chase under, across and over a jam packed New York highway, as well as the choreography of the fight scenes are noble examples of restraint. Next to the quick cuts that editors butcher modern action films with, the steady, framed shots in Marathon Man provide the audience with a clear grasp of the landscape the characters are traversing and allow the actors time to set the tone with their expressions. It is exponentially more immersive to see the purpose and implications of a character’s movements in their world as opposed to creating cheap disorientation.

Also, gotta give a quick nod to the thumpin’ electronica soundtrack that captures and kindles the sense of tense paranoia.

LIGHT SPOILER (It’s a classic scene most buffs are undoubtedly aware of, and the horror is less a product of the concept so much as the execution, but nonetheless ye be warned. Regardless I’ll keep my accolades detail-sparse)

Last but not least, the dental torture scene and “is it safe?” interrogation(voted as the #70 movie quote by the American Film Institute). I’ve never met anyone who claimed to be a fan of dental surgeries or even check-ups for that matter, and this film is only bound to cause additional cancellations. What Jaws did for the ocean, Marathon Man does for the plaque pick. The determination and coldness in Olivier’s eyes and Hoffman’s uncanny writhing and cries of mercy and torment have a lot to do with that honor. So do the close-ups of Hoffman’s mouth and Dr. Szell’s tools, prohibiting squeamish viewers from finding a safe point on the screen to lock onto. I'll ask you again, "is it safe?!"

What Went Wrong?
I need to get one thing off my chest before I delve into the cons. It is a minor annoyance to say the least, but Dustin Hoffman is playing a grad student at the ripe age of 38. His face is young (FOR HIS AGE) and his physique is appropriately lean (he ran 4 miles a day in preparation), but it felt like a stretch and nagged at me a bit, but I’m weird so whatever.

The subplot focusing on Babe coming to terms with the trauma of discovering his father’s body as a young boy (frequent, haunting flashbacks are abound) is overemphasized and the dialogue condemning Senator McCarthy’s tactics is gratuitous.

At the forefront of the negatives, the final confrontation is the only moment the film oversteps into cheese territory and the MacGuffin reveal is not a rewarding payoff. It also feels rushed, which is grating when the two hour set-up was so methodically paced.

Bottom Line
A well-crafted, convoluted paranoia thriller that only the 70’s could have spawned. And who doesn’t want another reason to avoid dentists like the plague?

What's Are Literacy Rate? (Hehe I'm back baby!)

Hey drunkards!

For all 2 of you who tuned in before summer, apologies for the hiatus. I had some soul searching to do. I kid, I kid. Cliches aside, I was actually making a dent on the film biz front, picking up steady work as an extra ('background actor' for those with a superiority/douche-bag complex) throughout the summer. Fyi, if you get a chance to work on a flick whose plot requires winter attire and films during the dog days of August, pass. Unless you dig heat stroke. Anyway...

Basically, I've resurfaced to tell you to wait longer. I'm applying for an intern position with Collider.com within the coming weeks, so that's given my motivation a kick in the...a jump start. Can I swear in my own blog? I should probably take a poll to get a grasp of the age group I'm talking to. Whether I need to censor my language or make prune juice and Alzheimer's cracks Alzheimer's cracks.

Before my next article/review/doodle/whatever I so please goes live in a few days, I'll leave you with a mini rant about society and the zeroes that inhabit it. Mind you, these are a frequent occurrence. I'm not afraid to say that I consider the theory of evolution an insult to apes...

Okay, so I was watching Mother, Bong Joon-Ho's phenomenal latest about the evidence-free conviction of a mentally-challenged young man for murder and his overly-protective mother's vigilante investigation, and as many do when the sound is inadequate, I punched the volume (+) button down until I could hear the thing. As I'm partaking in this heinous act, a flatmate walks in, his eyes roll up into his skull and says, "Why bother with the volume? It's a foreign movie. Do you speak...what is that? Chinese? (it's Korean). Not like you're missing anything by not hearing it." No, old buddy old pal, I am. I'm missing a few tiny tidbits called an actor's performance, soundtrack, and sound effects. No biggie. I mention this. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named then proceeded to inform me that I'm a "silly goose" (his word not mine...actually it was "idiot" but I like mine better) for thinking there's anything more to a performance than the lines they speak. So I punched him in the stomach. He glared and yelled "What was that for?!". I told him to go look in the mirror and mull whether he'd be more or less intimidating if his face wasn't red.

P.S. His name is ____ (gotcha), I've never abused him physically or emotionally, and we're still friends. Sorta.

Run Lola Run

Run Lola Run (1998)



-Directed by: Tom Tykwer
-Written by: Tom Tykwer
-Director of Photography: Frank Griebe
-Cast: Franka Potente, Moritz Bleibtreu, Herbert Knaup and Nina Petri
-Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ta1Sn6MtC9w

A low-budget German film, Run Lola Run, or Lola Rennt in its country of origin, is a rollercoaster ride from the first frame to the last, and it really has no right to be as fun as it is. At 84 minutes with then-unknown actors and a plot that centers on a flame-haired girl racing to find 100,000 German dollars (is that lazy research? Sure. Can you deal with it? You’re going to have to) to save her criminal boyfriend, it doesn’t really beg to be seen if all you’ve read is the back-sleeve synopsis. In other words, it’s a perfect candidate for the Pub’s ‘Special of the Week’.

In a Nutshell
The movie opens with Lola (Franka Potente, the love interest in the Bourne Identity and Supremacy), a young, free-spirited European (aren’t they all?), that receives a frantic phone call from her boyfriend Manni (Moritz Bleibtreu), who she was meant to drive and pick up after a deal; a plan thwarted by a pesky mo-ped thief and his blasted dog (there’s no dog). Forced to ride the subway, Manni is chased off the tram by two profiling po-po and leaves the bag with the 100,000 Deutschmarks (I felt guilty…you’re welcome) in the trusted hands of a bum, who’s kind enough to steal it. Manni is 20 minutes away from the meeting deadline with his handler and seriously considering holding up a grocery store, but Lola, in their apartment conveniently on the opposite side of the city, promises she’ll be there with the cash if Manni agrees he’ll stay in the phone booth until noon. She sprints through Berlin in a 20 minute real-time sequence, bumping into acquaintances and influencing their day (the progression of which is shown through a rapid slideshow of grainy, black and white pictures) while hunting for a way to raise the dough. Love means making tough decisions, and this 20 minute segment replays 3 times to cover the various choices the superhuman-like Lola can pick to finish her errand; like a videogame player restarting a level. But for every “what if…”, the butterfly effect takes its toll: each path reflects a new fate for the people she runs into along the way.

Solidness
This film relies 100% on the novelty of its plot device and the visuals that service it, so the highest compliment I can pay it is the simple fact that the style can’t be compared to any one movie from any one genre. The flashback-driven, puzzle-like narrative resembles Memento, the energetic cinematography tracking an adrenaline-fueled footrace is Crank-like, and the charmingly zany, dream-like European surrealism is akin to Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s films (Amelie, Delicatessen). They are all jumbled together into an action/comedy/romance/art house indie-thing that plays like a Euro-techno music video or arcade game, including an animated clip that bridges each subsequent ‘replay’ with the last. Short story shorter, the direction will have you drenched in sweat by the end (in a good way), as if you’d just run Lola’s half-marathon by her side. There isn’t a single frame that isn’t experimenting with a unique technique or where the camera is sitting idle, which is as it should be for a simple-plotted film relying on technical, eye-candy cinematography and structural ingenuity to inject its dose of awesomeness. Tom Tykwer clearly wrote this screenplay to match his flair, and the man’s done it. This speck of a movie managed to get my blood pumping faster than any of Michael Bay’s explosion-helicopter-girl in bikini-explosion formula flicks combined. Unlike the $100 mil+ studio toy-sellers that squash the chances of a wide release for films like this, the blood, sweat and tears of Run Lola Run’s guerrilla filmmaking roots are tangible on screen, whereas in blockbusters it's usually ink on a paycheck.

Franka Potente’s performance doesn’t redefine the art, but the runtime (hehe) rests on her shoulders and she is always a joy to watch. Hopefully this isn’t a spoiler, but she does a lot of running, and even when sprinting her face displays a lover’s desperate determination to protect her counterpart. She also uses a blood-curdling, glass-shattering scream as a method of persuasion, and it’s kinda hilarious in a gratuitous sort of way. Likewise, Moritz Bleibtreu’s job is to look impatient and nervous, but in a few flashbacks of the two cuddling both he and Franka have a playful, dare I say, uh, cute chemistry (yep, regret it). Herbert Knaup plays Lola’s estranged father, a bank owner, and gives the most mature portrayal in the film, as he is conflicted whether to rescue and reunite with his daughter or abandon his family for a mistress from the board of directors (Nina Petri).

The techno soundtrack suits the movie perfectly, so there isn’t much else to say. It just works. Don’t dig techno? Well, um…sorry.

What Went Wrong?
Not knowing what to expect, I was a little thrown that they restarted each new path of fate from her starting point in the apartment and recycled identical shots, but when you realize this was done to add contrast to the consequences when her actions cause a deviance, it gels with the vibe. However, viewers too impatient to consider Tykwer’s message about the butterfly effect might find the strategy to be lazy, repetitive and unfulfilling, as the character arcs, on the surface, appear to be erased with each new beginning.

The black and white slideshow “fate vision” that happens when Lola brushes against a passerby also seems cheap and out-of-place until the second play-through, where the purpose is revealed and humorous tone is fully embraced. Basically, the negatives disappear if the audience has an open-mind.

Bottom Line
An experimental foreign film worth checking out if only for the aesthetics used to relate Lola's mile-a-minute footwork and state of mind. It was a pleasant surprise, and it ranks as one of the most creative, energetic, and plain fun action movies available. Run Lola Run is an example of style over substance (at its best), so it might not connect with everyone, but at less than 90 minutes there are riskier stakes.

As always, discussion is welcome. What did you think?

The Insider

The Insider (1999)



“They argued he was gonna reveal the secret formula of Kools to the world.”

-Directed by: Michael Mann
-Written by: Eric Roth and Michael Mann
-Director of Photography: Dante Spinotti
-Cast: Russell Crowe, Al Pacino, Diane Venora, Christopher Plummer, Philip Baker Hall, Bruce McGill and Michael Gambon
-Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rkvxi5hdbA&feature=related (Gotta miss those creepy ‘90s narrators)

Just caught this on Netflix Instant, and holy moly. This film is, bar none, Michael Mann’s most mature work and what I think is his best (not “favorite”…until they throw in an epic, bank robbery-gone-awry gunfight involving DeNiro and Pacino with M16’s, that crown sits firmly atop Heat). Next to All the President’s Men (1976) and Ace in the Hole (1951), The Insider ranks as one of, if not the most relevant interpretation of the backdoor dealings and personal stakes involved in a media-fueled whistleblower scenario.

In a Nutshell
Dr. Jeff Wigand (a nigh unrecognizable Russell Crowe) is a biochemist for the medical research department at Brown & Williamson, one of the seven major big tobacco corporations. Although the CEO’s have publicly claimed ignorance to any addictive nature of their products, Wigand is ousted from his role after he raises questions regarding a carcinogen ingredient and amplified nicotine volumes. Seeing trails in the rearview mirror and death threats in his emails, Wigand, despite his severance gag order and marriage-on-the-rocks, risks his family, life and career to develop the story with 60 Minutes producer Lowell Bergman (Al Pacino) to put the truth on air. Will CBS execs redeem Wigand’s credibility by broadcasting his interview, or will they be swayed toward the sound of B & W’s pen signing a check? It is based on actual events and was produced with the support of the real Wigand and Bergman.

Solidness
Michael Mann, with Manhunter, Thief, Heat, Collateral, Miami Vice and Public Enemies under his belt, has engraved his name in the crime movie library by depicting loud, realistic rat-a-tat shootouts between relateable male protagonists with blurred morals, whether they be a bank robber or detective. The Insider is a gem because it signals a transition to a genre untouched by and yet ideal for his style. Similar to the themes of his gangster pictures, the story revolves around two men cornered by the pitfalls of their occupations and who are human enough to make mistakes and recognize them as such.

The occasional handheld jiggle and the minimalist, grey-tint color tones create the illusion that the events are being narrated as a gritty, real-time documentary. Unlike with Paul Greengrass’s gimmicky ‘throw-up cam’ in the latter two Bourne films…ahem, I mean ‘shaky cam’, Mann entrusts the other half of his voyeuristic style’s execution to the performance of his actors.

Crowe, having put on weight (or let himself plump back to normal after Gladiator? Accolades should be reserved until we get to the bottom of it) and donning a mop of graying hair, disappears in this role. During Wigand’s most vulnerable moments, you may feel a pang of guilt for prying in on his private affairs, because it’s as if you’re seeing it all through the eyes of a fly on the wall. Al Pacino is still Al, but he gives his most subdued performance to date here. His hooting, hollering and “hooah!’-ing is non-existent, and his few outbursts are more than justified by the stress on the character. In other words, he doesn’t fly into tirades like a roid-raging Italian who just dropped his last cannoli (I’m half Italian, so I know how precious those things are). Bruce McGill pops in for a memorable bit part as Wigand’s lawyer, a fierce Southerner who isn’t about to take any crap from the smug tobacco attorneys. As with any successful cinematic collaboration, the direction services the performances while the performances enhance the effectiveness of the cinematography. Honestly, The Insider could triumph as a silent film because the meat of the performances rests in the creases of the actors’ faces. Mann’s camera remains uncomfortably close to their eyes and mouths, but that’s because they constantly have a restrained emotion to display; a technique that relies on the capability of genuine, nuanced character actors, not simply those who can spew lines with theatrical exaggeration (Nic Cage, we’re on to you. “Not the bees!”).

The screenplay’s structure never confuses the audience in its progression through multiple years, and the dialogue is curt but realistically poignant for that very reason. The writing too reflects the minute details inherent in the life of an everyman, an example being Wigand cutting a meeting with Bergman short because his two daughters have a half day at school.

The Insider was nominated for 7 Academy Awards, including Russell Crowe for Best Actor, Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Cinematography, so it wasn’t too big a secret how special the film was upon release, but somehow it has managed to slip through the cracks even among fans of Mann. The Academy Award Ceremony is not a consistently unbiased representation of the year’s best, but they had this one right. The only mistake the voting members made was failing to follow it through with wins in all the aforementioned categories.

What Went Wrong?
Not much. In fact, my one criticism to all you would-be watchers isn’t a complaint, but a word of warning for those readers who are on a tight schedule and need a quick fix, no pun intended. The Insider is a tense and historically fascinating ride, but at 2 hours and 37 minutes, it’s a slow boil. It demands the audience’s undivided attention and patience in establishing the relationships, both business and familial, that are torn apart by Wigand’s and Bergman’s decisions to battle their respective corporate and editorial systems. So if you normally crave an escapist treat after a day with your boss in your ear, delay this behemoth until you’re snowed in and won’t be keeping tabs on the minute hand.

The second point of minor annoyance was the soundtrack, but based on other’s reactions on IMDB it appears I am in the minority. Lisa Gerrard, the singer who provided the angelic chant vocals for Gladiator, showcases nearly identical work in this. Her hymns are breathtaking, but jarringly inappropriate when set across the backdrop of a suburb, news station or courtroom.

Bottom Line
This is a hands-down must-see for every film aficionado at least once in their lifetime. It is mature filmmaking with a career-best performance from Crowe. Nonfiction cinema is rarely this edge-of-your-seat.

Leave your own thoughts on The Insider below! Please?

Grand Opening

Well, the ribbon's been cut! The name's Pana, but you're welcome to call me His Dudeness or El Duderino if you're not into the whole brevity thing. Don't recognize the quote? Get out! I'm kidding...kinda. If not, we'll get there (it's 'The Big Lebowski' by the way). Film geek obnoxiousness aside for a tick, I figured I'd start this off with an outline of my plan. I'll save the three-volume 'About Me' autobio until I feel like I've got more than a heckling cricket in the crowd. There are a ton of amazing blog sites for movie news, so I won't even bother keeping up with that. The closest I've been to a Hollywood connection was pulling up alongside Spielberg on the freeway by chance, only to make a shark fin with my hand and giggle like a school girl at a Twilight: Eclipse cast screening. Something tells me he won't be sharing his start dates or sending my script back with notes any time in the near future. Instead, this blog will simply be a reflection of my not inconsiderable viewography: what I love from the past and discover in the future. If you take the ride with me and hunt down one movie I've highlighted that steals a top 10 spot on your all-time list...that's a mission accomplished in my book. I'll do my best to cover the whole spectrum, because it's okay to dig both Hitchcock and Edgar Wright. One thing I can't promise is that I'll be Johnny-on-the-spot with new articles, but I'll gauge it based on demand (if any exists). So hop up on a stool, crack open a cold one (soda, mind you) and watch a flick. Cheers.

P.S. Apologies to all those who looked up 'viewography' in the dictionary, but really? You should have known better.