'The X-Files: I Want to Believe' But Cannot

To be honest, I feel slightly foolish for writing about, of all films, “X-Files: I Want to Believe.” Considering the pleading title and disastrous latter seasons of the 1990s television show, this essay demonstrates I must have really wanted to believe in something for no good reason other than a careless and fun leap of faith.

“I Want to Believe” could have been a witty and intelligent mystery. It is witty a few times, maybe even touching a couple of times, but mainly left me wondering why I had attempted to be a believer.

The film does not fall prey to the traditional flaws of many summer blockbusters. It is not filled with gratuitous and poorly conceived special effects. It is not trying to be bigger than what it should or can be. It is not a badly acted spree of stupid writing. But “I Want to Believe” cannot ultimately stand due to its shortsighted reliance on director/writer Chris Carter’s solid visuals and the chemistry between David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson.

With the exception of Fox Mulder (Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Anderson), the characters can be cut in half with scissors. Billy Connolly plays a psychic and former Catholic priest and boy molester and that description and a scene where he cries blood are about as interesting as he gets. His character is written as a penitent paranormal talent, but Connolly’s performance is guiltless scruffy hair notwithstanding. Two FBI agents played by Amanda Peet and Xzibit move the plot along like robots. Skinner, a main character from the television show, makes an unsurprising and pointless appearance. No one but those familiar with the show could know why he is there.

The story offers a mystery, but the unraveling is clockwork because everyone can follow a psychic. The disturbing revelation is that a group has kidnapped a woman with the goal to remove her head and sew the head of a man on her body. This idea might fascinate you for a few minutes as it involves decapitation and surgery and identity, but its execution is only for the sake of that brief fascination. Which is usually fine within the body of a 50-minute television program. In the theater the flippant scene sets off a gigantic so what.

Admittedly, the subplot detailing Scully’s struggle to cure a deathly ill boy with a risky procedure raises an admirable discussion about faith.

Just read the above line as a small compliment. Proselytized I am not.

'The Dark Knight': Villain, My Hero

The status quo of "The Dark Knight" is pandemonium. The opening heist sequence sets the tone for director Christopher Nolan's anti-comic book film in which the Joker meticulously kills his henchmen and avoids police in a school bus. It is the Joker's plan to destroy all plans. That is all. A scarred past? He tells a mob leader his father gave him the quasi Glasgow smile. We learn the story is unreliable, simply a device to make us think we can figure him out. Money? He claims at first if he is good at something not to do it for free but later burns a pyramid of money. Does he just want to kill Batman? Of course not. Batman completes him he adoringly quips.

Heath Ledger is the unequivocal lifeblood of this film. Without him Nolan could not have transcended the expectation of hero defeating villain. For all the positive traits of "Batman Begins" and the praise it received for reviving the Batman franchise, you realize how immature it really was. Nolan built a limited foundation in "Begins" and obliterates it here and digs into the dark hoping to reach Hell.

Ledger is unrecognizable. No trace of Cesar Romero, Jack Nicholson, or Mark Hamill, all great interpreters of Joker. Ledger interprets nothing. I believe he drove himself insane. I would call the performance inspiring if I could shake the scares. Some have compared Ledger's power to Marlon Brando. I call that and raise you Daniel Day-Lewis, who weeped on Oprah after Ledger died.

Day-Lewis indeed commanded the audience to react in a number of ways during the screening of "There Will Be Blood" I attended. Unbelievable to observe a similar charisma only months later and in of all things a movie based on mainstream comic book characters. But it surely happened. Ledger repulsed everyone around me and seconds later had them laughing.

Because Ledger was so bereft of anything holy or just, I tear down my character to say he was my hero during "The Dark Knight." I knew those feelings would be gone--the anticipation of glorified destruction, the inhuman glee, the life I sucked from death on the screen--without Ledger, the unstoppable force.

They are gone now and I want to go back to "The Dark Knight."

Film Binge

Weeks ago I viewed “The Pianist” and “La Dolce Vita” and “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” and “Manhattan" and “The Big Sleep” and “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” and “The Incredibles” and “The Grapes of Wrath” not in that particular order but day by day for the first time each and every one and I was indeed bloated but altogether different from the aftermath of a drinking binge where pleasure is soon forgotten and the foundation for more liver destruction is laid.

Share your film binges here but do not stumble about too much. Check back in a day or so for words on “The Dark Knight” and such.

An Unfortunate Dispute Between Directors Abel Ferrara and Werner Herzog

They are very different filmmakers. Abel Ferrara is known as a master of trash cinema, often utilizing sex and violence to illustrate the depravity of his characters and settings. Werner Herzog is known as a quirky documentarian, recently directing two of his most accessible films, "Grizzly Man" and "Rescue Dawn" (the latter being a fictional film based on Herzog's previous documentary, "Little Dieter Needs to Fly").

"Bad Lieutenant" is the conflict. Ferrara directed the 1992 original with Harvey Keitel starring as a perverse cop finally seeking redemption by investigating the rape of a nun. The film was obviously personal for Ferrara, and he held nothing back. "Bad Lieutenant" was rated NC-17 for theaters, and five minutes were cut from the theatrical cut so that Blockbuster would carry it.

Ferrara's comments on everyone involved in Herzog's planned remake of "Bad Lieutenant" were blunt: "I hope they're all in the same streetcar, and it blows up." Ferrara also said he would fight to stop the remake from happening.

Herzog was then interviewed by Defamer.com. Among his responses to Ferrara's anger:

"Let him fight. He thinks I'm doing a remake."

"It [Herzog's film] has nothing to with his [Ferrara's] film. But let him rave and rant; it's good music in the background."

"I've never seen a film by him. I have no idea who he is. Is he Italian? Is he French? Who is he?"

"Maybe I could invite him to act in a movie. Except I don't know what he looks like."

As an admirer of both filmmakers, I am disappointed if these words are true. But honestly, I understand Ferrara's position more than Herzog's.

Here is a common promotional image of Ferrara's film. Pay special attention to the font style of the title. Now glance at a poster (scroll down to first image in article) of Herzog's film used at this year's Cannes Film Festival.

I understand Herzog when he says he is not doing a remake. If he is telling the truth, he has not seen Ferrara's version. Instead of New York, Herzog is taking the story to New Orleans. Plus, Nicolas Cage will star in Herzog's picture, and he has little in common with Keitel as a performer.

But look at the posters again. If Herzog is not filming a remake, why are the title fonts of the posters so similar? Why is he filming a penis scene with Cage? Is he not aware Keitel's penis was shown in the original? Herzog keeps saying this is not a remake, but it bears obvious similarities with the original.

Herzog claims he does not understand the passion behind Ferrara's frustration. It is puzzling a director like Herzog, who has given us so much work about people and their creative obsessions, cannot understand why Ferrara would be upset over a movie with the same name as his own starring Cage, who has performed in mainstream remakes in the past ("Gone in Sixty Seconds" and "The Wicker Man").

Admittedly, Ferrara went too far wishing death on everyone involved in Herzog's film, but as far I know, he has not specifically attacked Herzog.

Apparently, the title of Herzog's film has been expanded to "Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans." This is a right step for Herzog. Still, I doubt Ferrara will be satisfied.

Of course, knowing the controversial Ferrara and witty Herzog, this fight could be a hoax. If not, an unfortunate and unnecessary dispute between two gifted artists.

'WALL-E': Brilliance Was Once Your Art

Seeing the trailer to Pixar’s newest film, my jadedness told me this was an extended R2-D2 feature, a cute harmless voyage.

Seeing the first 10 minutes of Pixar’s newest film, I forgot my jadedness. Lap dissolves reveal wasted land and places people once called home, evoking the technique and tone of John Ford’s “Grapes of Wrath.” A computer animated film with an opening on par with American cinema’s finest. This might be the one that transcends “Toy Story.”

WALL-E is the titular protagonist. His name is appropriately a forced acronym given our society’s current and likely undying obsession with words in words—Waste Allocation Load Lifter: Earth class. He is a product of Buy N’ Large (as you might guess, a fictional organization ripe for satirical thrusting). Lonely and contemplative his design is to shovel the leftovers of absent humankind and shape them into blocks and stack the blocks like a child building nothing.

He is a bit of a naughty robot. If he finds something he likes—for him it is the jewelry case rather than the ring within he trashes—he keeps it for his collection of forgotten culture and highlights the sad irony that we like WALL-E distance ourselves from the drudgery of production with products themselves.

The film shifts from bleak satire to romantic comedy with the introduction of EVE (Extraterrestrial Vegetation Evaluator), a floating and feminine and feisty machine WALL-E falls for. I laughed at the robots clumsy in their attempts to introduce themselves. As T.S. Eliot and Quentin Tarantino claimed, great art steals from other great art, and “WALL-E” channels Ford and Woody Allen among others within the first 30 minutes while creating its own identity.

After things go outer space to the Axiom ship, we see where humans have gone and what they have become. In one respect or another, they remind me of people I see and talk to now—both amusing and horrifying. Director Andrew Stanton leaves behind the mediocre and antiseptic Finding Nemo to challenge us in the vein of Jonathan Swift.

Unfortunately, the film loses its smarts around the last third. Earlier, Captain McCrea of the Axiom was introduced as a captain only in name, seemingly a hair away from being as stupid as the rest of humankind. He inexplicably becomes the hero in an all-too-easy action sequence, and as Stephanie Zacharek of Salon.com writes, we are expected to forgive the shortcomings of humankind at the conclusion.

For all its morbid lessons about our planet and caustic swipes at consumerism and effective romantic humor, the film takes the easy and traditional way out and briefly transforms into the cute harmless voyage I had feared but trusted would not materialize after such a beautifully crafted first hour.

Oh “WALL-E,” brilliance was once your art.

***1/2 (out of four stars)

'Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid': Sam Peckinpah's Final Valediction to the Old West.

Sam Peckinpah is the director who revolutionized violence—from both thematic and technical standpoints—in American cinema with one 1969 western: "The Wild Bunch." At the beginning of the film, children marvel at an ant colony killing two scorpions and eventually set fire to all. Toward the end of the film, the central character, played by an ornery and tough William Holden, kills enemy after enemy with a machine gun but is finally shot down by a child.

This unflinching portrayal of children as violent beings is groundbreaking enough. But I have not mentioned the slow motion gun battles staged by Peckinpah, scenes that undoubtedly inspired countless modern action directors, the most obvious example being Hong Kong filmmaker John Woo. We take slow motion for granted as a technical feature. In 1969 it was shocking. Akira Kurosawa and others had toyed with it but not to this extent.

Four years later, Peckinpah returned to the western with “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.” Unfortunately, Peckinpah and much of the film’s cast and crew disowned the theatrical version because of several edits that cut the running length from just more than two hours to 106 minutes. However, now on DVD you can see the version Peckinpah wanted: the 1988 director’s cut.

The sadness of the Old West’s passing is inherent in “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” as it was in “The Wild Bunch” but on a more personal level. During the opening credits—restored for this version, heavily edited for the maligned theatrical cut—we see clips of Garrett shot down from his horse juxtaposed with clips of Billy the Kid firing at chickens for target practice (and yes, in mesmerizing slow motion). Subtitles tell us the former occurred during the early twentieth century and the latter during 1881. Essentially, the remainder of the film explains this strange juxtaposition.

The Kid and the lawman Garrett meet at the beginning of the film having been apart for years. They were fellow outlaws, and evidence suggests Garrett played a fatherly role to the Kid. We do not see this, however. We only see the relationship go from awkward, when Garrett tells the Kid to straighten up or else, to violent, when Garrett and the Kid are killing each other’s allies. The Kid is captured but escapes, sparking Garrett’s quest to take the Kid down for good.

The Kid’s goal is simple. He would continue his legendary parade and shooting up whatever he wants and taking whatever he wants and the Old West embodied in his belligerent spirit as if he rode with The Wild Bunch itself.

Garrett’s goal is complex. He would live old in a New West and stand for order but at the expense of his old friend, his unofficial son.

Throughout the film I wondered whether Garrett cared about killing the Kid. I wondered if maybe James Coburn or Peckinpah missed a dramatic opportunity for Garrett is ever determined to strike a new path for himself by destroying the path of another. Until the end. He learns where the Kid is hiding. He brings two men with him slipping up on the Kid like assassin dogs. He sees the woman the Kid has taken to bed and the empty space beside her. He knows the Kid is around and stops to contemplate his deed.

Garrett sits on a porch for a night at the conclusion. He walks from the porch to his destiny alone. The Kid is dead and Garrett is forlorn. And you discover the irony of the opening sequence—Garrett killed the Old West to be shot down in the New West.

An irrelevant but interesting note:

Slim Pickens has a small supporting role in “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.” His character speaks of abandoning the ground of the West to venture on water. When shot in the gut he walks and walks and walks finally reaching a river and dies. A heartbreaking moment from an actor we usually remember for a laugh.