Second Viewing of 'Burn After Reading' Exposes Me As a Fool with No Sense of Humor

Second viewings should be a fear of anyone who writes about movies. Not in the sense that you should be frightened of watching a film twice. But a second viewing can give you a better idea of what you think about a film, and sometimes your opinion can change drastically.

Months ago I reviewed the Coen brothers' 2008 comedy "Burn After Reading" and implied the idiotic characters of the film were not as entertaining as those found in "Fargo" and others. (I also used a pretentious Fellini reference like a Whore.)

Well Mr. President, I was wrong. I fucked up on that intel.

Throughout my second viewing of "Burn After Reading," I found myself laughing considerably more. I could easily watch it again. Yeah, I still think Swinton was weak, and it's nothing that original for the Coens. But it is insane and well crafted, just like that Dildo Machine.

Same thing happened years ago with "The Big Lebowski." I thought the characters were too contrived, so I kept missing the punchlines.

OK, I'm cutting out the confessions. I can forgive you for thinking I was a dumbass if you can forgive me for being one.

No, no, no. No need for formal apologies and mercy and grace. This is getting shameful and Pathetic.

(And hot damn! "Burn After Reading" made it to DVD quick, my friends!)

I do not get it, Spielberg.

I do not get it, Spielberg.

Your wallet is already Immense, so maybe you just wanted to play with George. If that is the case, I am disappointed in you and I wish that goddamn robot shark had worked and given your first blockbuster less of a suspenseful and horrifying Grip.

Fuck man. The same year you take the Third Risk in your life, you serve a bogus and inconsistent H.G. Wells family drama instead of ... well, I'm convinced the movie would have sucked no matter what.

"At least I don't do shitty special effects" is an old excuse you cunning bastard--and one that no longer is the truth. Those goddamn gophers you let George shove into an Orifice ... we all saw that in May.

You are in TROUBLE. Get it together or the respect you earned will be gone. You had better not Fuck Up our 16th President.


JP, a sometimes Spielberg defender

Consistently Absurd: 'Fando y Lis'

Because I am a manic collector, some of my happiest dreams involve finding films that I would never see in Mississippi stores. And when I wake up, I'm pissed at my teasing mind.

Last weekend I was in Princeton and visited an establishment not unlike those in my dreams. Elusive films at reasonable prices. I was tempted to throw hundreds of dollars on the counter like a fiend, but I decided only one purchase was enough: an Alejandro Jodorowsky collection.

Having seen "El Topo," I decided to hold off on "The Holy Mountain" and watch Jodorowsky's first feature length film, "Fando y Lis."

Months ago I wrote that "El Topo" was a mindfucker but a positive experience. True, I had to view it again to really get it, but from the beginning I knew I would be able to decipher its secrets.

Not so with "Fando y Lis." I may never be satisfied with it. Initially I felt confident, looking at the back of the DVD and spotting the 96-minute running time, almost a half hour shorter than the confounding "El Topo." But that bastard Jodorowsky was particularly absurd in 1967. I would never spoil "El Topo," but I am fed up with Jodorowsky's psychological bullshit, so stop reading if you don't want any rash spoilers.

I understand the General Story. Fando and Lis are a couple searching for Tar, a legendary city they believe will cure the crippled Lis. Throughout the film, Fando gives into frustration and abuses Lis but soon apologizes and the two travel on. In the final act Fando goes too far and kills Lis. He lies by her grave in mourning so long that ivy overtakes him, and you see Lis escape the ground and scurry off, naked and happy. The straightforward message? Fando was a depraved dick, and Lis was only happy after death. The search for Tar should have been an Unnecessary Endeavor if the two loved each other.

The only reason the description above makes sense is that I have edited out the numerous vague and insane events of the film. "El Topo" is wacky but never boring, and its various chapters add up despite the weirdness. Sometimes, "Fando y Lis" is unentertaining drivel.

But it's hard not to admire Jodorowsky's willingness to do anything. In a flashback, we see Lis as a child chased by adult male perverts. They finally catch her and lie down beside her. You never see literal molestation. Instead, Jodorowsky cuts to male hands squeezing eggs until they crack and seep yoke. The writer/director delves into uncomfortable territory but pulls back and yet retains the wretchedness of the moment.

And as a Fellini fan, I enjoyed how Jodorowsky takes the surreal scene from 8 1/2--where Marcello Mastroianni dominates women with a whip--and turns it around, this time with the male, Fando, being whipped by a female as other women toss bowling balls at him.

And some people call Jodorowsky a misogynist.

(A Final Note: The DVD transfer of "Fando y Lis" is flawed. Lis's whiteness was Blinding, and other images are mysteries. My vision has worsened over the last year, but the contrast on this DVD was Disturbingly Abnormal.)

'The Wild Child,' Philosophy and Science and Heart

"The Wild Child" is my first exposure to Francois Truffaut and French New Wave. (Yeah, I'm behind, but I live in Mississippi and don't find online rental services that appealing.) Before going any further, let's not confuse this film with the upcoming "Wild Child," which appears to tell the story of a spoiled bitch who trashes her dad's girlfriend's stuff and is sent to boarding school in England for more bitchy adventures before the epiphanic "Hey, I'm a stupid bitch" occurs and her heart is purified and she and a group of new friends jump into an ocean. I apologize in advance if I spoiled a potential experience for you.

But back to Truffaut's movie. It reminds me of "The Elephant Man," which was released a decade later. Both films raise the question, What makes a human? Of course, the protagonist of each film is seen as inhuman for very different reasons. The Elephant Man is a disfigured circus freak, so his appearance is the perceived shortcoming. But when that film concludes, we see him as a human. We learn he can recite Shakespeare, that he understands our social norms, that he wishes to sleep on his back without suffocating.

With the forest boy in "The Wild Child," his appearance isn't what raises the question, especially after he is taken in and cleaned up by a doctor (portrayed well by Truffaut himself). But his behavior is that of an ape. As you watch the boy relax his savage gait and learn words, you see a human finally taking shape ...

But wasn't he already human? What the hell would we be doing if not for socialization?

The Elephant Man's big line, delivered beautifully by John Hurt, was "I am not an animal! I am a human being!" If The Wild Child could talk, his line would be "I am not a human being! I am an animal!"

Along with the philosophical element, there's a lot to appreciate in the "The Wild Child." Truffaut puts the outmoded iris shot to effective use. (I could not find a helpful page on the iris shot. It is simply a fade involving a circle. So if it is a fade out, the screen shrinks into a circle. This technique was invented by Billy Bitzer, who worked with D.W. Griffith.) Jean-Pierre Cargol is believable as the jungle boy, definitely one of the greatest child performances I've seen. The film can also feel like a scientific exercise, as the majority is dedicated to the doctor testing the boy and writing in a journal.

But you've gotta have a heart while watching this movie. That's the only way it can be fully appreciated. Otherwise, it could be seen as a pointless story about a stubborn doctor tampering with an idiot kid.

'W.': Oliver Stone on a Needed Leash

I was afraid my friends would abandon me when I told them I wanted to see Oliver Stone's "W." (Somehow I got three people to go with me.) And I read all the bullshit. Some Democrats thought Stone was too soft on Bush. Some Republicans thought he was too harsh on Bush. The majority of comments I read about "W." stemmed from the commentators' own previous evaluations of the president. In other words, they weren't talking about the movie but sharing their better wisdom.

Rolling Stone movie critic Peter Traver's review puzzled me. He implies the film has no balls, that Stone censors himself. But isn't the opposite Stone's fucking problem? I don't know about Travers, but the last thing I needed in "W." was Stone's balls. The director has a serious illness of letting things go too far, not being able to pace a film, his completely insane tendencies hanging over the viewer's head like 20 savage dicks ready to pound one person's face. I wonder if any humans can watch "JFK," "U Turn," "Any Given Sunday," and "Alexander" in a marathon of madness and come out of the experience without feeling like an elephant hasn't defiled them.

Not counting his documentaries (I haven't seen any of them), this is Stone's second restrained film in a row, though no form of desperation has yet led me to view Nicolas Cage among the wreckage of "World Trade Center." Like the overlooked 1987 film, "Talk Radio" (highly recommended), "W." is short on preaching and therefore actually enjoyable.

The cast is the drawing point. Josh Brolin was the reason I gave the film a chance, and he nails another great good ole boy performance (the other being his role in "No Country For Old Men"). Brolin's portrayal of Bush isn't copycat acting. It's surprising how much dimension he brings to a character we thought we knew. James Cromwell does the same for George H. W. Bush, and when Brolin and Cromwell share the screen, the film really works. The other cast members range from appropriate (Richard Dreyfuss as Dick Cheney) to disturbingly accurate (Thandie Newton as Condoleeza Rice).

Ultimately, the film still needs editing. Stone's baseball metaphor grows tiring, the movie sometimes trudges through boring muck, and you still get a few of the director's trademark in-your-fuckin'-face camera angles (though a couple of them are appropriate). But if you don't take yourself or politics too seriously, W. is a pleasant comedic drama.

The Tension of 'sex, lies, and videotape'

Director/writer Steven Soderbergh is a guy I thought I knew. "Out of Sight." "Ocean's Eleven." "Traffic." "The Good German." They all pointed to a filmmaker with a slick eye. You could see all he had to offer, the style sometimes excessive.

Different story for his debut, "sex, lies, and videotape." The charm of this 1989 picture is not visual slickness but an underlying tension, ranging from awkwardness to innocence to depravity. The feeling can be as understated as the clamor of utensils at the dinner table. There is something wrong, a deranged secret to be told.

The film makes you feel dirty but never resorts to nudity. The sex is suggested, no simulation. You want it to go further, but Soderbergh keeps a distant angle, appropriate considering that the strange and aloof James Spader is his lead character. (The movie also has a few odd laughs, a completely different sort than what you could get from "Ocean's Eleven" or "Erin Brockovich" or, hell, the majority of films that may make you laugh.)

More than halfway through the movie, I arrived at the idea that sex is not necessarily the physical act but a conversation revealing the flawed past of a person, a burst of frightening honesty. And perhaps it is a lie to say otherwise.

But that's masturbation on my part. If you have yet to feel during a Soderbergh film, I think his first feature will take care of that.

(And like me, you might wish the bastard would make more films like this instead of sequels to a heist/comedy remake.)

'The Straight Story,' There's a Gentleness About It

David Lynch, we know him for the rum "Mulholland Dr." and "Blue Velvet," maybe "The Elephant Man" and others for some viewers. You hear about "The Straight Story," G-rated and Disney. But its opening scene is not indicative of what we normally associate with Lynch or tame family films. Maybe at first the director is up to his weird play, when we hear a sound from inside a house, obviously a person hitting the floor, and Lynch pans away to focus on an unhealthy old woman stretched out on a cheap lawnchair. The scene suggests natural death that no one wants to think about.

An old man had fallen in the house. In the next scene, we see him on his back on the floor, and he's fine. Just needs help getting up. His daughter comes in and starts to freak out. It's funny because of the relief. You know the old bastard is fine.

The old man learns his brother had a stroke more than a couple of hundred miles away. The man's hips aren't hardly worth nothing. He can't drive to his brother in a car. But he tries with a riding lawnmower. It breaks down. He has to go back. He buys another lawnmower, a John Deere one. And you watch him leave his daughter behind again.

He meets a lot of people on the way and at one point notices a stream of younger people on bicycles and he pulls his lawnmower off the road and watches the alien crew zip in front of him and onward, they are passing him, an old man off the road. He watches their youth pass him.

There's a gentleness about it.