Do the Right Thing (1989) **

I was a teenager when writer/director Spike Lee’s, Do the Right Thing (1989) hit theaters. I was a lot more naïve and free-thinking back then than I am now. For me, there was no question that racism existed and that many African Americans had a reason to be “angry”.  Now, as I have aged and experienced the world, I still think African Americans still have reasons to be “angry”, but not for the same reasons that I thought back in 1989.  When I watch Do the Right Thing now I get a little aggravated at the mixed message that Lee delivers.  There’s no doubt that this is a powerful film, but now nearing the age of 25, its message has not aged well.

The story takes place in Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn on one exceedingly hot summer day. Mookie (Lee himself) is a pizza delivery man for Sal’s Pizzeria. He lives with his sister (Lee’s real-life sister Joie Lee), but has a girlfriend (Rosie Perez) and baby whom he doesn’t really support.  He has an odd relationship with Sal (Danny Aiello) and his two sons, Pino (John Turturro) and Vito (Richard Edson).  Pino despises African Americans, while Sal and Vito are more friendly toward the African Americans who frequent the pizzeria. The neighborhood is full of caricatures—a drunk old man (Ossie Davis), a window-watching elderly stateswoman (Ruby Dee), a boom-box toting giant (Bill Nunn), a stuttering mentally challenged young man (Roger Guenveur Smith), a Black Power agitator aptly named Buggin’ Out (Giancarlo Esposito), and three chair holder downs (Robin Harris, Frankie Faison, and Paul Benjamin).

The film is a study in how African Americans, Hispanics, Koreans, and whites get along with one another in this racially diverse borough.  Stereotypes abound, and at one point in the film Lee has a member of each race spew as many racially charged descriptions about another race as they can think of. In this, at least, there is a very balanced take on how some races view their counterparts. Yet, after this, I find the film unbalanced in its analysis of race. 

The film hinges on Sal’s right to hang pictures of Italian Americans on his restaurant’s wall and to refuse to allow Radio Raheem (Nunn) to play his boom-box in his restaurant.  There are many arguments on both sides, but the fact remains that if you respect all people’s rights and not only what you perceive to be yours, then you know that if someone owns a business they can run it however they want—it is your right not to patronize it if you don’t agree with the owner.  For me, that is doing the right thing.  So, when Sal busts Raheem’s boom-box with a bat and Raheem proceeds to attempt to choke Sal to death for it while only his sons appear to be trying to help Sal, I wasn’t offended when the police tried to restrain Raheem.  Did they go too far when they choked him to death? Yes—but whose to say that Raheem wouldn’t have done the same thing to Sal if the police hadn’t come?  This is one very important sticking point that is NEVER mentioned in discussion of this film. 

But the thing that aggravates me the most about Do the Right Thing is when Mookie throws a trash can through Sal’s window and the entire neighborhood proceeds to destroy and loot it—and then one idiot burns it down.  In 2001, we had a week-long study in stupidity when African Americans rioted when a black teenager was fatally shot by the police.  Businesses were looted (mostly ones frequented by African Americans) and many African American entertainers cancelled bookings in the city in protest.  As a result, an even more antagonistic relationship developed between the African American community and the police—so much so that the police responded exceedingly slow whenever they were called to an emergency.  In the three months after the riots, 77 people were shot in Cincinnati—76 of those were African Americans.  For me, destroying your community to make a point is NOT doing the right thing. 

As such, when I watch Do the Right Thing I get frustrated that Spike Lee does not clearly make this point.  Running two quotes at the end of your film, one by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and one by Malcolm X, that contradict one another about whether it is right to use violence to achieve and maintain your rights, is a cop-out.  Also, the audacity the Mookie shows to “get paid” the day after the riot is just ridiculous.  You throw a trash can through your boss’s window and incite a disturbance that unquestioningly destroyed said business that employees you, and you still want to get paid?  My God, are you trying to bolster the racial stereotype of African Americans with their hands out asking for money when they don’t deserve it? 

As for the overall production value of Do the Right Thing, Lee was smart to frame his story within a 24-hour period.  This allows for no real meandering and keeps the plot moving steadily.  He was also smart with his casting decisions, as he mostly chose actors who fit their characters perfectly. Ossie Davis as the philosophical borough drunk was interesting to watch, as well as Robin Harris, Frankie Faison, and Paul Benjamin as the would-be Greek chorus of the story. Hands down, however, the  most riveting performances come from Aiello and Turturro.  Aiello earned an a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his conflicted portrayal of a man who wants to continue on in a neighborhood that has dramatically shifted in racial dynamics over the years. And, Turturro is phenomenal (as usual), as a pathologically racist who is surrounded by the races that he loathes so much.

Overall, Do the Right Thing is a polarizing film.  There are some who find it right on point and thought-provoking regarding the race discussion in America.  For me, however, I think the movie is ambiguous and doesn’t make a clear statement on race.  The story is powerful, but its ending is troubling and delivers a contradictory message.

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Nosferatu: Phantom of the Night (Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht)1979 **1/2

Director/writer Werner Herzog so revered F.W. Murnau’s classic 1922 silent film, Nosferatu: Symphony of Terror, as the greatest German film ever made that he remade it in 1979 and called it Nosferatu: Phantom of the Night. Unlike Murnau, Herzog had more freedom to base most of his film on the Bram Stoker novel. He didn’t have to change character names (even though he chose to name the heroine Lucy instead of Mina) and could follow the novel much closer.  Yet, he still chose to base his story in Germany (as Murnau had), and he humanized his Count Dracula far more than Stoker ever did. Like most fans of the original film, Herzog was mesmerized by the interplay of shadow and light that Murnau employed.  As such, he imitated many of the most iconic shots in the original, and created a mesmerizing visual treat.

The story is well known, Jonathan Harker (Bruno Ganz) leaves his beautiful and devoted wife Lucy (Isabelle Adjani) in Wismar to travel over the Carpathian Mountains into Transylvania to present Count Dracula (Klaus Kinski) with a deed for a house. Even after being warned by countless gypsies and reading books that tell the ill-fated story of those who cross the path of Nosferatu, Jonathan still chooses to dine with the Count and stay in his creepy, dilapidated castle. After seeing a locket with a picture of Lucy, the Count decides to incapacitate Jonathan by sucking his blood. Along with ten black caskets and countless rats, he travels via boat to Wismar—wiping the entire crew out on the voyage.  Much of the same befalls Wismar as well, and only Lucy seems to know that Count Dracula is to blame after a feverish and amnesic Jonathan returns.  To rid the town (and perhaps the world) of the pestilence that is Dracula, Lucy sets out on a collision course with fate.

The biggest difference between Murnau’s and Herzog’s films, of course, is that there is spoken dialogue.  Still, for the most part, the dialogue is sparse and only serves to move the story along.  Who needs a bunch of jabbering when you have atmosphere, anyway?  This works in Adjani’s favor, as her vacuous, but beautiful, looking face says so much more about her situation than any words ever could.  She looks and acts like a somewhat willing bride of Dracula. 

If you read my review of Murnau’s Nosferatu, then you know I believe there was no greater Dracula than Max Schreck.  Still, Kinski does his best job to imitate the master.  He looks and moves much the same way as Schreck, but he also had the opportunity to use words to express his character’s anguish of immortality.  Like Schreck, he is eerily creepy and unpleasant to look at.  Overall, he does a fine job of mimicking Schreck’s performance.

Still, what I most remember about the movie are the images Herzog and cinematographer Jorg Schmidt-Reitwein create.  Throughout the film they chose to frame and light scenes in which Kinski’s glowing, white face is the only thing that can be seen.  And, just as Murnau chose to create shadowed images of Dracula as he prowled the streets of Wismar, so does Herzog. Perhaps the most striking image is the recreation of the first face-to-face encounter between Lucy and Dracula, where his shadow looms over her first in a tight-quartered bathroom and then later in her bedroom.  These images alone are worth the price of hearing Renfield’s (Roland Topor) cackles.

Overall, Nosferatu: Phantom of the Night is a visually striking film, bolstered by a fine cast.  However, it does lack originality—as Herzog heavily imitated Murnau’s work.  Making a remake of an admired film has its pitfalls, and I expect Herzog’s admiration for Murnau’s film overshadowed his own ability to truly make his own movie—although he did give Dracula a bit more humanity than previously seen.

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The Adventures of Prince Achmed (Die Abenteuer des Prinzen Achmed) 1926 **1/2

Lotte Reiniger is not a household name like Walt Disney, but she was one of the most important animators in cinematic history.  Known for her silhouette animation, Reiniger paved the path of the animated fairy tale and all others animators owe her a huge debt of gratitude.  Her The Adventures of Prince Achmed (1926) was one of the first animated feature films, and, today is the oldest known surviving one. 

Primarily known as an avant garde animator, Reiniger began The Adventures of Prince Achmed in 1923 and enlisted several of her artist friends to help her with the 3-year-long project. The story was taken from One Thousand and One Nights, with a focus on The Adventures of Prince Achmed. Told in five acts, the plot revolves around Prince Achmed battling both an evil African magician and the demons of Wak Wak Island for his true love Pari Banu.  I have never read One Thousand and One Nights, so I was not familiar with the story.  Like all fairy tales, a suspension of disbelief is required to watch the film.  In this particular case, it doesn’t matter, because the story is just a guise to showcase some pretty spectacular images.

Using stop-time animation, Reiniger designed cardboard cutouts and used them with thin sheets of lead to create magical silhouetted images.  This was a timely and painstaking way to design images (one of the many reasons that it took three years to complete the film), but the elaborate designs are a sight to behold.  While Reiniger created the images, her husband Carl Koch captured them on film.  As complex as the animation was, Koch’s ability to seamlessly capture his wife’s vision is remarkable.  The entire story is an amalgamation of intricately designed images raveling and unraveling into other images.

Walter Ruttmann designed the incandescent backgrounds and Edmund Dulac used Islamic patterns to create the inter-title cards.  The original musical score was composed by Wolfgang Zeller, who worked very closely with Reiniger to ensure that the music matched every frame of the movie.  And, if that wasn’t enough, color tinting was used throughout the movie. In addition, Reiniger used a multi-plane animation stand to create depth of image—something that is often first attributed to Walt Disney, but it was actually a Reiniger invention. 

While I would not suggest that The Adventures of Prince Achmed be shown to a roomful of six-year-olds on a Saturday afternoon, it is still a stunning piece of work.  Like Disney’s Fantasia (1940), it is an artistic triumph that is probably best enjoyed by adults. 

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The Eagle (1925) **

Rudolph Valentino was an attractive man with an aura of sophistication.  While Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Harold Lloyd ruled comedy in the silent film era, Valentino, along with John Gilbert, reigned supreme when it came to dramatic romantic heroes.  I have only seen a few of his films, but from what I’ve watched of his work, Valentino excelled at looking good while not doing that much.  Now, I don’t mean that as a jab—quite the opposite, actually.  Many silent era actors and actresses had a bad habit of over-emoting and over-using facial gestures and hand movements. Valentino, at least in The Eagle (1925), avoids such behaviors.  Yes, the overall plot is ridiculous, but at least the acting was not (except James A. Marcus—he was bad).

Vladimir Dubrovsky (Valentino) is a lieutenant in the Russian Imperial Guard. His daring rescue of a runaway carriage and the Czarina’s (Louise Dresser) prized horse places him in the path of Catherine II.  Obviously hot to trot, even while wearing an unflattering military uniform, the Czarina wants Vladimir as her new conquest.  When he rebuffs her advances the Czarina puts a bounty out on his head. This, in turn, causes him to return home just in time to find his father (Spottiswoode Aitken) broke and dying.  The Dubrovsky estate has been stolen by a cowardly heel named Kyrilla Troekouroff (Marcus).  Vladimir takes an oath of vengeance and begins wearing a black mask and calling himself the Black Eagle—yes, if this sounds a bit like Zorro, it is, but there is no Douglas Fairbanks, Sr. 

What is unusual about The Eagle is that although there is romantic drama, it is a comedy at heart.  Valentino was not really known for his comedic skills, but in this picture he gets to showcase his natural comedic abilities.  He not only plays a man riding the Russian countryside wearing a black mask, but he also impersonates a French tutor in order to get close to Kyrilla’s daughter, Mascha (Vilma Banky), whom he finds quite beautiful.  The film turns into a bit of a farce once Mascha figures out who her tutor really is, which affords Valentino an opportunity to use that twinkle in his eye for more than seducing women. 

Stylistically The Eagle is remembered for a tracking shot of a banquet table full of guests and food.  Director Clarence Brown was one of the few silent directors who had an enormously successful career in the talkies.  He had an eye for naturalism, and it shows with how he handles his actors in this movie.  He obviously knew how to work with “personalities” because he often found himself directing not only Hollywood stars like Valentino, but Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford as well.

While the ending of The Eagle is completely absurd, overall it is an entertaining movie.  Valentino and Banky have nice chemistry—neither one seems to dominate the other and the play well together. Marcus is a bit of a ham, but his character was worth a laugh or two.  And, poor Dresser gets to play an aging Czarina who would rather have people shot than be rejected sexually.  So, even though the story is ridiculous, at least the movie is full of delightful characters.

 

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Rosemary’s Baby (1968) **

(There could possibly be spoilers in this post.)

What’s worse: delivering Satan’s son or having divorce papers delivered to you in front of the entire cast and crew on a movie set?  Such was life for Mia Farrow during the filming of Rosemary’s Baby (1968).  Director/writer Roman Polanski’s taut horror tale is widely considered one of the best horror films ever made.  For me, it’s mildly creepy, but not really that scary. 

Rosemary (Farrow) and Guy Woodhouse (John Cassavetes) are a young married couple who make a fateful decision when they opt to lease an apartment at the Bramford in New York City.  The mammoth building has a bad reputation as a hotbed for witches and other unpleasant types. Guy makes quick friends with their senior citizen neighbors Minnie (Ruth Gordon) and Roman Castevet (Sidney Blackmer), but Rosemary finds them crass and nosy.  Their overbearing nature takes new hold when Rosemary discovers she’s pregnant. Minnie plies her with a tannis root concoction of a drink and insists Rosemary change her OBYGN to a friend of theirs, Dr. Abraham Sapirstein (Ralph Bellamy).  The pregnancy is wrought with unpleasant stomach pains and a dramatic weight and color loss for Rosemary—not to mention cravings for raw meat. Realizing that something is obviously not right, Rosemary starts to envision some sort of nefarious plot is afoot when it comes to her unborn child.  She was right.

Other than the fact that she becomes impregnated by Satan, the plot is quite plausible.  Polanski had a habit of making ordinary things like domesticity and friendship vulnerable to human baseness and ulterior motives.  Who could suspect the friendly, elderly couple next door are Satanists who would drug you so that Satan could rape and impregnate you?  And, who would ever imagine that their husband would go along with such a scheme to ensure that his acting career took off?  Now, the end of the film is way too much of a stretch for me—I just don’t envision any woman changing her mind about raising the child of Satan—not even the most Catholic woman on the planet.

Polanski earned an Oscar nomination for his adapted screenplay of Ira Levin’s hugely popular 1967 novel of the same name. I suppose Polanski wondered why mess with a good thing, so the script was very faithful to the book and those who read the book surely recognized huge sections of dialogue taken directly from the novel. While Farrow was far from Polanski’s first choice for the role of Rosemary, he ended up being very pleased that he had an actress so amenable to some of the crazy things he asked her to do.  In particular, there’s a scene in the film where Rosemary wanders into New York traffic—a scene that was shot by Polanski using a handheld camera—which was not cleared with the city of New York. That’s right, it wasn’t a blocked, staged scene—it was freaking real!  Did Farrow have a death wish following the delivery of divorce papers?  Yes, it is up to you, New York, New York, indeed!

While I’m not a big fan of Farrow, she does a nice job of playing a mouse-like waif who is almost too willingly led down a path paved in not-so-good intentions.  It’s hard to feel sorry for someone that stupid, though.  Her complete opposite is Ruth Gordon as Minnie.  Even when her character is doing very bad things she comes off as the helpful crazy lady next door.  Gordon won a Best Supporting Oscar for her turn as Minnie, and she deserved it.  The voice, hair, clothes, and mannerisms were perfect for the role. While Minnie didn’t come off as evil incarnate, her husband Roman did.  Rosemary’s Baby was Blackmer’s final film, and he went out as one of the best minions of Satan ever.  Perhaps it was his eyes, but he looked the part.

So, did Rosemary’s Baby live up to its storied reputation as one of the best horror films ever?  I guess it matters who you ask.  For me, when I watch a horror film I want to be scared.  At no point during the movie’s 136 minute run was I frightened.  Films such as The Exorcist (1973), Candyman (1992), and The Omen (1976) are far more scary than Rosemary’s Baby. I don’t know if this is because most of the horror is implied or not, but, for me at least, Rosemary’s Baby was more a study of elongated dread with not much payoff in the end.

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Koyaanisqatsi (1983) **1/2

My regular readers know that I am quite adverse to avant garde cinema.  There are not enough words to describe how much I disliked such avant garde films as Flaming Creatures (1963), L'age d'or (1930), and Un Chien Andalou (1928). Yet, something miraculous has happened, I have found one that I liked—Koyaanisqatsi (1983). Director Godfrey Reggio’s unusual film about the interaction between nature, human beings, and technology has been described as visual tone poem.  It benefits greatly from being set to composer Philip Glass’ music, as well as the brilliant cinematography of Ron Fricke.

I can’t really explain what Koyaanisqatsi is about, since it doesn’t have a plot in the traditional sense.  It starts off with a cave painting and breathtaking shots of vast, pristine geographic formations.  I expect this was to showcase the beauty of unspoiled nature.  Slow motion and time-lapse camera work and editing capture some of the most spectacular images of landscapes that I have ever seen.  In addition, there are some pretty awesome sections of floating clouds—which come into play when Reggio gets around to depicting technology.

Once nature has had its due, Reggio turns to juxtaposing the simple but breathtaking beauty of nature against the world of technology: machines, transportation systems, and massive building structures.  It is not a coincidence that the Los Angeles highway system is displayed in such a way that it looks like an anaconda strangling its prey.  Nor, is it difficult to determine that Reggio doesn’t particularly like skyscrapers—with their mammoth faces blocking the clouds that so graciously reflect off the cold exterior of the buildings.  And, really, even though there is absolutely no dialogue in the entire movie, who couldn’t figure out that Reggio took great delight in showing the behemoth and derelict Pruitt-Igoe housing project in St. Louis being demolished.

But it’s not all nature and big, hulking building that gets Reggio’s attention—humans get their due, too. Still, we probably get the worst treatment, as we come off as pretty miserable.  Large crowds of primarily unsmiling people permeate throughout this section of the film.  We have become slaves to the technology that we’ve created, and mostly we come off as rats living in a maze of our own making. Personally, I could have done without the people, but I suppose Reggio’s overarching message would have suffered without us.

With skyscrapers eclipsing the beauty of the moon and the Hopi Indians prophesizing that, "Near the day of Purification, there will be cobwebs spun back and forth in the sky," I have no doubt that Koyaanisqatsi was a film with a message, no matter how much Reggio may have said that it was up to the “viewer to take for himself/herself what the film means." Generally, I agree with Reggio about the state of the world—life is out of balance and humans have committed ecological homicide. I also agree that we no longer control technology, but rather that it controls our every move. 

Who knew I would actually enjoy watching avant garde cinema this much?  I may just have to watch the complete trilogy, Powaqqatsi (1988) and Naqoyqatsi (2002) to wrap my mind completely around Reggio’s ultimate philosophical endgame. 

 

 

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