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Tag Archives: Clint Eastwood
Sicario: Day of the Soldado [2018)
It’s been a long fucking time.
Because life is hard.
And I’ve been watching the same three Pink Panther movies over and over.
Just to get by.
But recently, God has brought me love.
Heavenly love.
An angel.
A girlfriend.
Yes.
Can you believe it?
Well, hardly neither can I.
So I should start by saying that I saw Sicario: Day of the Soldado IN A MOVIE THEATER!
What a concept.
Yeah.
It’s been at least a couple of years since I ventured into the thrall of urban sprawl to freeze my tits off in a cinemaplex.
But God bless the Alamo Draft House.
It’s the little things that matter.
The Clint Eastwood “Don’t Do Crack” PSA.
The Mexican teen beat (?) videos.
All kinds of kooky pre-film festivities which whet the intellectual appetite and let you know that you are in a place which at least marginally cares.
-PD
Le Vent d’est [1970)
Film by Godard.
Dziga Vertov.
Group in Mozambique.
Marxist Western.
Cowboys and Indians.
Das Kapital.
No no.
I must be wrong.
Not Mozambique.
That was much later.
I was confused.
So this is just Italy.
But still.
Quite possibly the only Marxist Western ever made 🙂
And, yes: the Dziga Vertov Group.
With Jean-Pierre Gorin.
So here was the great filmmaker (Godard) subsuming himself in the communalism of group creation.
Like being in a rock band.
There might be a main songwriter (or two).
And there might be a lead vocalist.
But it is a group effort.
Rock bands are kinda like little democracies (in my experience).
So, does that mean that communism/socialism starts at its most cellular level as something resembling democracy?
It is an interesting thought.
Because Godard was most certainly a hardcore socialist at this point.
A communist.
A Maoist!
But we remember those strange counterintuitive phrases like “dictatorship of the people”.
In other words, Marxist-Leninist thought was promising popular representation SO POWERFUL that the PEOPLE became a META-DICTATOR.
But it all kinda turned out like Tom Cruise’s witchcraft 🙂
A big bollocks burger in Eastern Europe.
And a Soviet Union that collapsed beneath its own weight.
But China soldiered on.
And juche (North Korea).
Notice that “zhoosh or tjuz” means to “smarten up” or “stylize” in that Cockney code language known as Polari.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polari
And for my dear pizzagate researchers, you should be heartened by this further corroboration of James Alefantis’ sick mind:
Why do I have a feeling about this?
Because of Bowie’s last album: Blackstar.
But reinserting ourselves in history, it is rather obvious that communism soldiered on mostly in the East.
Let’s not forget Vietnam and Laos (both still communist to this day).
Thus, Wind from the East.
Yes, Peter Wollen, there’s definitely some Brecht in here.
Especially in that scene when a fucking horse finally shows up 🙂
Not much of a Western without a horse.
So there is eventually one horse for Gian Maria Volontè.
Volentè, of course, really WAS in Westerns (about five years previous).
A couple of those great Sergio Leone “spaghetti Westerners” with Clint Eastwood: A Fistful of Dollars and also For a Few Dollars More.
So kudus to Godard, Gorin, and the whole Dziga Vertov Group for getting Volontè.
But really the star is the beautiful redhead Anne Wiazemsky, who passed away just nine days ago.
It is no wonder Godard fell in love with her.
As he had fallen for Anna Karina previously.
But Wiazemsky was a mind.
A beauty, but a total 180 from Karina.
Of course, neither marriage worked out.
But Wiazemsky is lovely in this film.
Indeed, she is one of the few breaths of air in the whole picture.
There are certainly some suffocating scenes.
The opening shot is interminable.
Slight movements.
But eventually things get rolling.
Sorta.
Wiazemsky is splashed with blood as she is repeatedly choked by Volontè.
A bizarre scene.
Also part of this amalgam was Daniel Cohn-Bendit.
I thought I was seeing Mozambique.
It colored everything I was watching.
I was looking out for poisonous snakes.
Godard would eventually make it to Mozambique…later in the 1970s…but I was merely confused.
I mean, here’s a film that until recently was available only as a Japanese DVD (with no English subtitles).
That is the version I watched.
I hear there is another release of this film recently with other of the Dziga Vertov work, but I am happy enough (for the time being) to have seen it as a Frenchman might have in 1970.
My French was tested.
Allors…
This is a rather experimental film.
Perhaps it is no great masterpiece.
But it teaches that we can go backwards or forwards through time by way of cinema.
Forwards with imagination, and backwards in reality.
We were already beyond this point, and yet we have been blessed to return.
To get one step closer.
To close a loop.
Solve a riddle.
Replace a missing stone.
It was a lot of work seeing this film.
That is love.
-PD
True Grit [1969)
To get through life, you need grit.
Toughness.
I know of no tougher people than my parents.
And they have been an infinite inspiration to me.
So it is a pleasure to review what is one of my dad’s favorite films.
He always told me to watch this, but I guess I had some subliminal aversion to Westerns.
Well, dear friends, this here is a masterpiece.
I haven’t written much about Westerns (aside from the three Clint Eastwood spaghetti Westerns I reviewed long ago).
I know the genre is not everyone’s cup of tea.
Jean-Luc Godard commented once that his soulmate Anne-Marie Miéville really couldn’t stand this genre, whereas Monsieur Godard has been open about his admiration for John Ford and other directors of the American Western.
But here we have a film by Henry Hathaway.
Sure, John Wayne is in the movie (big league!), but it was Hathaway behind the camera ostensibly calling the shots.
You might know Hathaway from the film noir Call Northside 777.
Or perhaps The Desert Fox: The Story of Rommel (starring the inimitable James Mason).
But he also directed Rawhide and The Sons of Katie Elder (another flick starring The Duke).
But let’s bring out the big gun.
John Wayne was born Marion (!) Robert Morrison in Winterset, Iowa.
That’s right. Not Texas. Not Oklahoma.
Iowa.
So how did John Wayne become such a badass?
Much of it might be attributable to his attention to detail.
And just what (or who) was he paying attention to?
Wyatt Earp.
That’s right.
Deputy sheriff of Tombstone, Arizona.
But let’s get on to this fantastic film, shall we?
The real surprise is Kim Darby.
Sure, Glen Campbell is great here, but Darby is sensational!
And though this might be thought of as Kim Darby’s only significant film role of her career, it is timeless.
She knocked it out of the park as Mattie Ross.
All our actors are gritty, but the real toss-up is between Kim Darby (who was 22 at the time) and John Wayne (who was 62).
Toughness is the theme of the movie.
He or she who is toughest will overcome.
Sure, some obstacles are insurmountable.
But GRIT will get you through some harrowing situations.
It’s almost funny when a film (like this one) includes minor roles for the likes of Dennis Hopper and Robert Duvall. Duvall’s role is a bit more substantial, but the main focus is on the troika of Campbell, Darby, and Wayne (particularly the latter two).
Fans of the recent film Sicario will notice precursors to “rough justice” present all throughout True Grit.
But director Hathaway manages to make a G-rated film.
For that and other reasons, I am recommending this as a family film (though it may be unsuitable for particularly young ones).
The narrative device which keeps the film “all ages” is that Mattie is supposed to be 14 years old (though, as stated, Kim Darby [Mattie] was actually 22).
The action of our film centers around Fort Smith, Arkansas (at first) and later in the “Indian Territory” around McAlester, Oklahoma.
The film features prominently a Colt Model 1848 Percussion Army Revolver a.k.a. Colt Dragoon Revolver (.44 caliber).
Firearms aside, John Wayne is magnificent in the denouement when he takes on four armed horsemen.
That said, a Sharps rifle comes in particular handy for Wayne in a near-death imbroglio.
Glen Campbell’s greatest moment is just getting on the horse and setting the beast in motion.
It is this scene in which Campbell proves himself to be just as gritty as Darby and Wayne.
But the film is not over yet.
And we see John Wayne take action: as a leader!
Doing what needs to be done!
But the scene which brought tears to my eyes was when John Wayne bet on the toughness of Kim Darby.
And that is the message.
What great encouragement it is when people have faith in us!
When they say, “I know you can do it!”
We may not believe it ourselves, but their faith lifts us up.
We think, “Maybe they know something I don’t.”
When we’re at our lowest point.
Those who stand beside us with compassion are displaying that priceless characteristic of true grit.
The very end of the film is quite touching as well.
We see an actor 40 years younger than her leading man offer a hand of friendship with an act of love.
It’s not even romantic.
It’s just classy.
Humane.
In truth, very poetic.
I wholeheartedly recommend this film for all doubters of John Wayne and the Western genre in general.
Yee-Haw!
-PD
J. Edgar [2011)
“I read the news today, oh boy…”
Ever since John Lennon sang those words on Sgt. Pepper‘s (and likely long before that) the news has had the power to depress us.
The power to shock.
The power to put our day into a tailspin.
But can we avoid the news?
And, perhaps more importantly, what is news?
As for avoidance.
Sometimes it is recommended.
To unplug. To disconnect.
We all hit our saturation points concerning the dissemination of details.
Just what is deemed newsworthy accounts for much of our discomfort in keeping ourselves abreast.
Even as private citizens.
We want to know the goings-on of the world.
Out of a sense of self-preservation. To protect our families.
To be prepared. Informed. Able to make better decisions (we hope).
Today I made the mistake of digging a little deeper than recently.
And I came across several pieces on the ongoing pizzagate controversy.
I must start by saying that I have not followed this story much since the election.
Indeed, if the allegations are true, it is unfathomably revolting.
But there comes a time when waffling has its benefits.
I will just say that I don’t know what the truth is concerning pizzagate.
I’ve seen the pictures. I’ve read the names. I’ve connected the dots.
And now the ball is (back) in the FBI’s court.
[And perhaps that of the NYPD as well]
But it is germane to discuss a parallel matter which bears upon pizzagate.
And that is the coup which Dr. Steve Pieczenik described as having been undertaken by Hillary Clinton and her cabal around the first of November.
Just what was this coup?
Dr. Pieczenik was scant on details.
But perhaps it was the absolving statement of FBI Director James Comey.
And, if we give Mr. Comey the benefit of the doubt (which I’m not sure he deserves), then we might assume that the Clinton coup was largely activated from within the Department of Justice. In essence, Comey’s boss (Loretta Lynch) could very well have compelled the Director to issue that statement at that particular time.
That would, in some ways, be a significant manifestation of a coup in progress.
Contrary to this was the countercoup of which Dr. Pieczenik spoke.
As I have written previously, this countercoup appears to have been initiated by other branches of the U.S. government (particularly the 16 intelligence agencies). Dr. Pieczenik seemed to intimate that it was military intelligence in particular which was taking a lead on countering Clinton’s attempted coup.
Beyond these details (and they are vague), I know not much.
But we should return to pizzagate.
We should consider it as a phenomenon which might have several explanations.
Putting all our cards on the table, it is not out of the question that pizzagate was in itself the countercoup.
Which is not to say the allegations are false.
Indeed, it appears that the instigators of the countercoup were working closely with WikiLeaks to prevent Hillary Clinton from stealing an election by leveraging the Department of Justice (and other parts of the executive branch) improperly.
But there is a further possibility.
And I will pose it as a question.
Have we been the targets of a very sophisticated psychological operation?
And even muddier…did this operation save our country?
Investigating a child kidnapping Satanic ritualistic murder pedophile ring is certainly the purview of federal authorities.
The FBI.
But how much has the FBI been compromised?
Any American with at least two brain cells to rub together lost immense confidence in the Bureau in the years following 9/11.
And so history keeps repeating itself.
Sham investigations. Issues too big to cover.
JFK. 9/11. A litany forwards and backwards.
But I am beating around the bush.
I want to apologize if I have been less-than-stellar in citing my sources in the practice of my film criticism.
This is not an academic site.
I do not seek peer review.
But I do not lie.
I may jump to conclusions.
And yet, I would fancy myself a fairly astute observer.
Apologizing further, I do not seek to defame anyone.
That would be something too horrible to do (especially with the gravity of the pizzagate allegations).
But information will organically find its level as long as law enforcement is neutered by insiders.
Which brings us to a wonderful film by director Clint Eastwood.
This film covers just what we are talking about.
What is right. What is wrong.
What methods are appropriate. What methods are effective.
But at the heart of this controversial film (about a controversial personage) is the idea of serving one’s country.
However, we encounter much here which could fall into the “noble lie” category.
All of that aside, the idea of government service is put in its proper light.
A dirty game, sometimes. But a noble pursuit.
And so this is less a review of the film J. Edgar and more a letter of THANK YOU to the men and women of the FBI.
Thank you for taking upon yourselves the stress of seeing unspeakable atrocities.
Thank you for taking upon yourselves the stress of following every lead.
But we thank you one further:
thank you for remaining humans.
You know the right thing to do.
Do the right thing.
And we will too.
From the depths of our hearts,
we salute you.
A bit late for all your thankless tasks gone by.
And in advance of your excellence…your leading by example…your adherence to the highest ethics…which we know will be evident in your future work.
-PD
Il buono, il brutto, il cattivo [1966)
This movie’s reputation does not precede it in one key sense. Namely, this is a bizarre film. Of all the far out stuff I watch it therefore takes something special for me to proclaim such. Maybe, if we are well-informed, we expect weird when we sit down to view Holy Mountain. With The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly we probably just expect another Spaghetti Western.
Not only does the film under review perhaps epitomize the genre, but it also sets itself apart with a story which must be seen to be truly appreciated. I will, of course, try to avoid spoiling the drama by giving away too much.
It will suffice to discuss a few general points. Why do I say this film is bizarre? We can start with the title(s). If we translate directly, we would get The Good, The Ugly, The Bad. Not quite an arresting turn-of-phrase. Therefore, we ponder the usual translation: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
There are several important concepts wrapped up in this title alone. First, the direct translation and the “axiomatic” translation (respectively) transpose the word order. If we were thoughtless, we would ignore this minor detail. But since this film relies so heavily on a strange (subversion of?) moralizing, we cannot pass over even this aspect.
The literal translation would (literally) have us place “ugly” somewhere between good and bad (or good and evil if we are feeling particularly Nietzschean).
For those of us who root for the underdog (myself included), we might start off rooting for “ugly” (or “the ugly one”).
In the axiomatic translation, “ugly” is an afterthought (so to speak). It is last in order.
I’m not sure if the Sermon on the Mount was in the back of the minds of the producers of the film (wow…), but we wonder whether the first will be last and the last will be first.
One thing is certain: the greyscale of life is fully on display in this Technicolor teaching piece. What is weird (bizarre) is the lesson being taught. It is horribly (gloriously?) muddied.
The good is not good. The ugly is also bad (above and beyond ugly). The bad is, well, bad…
But if bad is only bad in relation to good (Hegel?), then the bad isn’t so bad…
In other words, it doesn’t take a whole hell of a lot to be good in this world.
And so…presented with this trio of characters, we are unsure who will “win”…indeed, has anyone really excelled in their typecast?
I should mention that, in my opinion, ugly is not so ugly. All three of these mugs are a little rough around the edges.
In fact, the first face we see in the movie is the one we might assume to be Ugly. He is not. The real Ugly is merely not-traditionally-handsome (I suppose). We should also consider the mannerist interpretation: an ugly manner vs. a refined sensibility. It could be argued that Bad (here) is much more refined (though he tortures Ugly…literally). Ah, but NOT literally. Rather, he has someone do it for him. Now, isn’t that the height of refinement???
I will give away one thing. Good is really Good at least once in this film. A dying soldier…bleeding to death…and Good gives him his coat. But not only that. No. Good gives him a few puffs on a cigar (which, as it turns out, helps him transition more peacefully to the next world). It is the most touching moment of the film. To be sure, this is not a Hallmark movie. It’s a rough, win-at-all-costs affair. A bit like real life.
And who is the real STAR of this film? As fate would have it, the most interesting and entertaining character is Ugly (Eli Wallach). Eastwood is great as always. Lee Van Cleef is great. But Wallach is beyond great! He’s disgusting. He’s hilarious. He’s endearing. He’s vicious. He’s cruel. He’s greedy. He’s human.
Sergio Leone once again outdid himself. Greed may have never been portrayed in all of its dizzying rush better than when Wallach goes sprinting with joy and anticipation in search of a grave (a long story…). Morricone’s music is at least another order of magnitude better here than in his previous collaboration with Leone and Eastwood.
This is a damn good film. Happy viewing!
-PD
Per qualche dollaro in piu [1965)
My oh my. How time does fly.
If you don’t write, you lose your touch.
And anyway, we lose our nerve.
Nerve. This film is all about nerve.
This was the second collaboration between Sergio Leone and Clint Eastwood.
This time, another strong element was added: Lee Van Cleef.
The name may not sound familiar, but if you see this film you will never forget this iconic actor.
In truth, this picture is very similar to the first Leone/Eastwood collaboration.
Most of the novelty here can be found in the director having a third variable (Van Cleef) with which to work.
Gian Maria Volonté is back, but he’s not the same villain he was last time. He is and he isn’t.
Same for Eastwood. The same, but different.
Leone, though, had grown as a filmmaker. Maybe not by leaps and bounds, but there are flashes of brilliance which catch the desert sun differently here than in A Fistful of Dollars.
And why do I insist on the Italian title? Because this really is a sophisticated Western.
In other words, it is foreign to the mainstream of English language movies.
Though the genre is American, the craft is distinctly European.
Klaus Kinski has a relatively minor role in this film as a hunchback.
Really, I would advise starting with A Fistful of Dollars and then moving on to this film.
This one is really for those who couldn’t get enough the first time around.
I count myself among those.
In other words, this film does not necessarily “stand alone” very well unless you have the experience of A Fistful of Dollars under your belt.
I should really mention Ennio Morricone. He is, without doubt, one of the greatest film composers to ever live. Witness, for instance, his deft compositional touch as he weaves the film score around the sound of a musical pocket watch which is chiming during a tense standoff. There is a real magic–a synergy between Morricone and Leone.
Though I could dissect this movie as a precursor to the Reaper vs. Predator drones, I’ll leave that for another time. Though I could let the title, For a Few Dollars More, lead me into a diatribe about the Greek debt crisis and the venal German/IMF response, I shall leave that for other political film critics reviewing Spaghetti Westerns this week.
What we have here is a movie. I’m tired. I don’t want a war.
-PD
Per un pugno di dollari [1964)
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
And so we place into a single room
the greatest writer of all time
and a schmuck with a sword.
The writer has his pen…for self-defense.
But we feel the Yojimbo trappings are too antiquated (1961)
so we give the bard a typewriter…no, a laptop
and the schmuck…a gun.
Who will draw first?
For speed, it is the gun which wins (assuming the schmuck knows how to fire it).
It is a big assumption.
So, let us add some lag time…
as the schmuck experiments with the mechanics of his weapon.
And then we stop the test and replace the schmuck with a professional assassin.
By now the poet is sweating blood.
Will he hit “send” in time?
Ah, but now we have overshot the mark with our rhetoric.
So let us back up to the computing of the 1960s.
Computation #1: Westerns are no longer in vogue. American Westerns are the subject of ridicule in Italy. Laughable.
Enter Sergio Leone into the equation.
A smart guy. Sees a gap in the market. How would Rossellini direct a Western? Or Fellini?
Do they make revolvers that hold 8 1/2 bullets?
And who gets the half-a-bullet?
I had intended to talk about Guantanamo Bay. Moral disgust.
But the sands of time in the Tabernas Desert are pouring away…a steady stream of grains.
And so the faceoff makes imperative that I get the most bang for my click.
Eastwood. Leone. Savio. Savio? Morricone. Ah, that’s better.
Gian Maria Volonté (the bad guy) would go on to play in the first (and one would assume only) Marxist Western. A subgenre which never really caught on. The film Vent d’est (1970)–director Godard–filming location Mozambique.
Sounds too weird to be true, right? Just don’t be fooled by Robert Enrico’s Vent d’est from 1993.
Just because a film is Franco-Swiss (like Godard, Franco-Swiss)…uh-uh, not the same thing.
But the assassin schmuck is getting the lay of the land. I digress, I die.
I am not the worst writer to ever live. Give me time. I may yet claim that title.
We cannot, however, forget Marianne Koch. So long…
Never forget a woman from Munich. The beautiful Renate Knaup, for instance.
A double umlaut for your trouble. Amon Düül II. Zwei.
But time is unkind to me…merciless.
Will we reach José Calvo in time? With our heart of iron?
Well hello Joe, what do you know? The “Man with No Name” and Une Femme est une femme.
I’ve hardly talked about the film. That’s what some call “no spoilers”…
But I can make no such guarantee.
Only brilliance. Leone. Eastwood. As good a Western as could possibly be made.
A triumph.
If you feel your heart in your throat…your tears well up
then maybe you think of Guantanamo Bay.
Inmates list.
One by one.
No charges.
No charges.
Suicide.
No charges.
Certainly it would help to know that Abdul so-and-so knocked off an Army Ranger medic.
The medic part is no superfluous detail.
But the rest?
No charges.
No charges.
Held for three years.
No charges.
It seems, from the outside, that the war has been run by the CIA.
There are no armies to battle.
No high-value targets. I’m not the first to comment on the ludicrous situation of a $200,000 bomb being dropped on a mud hut.
Bad guys torture.
Idiots torture.
And so Clint Eastwood does not torture. Here. In 1964.
If you jump down the rabbit hole you will be disgusted.
How does this in any way have to do with a Spaghetti Western?
It is the message.
We might not have a hell of a lot of time.
Find the quote by the general…about the detainees at Guantanamo who arrived with mental problems and left with “none.”
That’s rich.
I also have a bridge to sell you in Arizona. And I’ll throw in the Seven Dwarfs as maintenance crew.
You see, it’s a hell of a lot easier to just write a film review and not worry about all this stuff.
That’s what happens in totalitarian countries.
Hang on, someone’s knocking at my door…
-PD
Pravda [1969)
There are few things more difficult. More difficult. Than divining the truth as it is happening.
Happening? The truth happens. Or is.
We don’t know. Prague Spring. PRAHA.
Did you know that Ceaușescu condemned the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia? Really.
Fascinating. We hear that name and we think bad guy. Maybe. We do.
Youthful errors. I can only affirm the brilliance of this film in absence of French comprehension.
In absence of Italian comprehension.
In absence of Czech comprehension.
In absence of Marxist comprehension.
You will notice the monolithic structures as a Western capitalist on the outside looking in.
On the inside perhaps some saw provisions for all.
Heat in winter. Food on the table. Poverty squelched or shared.
Socialism.
It explains why this film is barely in print. You must remember how radical the Dziga-Vertov Group was.
You either find it brave or you find it disgusting…like the Aden Arabie cell from La Chinoise. Juliet Berto chanting
Revisionist!
Revisionist!
Revisionist!
…as if brainwashed.
Skoda. Now owned by Volkswagen. How ironic?
Skoda. Founded by two Vaclavs.
There is a 20-year gap in Skoda’s history on Wikipedia. Škoda Auto. My guess is we can thank Volkswagen for “cleaning up” the history a bit. They cleaned a little too well. Now there’s a hole. And it’s noticeable.
Two shirtless fat men. Two Vaclavs? I have no idea. But these gents make it all worthwhile…shoveling dirt in front of a post office. One of the two so impressively hirsute (back and front) as to have a pseudo-shirt.
Socialism was a belief in something. The U.S. lost the Vietnam war. Little debating that. And now Vietnam is socialist (at least in name). Did the globe stop spinning? Of course not.
These are not brave details. I have been much more bold before.
Yet reason.
She was so beautiful as to make us cry.
We stood no chance.
She never smiled.
Not like the first one..
To understand Marx. To understand European socialism. To understand Russia riddle enigma matryoshka. Through the lens of Dostoyevsky. Karamazov. Religion. Culture. Vast expanses of land…
I may be at the end of the world. It may be necessary for me to take a step back.
Mmmm…to be intoxicated by something so bizarre, so rare, so taboo, and so unknowable…for now.
It is why Alex Jones’ films fail. They are artless. Had he channeled Godard there would have been no stopping his cinema.
But the spectacle is where James Clapper, much to his own chagrin, realizes that “deceit deceives itself” (to quote Debord).
TPTB have never grasped the coded messages in Shostakovich. Stylometry can only undermine a Snowden email. If that.
Like Dylan I have no big answers.
You will be punished for thinking. That.
Thought crime.
Guillotine.
Guileless in Seattle.
We are getting closer to the truth. Dangerously close.
You will know knowledge hack. Coined term. Here. Like 4’33” Cage.
Life hack. Kryptos.
Somebody forgot to take their medicine.
We can joke.
Did Ezra Pound’s punishment befit his crime? His crime? [DHS] [[VHS]]
Kino Pravda.
Should keep several good intelligence analysts busy for a week.
Several petaflops of drivel occupied.
To not be fucked with.
Moloch in Bohemia.
Practically free.
Just keep the angles which predate Orson Welles. Dziga. Vertov.
The Académie française will never accept. Their loss.
Propaganda will always show blood dripping from fangs…even if blood is dripping from fangs.
We could make a deal. He says.
Petaflops.
Liquidated.
Rights reserved, wrongs reversed.
Elision says stylometry.
Experimental literature.
This is not a film review.
Think on your sins.
Gets to feeling like a powerful shit. Ripe for manipulation.
A lot of things can happen to dog shit.
Flash tits change world.
Sure, you know what’s going on…but you don’t REALLY know.
Two-way mirror of social media. Instant fame.
We’ve been trained to utter scumbag.
” ”
Twice. de Chirico.
Yep. Someone else has caught the scent. Freud cerebral. Marx visceral.
The angles converge. Méliès. Rampling, Charlotte. Trampoline.
I need a love to keep me happy. Keith Richards said that.
It is the most fertile field of Godard study.
This key-logging software is really slowing me down.
Doesn’t matter. We take the stairs.
AIPAC, Carole King, Black Maria?!?
Now you know the key. Of a different sort.
-PD
Sudden Impact [1983)
This is not a popular time to have sympathy for cops. That’s too bad.
This is not a popular time to have sympathy for the FBI. That’s unfortunate.
Not a popular time to champion the CIA. Pity that.
No love for the NSA. Shame…
We get one version of events. So much so that we chase after an alternative version. Which is credible?
Police have a very sacred trust. Once upon a time it was phrased as “to protect and serve.”
Abuse of power disgusts us. The pendulum swings to the other end.
Jingoism breeds contempt.
détournement
There are several wars on in the world. The U.S. is involved widely.
It’s not a popular time to say something kind about the military. Bummer.
What is at issue in all of these parallel phrases? Justice and compassion.
Efficacy. Human rights.
Right and left. Conservative and liberal. Even the widely disparaged neoconservative movement.
I have been quick to find fault with the so-called neocons. But there is an interesting fundamental point about them that perhaps few know: they used to be liberals.
I am reminded of Realpolitik. Kissinger.
The tendency creeps in to apologize for the shameless.
An apologist, after all, works in myriad ways.
It is good that all of these thoughts come to the surface upon viewing what many “serious” film critics would consider to be sub-par pulp.
Let me start (continue) by saying that Sudden Impact is a brilliant film.
There are moments when the balance between directing and starring (acting) seem to be too much for Eastwood, but those few moments are mostly on the front end of this picture.
Though it be, perhaps, sacrilege to suggest such, this is probably the best Dirty Harry movie.
The reason is directly attributable to Eastwood’s auteurish guidance.
Though the setting of San Paulo somewhat mirrors Bodega Bay from Hitchcock’s The Birds, it is mostly the same director’s Vertigo which provides a wellspring from which Eastwood draws liberally for the symbol-laden mood of this affair.
Sondra Locke is formidable as the Kim Novak character. Though Callahan himself never succumbs to catatonia, Locke’s sister in the film does. It reminds us of Jimmy Stewart’s incapacitation after seeing Madeleine “die” the first time (again with the Vertigo references). Of particular note is the camera work which follows Locke’s first killing in Sudden Impact. The circular, woozy pattern makes us think of Novak’s plunge into San Francisco Bay.
And that’s just it: Eastwood had the balls and brains to drag Hitchcock into the Dirty Harry series (itself set in San Francisco).
What this film achieves is imparting humility to armchair DCIs (like myself) who think we have it all figured out. Sometimes distance is good…for planning. Sometimes you need to hear a few bullets buzz past your ears to realize that a hot war is on. It’s not always easy to know who’s shooting…and from where.
There are multiple fronts. I often ponder my own mental weakness. Ultimately, no one has died in vain. The challenge is for us as a nation and a world to get better…quickly. It ends up sounding meaningless, but it’s about all one can say about this spinning globe of chaos on which we live.
-PD
paulydeathwish 