I don't really have a favorite genre of film. When I describe what kind of film I like, I generally tell people, "I like them either really smart, or really dumb." But, I do have to admit that very few movies can grab my attention like a really smart horror film. The problem being that this is an incredibly rare breed.
Alien is a part of that breed. Ridley Scott directed Alien in 1979 and made many stylistic choices atypical of your usual science fiction and horror film to push it a cut above the standard B-movie fare this could easily have become.
First, we have the alien itself. Its not some random creature which happens to attack our crew. Over the course of the movie we get to see it in great detail, while not actually "seeing" it for a large chunk of time in the film. We know about its biology, its life cycle, its temperament. We know that we essentially have an ultra-adaptable parasite with a temperament free of anything even remotely resembling a conscience. We don't see the final stage of the alien itself in all its glory for a long ways into the movie. This is a tried and true horror method of building up fear and suspense, but by the time we do finally see it, we are all the more terrified of it knowing where it came from, what it can do to us, and how it grows and develops.
Secondly, we have the crew itself. This isn't a group of gung-ho space army types, or prisoners or any of the long list of your usual bad ass heroes in heroines found in science fiction. These are essentially "truckers in space." We know these people. We talk with them and work with them every day. They argue about pay shares. They complain when asked to anything outside of what is specifically in their contract. They have a certain cameraderie while remembering that at the end of the day they have to look out for number one. And, when the crisis hits, they aren't action heroes who immediately know what to do. They fumble, they panic, but unlike typical horror panic, they still buckle down and do what it is they have to without completely freaking out.
One particularly brilliant choice made about our crew, is that there is no one stand-out hero. Everyone knows today, of course, that that position falls to Ripley. But, watching the film for the first time you have no idea that that would ultimately be the case. The more obvious choice at the start, in fact, would appear to be Dallas, or perhaps Ash. This is truly an ensemble, an ensemble you begin to like and appreciate each for their own separate qualities, and that is what makes it all the more horrific when each member of this ensemble is taken down one by one.
I saw somewhere that Ridley Scott had his actors ad-lib quite a few of the scenes, in particular the scene around the dinner table right after the captain is killed. I used to think that these scenes were examples of incredible acting, but now I know that they are examples of great directing. The actors don't know what they are going to say next, whose turn it is to speak. This makes the sense of real horror all the more real as the cast itself is fighting for screen time while also trying to make the conversation seem natural. It doesn't end up looking entirely natural, but it certainly does look like a group of people panicking and unsure what to do next.
Alien is not a completely original film. All the tricks pulled have been done before. But rarely have they all been used in one film, and never before or since had they been better done. Its truly a smart horror film that can evoke empathy, terror, and suspense without resorting to cheap tricks (too often, anyway) and stupid throw away characters and scenes. Alien does exactly that, and that's what makes it the best horror film of all time.
"Whenever he says *anything* you say "right," Brett, you know that?" "Right." "Parker, what do you think? Your staff just follows you around and says "right". Just like a regular parrot." "[laughs] Yeah, shape up. What are you some kind of parrot?" "Right."
After the success of the Poseiden Adventure and The Towering Inferno, the 1970s brought us a slew of overly melodramatic disaster pictures, each one more ridiculous than the last. In 1980, there came a movie which would more or less put an end to all that crap.
Airplane! was the brainchild of Jim Abrahams and David Zucker, founding members of the Kentucky Fried Theater. This was their second film, and it was to be a film that would change the way comedies were made, for better or for worse.
I won't go into great detail about the plot of the film, since the plot is largely unimportant, and if you haven't seen the film, yet, then I have no idea why the heck you're reading a blog devoted primarily to film in the first place. What this film did first, did best, and which many imitators haven't quite able to capture (excepting perhaps Zucker & Abraham's third film - The Naked Gun) is perfectly mix satire with a never ending onslaught of sight gags, puns, double entendres, and literal humor.
The brilliance of this film is the fact that it never lets up for even a moment. The jokes come at a furious pace and often many at a time, its a film that almost demands several rewatches to catch all the gags that are thrown at you. Often, if you pay attention to what's happening in the foreground, you'll be missing the joke the film makers are throwing at you in the background.
What the many imitators of Airplane! have missed, however, is that its not just a movie about sight gags, fart jokes, and overly literal speeches, its also a satire of a genre that hits right on the mark. The comedy works because the actors play everything so seriously. As ridiculous plot twist after plot twist, the actors never crack a smile, they never wink at you to say this is all just a joke. No, Shirley, this is serious.
Its easy to make someone think or cry, to make someone laugh, however is such a subjective thing to do that its nearly impossible to make a comedy which appeals to everyone. This film very nearly accomplishes that incredible feat, and invents an entirely new subgenre of comedy in the process. While I don't think this is the greatest comedy of all time, it is perhaps the most ostentatious, the most accessible, and has the most constant laugh per second ratio of any film ever made. That's what gives it a spot as one of the greats.
"My orders came through. My squadron ships out tomorrow. We're bombing the storage depots at Daiquiri at 1800 hours. We're coming in from the north, below their radar." "When will you be back?" "I can't tell you that. It's classified."
When I first saw After Hours I was in high school. It had been recommended to me by a friend of mine, and I remember after viewing the end and shutting off the VCR and the TV that I wasn't sure exactly what I had just seen, but that it had been something special.
I watched it many more times after that, and appreciated it more and more with each viewing. The absurdism, the dark comedy, the claustrophobia, and the cast of insane characters all appealed to me more and more. I didn't know at the time exactly who Martin Scorsese was, though I knew the name, and now as I have grown older and turned into a film afficianado, now that I know that Scorsese is the director who made Raging Bull, Gangs of New York, Taxi Driver, and Goodfellas, many would probably find it odd that I pick this film - one of his two attempts at comedy - as his masterpiece.
Scorsese is known for his films about New York. All his films, in fact, are in one way or another about his relationship with the city of New York. After Hours is a film about a man just trying to make his way home after a bad meet-up with a woman he ran into in a coffee shop. On the way to meet her, all his money (a $20 bill) flies out the window of the taxi cab, and after it turns out his date is a psychotic and he runs away as fast as he can, his night turns into a Dark Comedy of Errors as he just tries to get back home. By the end of the evening he is being hunted down by an angry ex-boyfriend, a cab driver, 3 jilted women, and a vigilante mob which thinks he is responsible for robberies occurring in the neighborhood.
The way the film is shot gives a true feeling of claustrophobia even when Paul (our "hero") is on the streets. Dive bars, lofts, punk clubs, and small diners are the major set pieces used, but even when the scene turns to a wide open street corner or the dance floor of a club the angles and zooms make it seem as if the world is closing in on Paul. He wants to get home, he wants to run, but with every step he just becomes more and more trapped.
How did I know, even as long ago as high school, that I would relate so well to Paul's plight? The man is not a saint, not by a long shot, but he does nothing to deserve the treatment he gets in this film. He makes mistakes, that's for sure, but every mistake doesn't just set him back, it ruins him. The most minor of slips ends up becoming an insurmountable obstacle. His money flies out the window of the cab? The same cab driver shows up later to take all his money from him when he finally gets his hands on some. He meets a bartender who is willing to do him an act of charity in return for going to check on the bartender's apartment? He is hunted by a vigilante mob who assumes he must be a burglar since they don't recognize him coming out of the bartender's apartment. He leaves a girl on a date who turns out to be a raving lunatic when she seemed nice enough at their first meeting? The girl kills herself, and this girl just happens to be the girlfriend of the bartender who offered him charity. And so on.
I feel like this most of the time. It seems every good deed I do, if not ignored entirely, actually comes back to bite me, while my mistakes come back and bite me far harder than it seems they should in a reasonable world. In one scene, one of the few scenes where the claustrophobic camera pulls back from our hero, we see Paul screaming to God in the sky, "What do you want from me?!" To this, I can very much relate.
Even in high school, it seemed as if some part of me must have known that my life was destined to be taken up by late nights, insane women, and harsh punishment for every little misstep, and often even for acts of kindness. Paul. I feel your pain. But, in addition to that, you're able to make me look at my own life and laugh. Its just one person in an insane world. Even when that person is myself, I can look at Paul and see that taking things too seriously will only make it worse.
And for that, Paul, and Mister Scorsese, I thank you.
Paul: (after witnessing a murder through a window) "I'll probably get blamed for that."
In 2003 Roger Ebert published a book called simply, The Great Movies. I admire Ebert quite a bit. Not because I agree with him on everything he says, far from it, but because he is a witty writer who is excellent at getting across his points. I've been reading this book again lately, and its inspired me to start my own list of "Great Movies." First, though, I have to define exactly what a great movie is. Its not just one I enjoy. I love Buckaroo Banzai, and I would put Runaway Train as one of my top 5 movies of all time, but neither of those will likely make this list. No, a "Great Movie" has to be one that inspired me in some way. Something that made me see the world in a different light, or one that opened my eyes to a subject in a way I never thought before, or perhaps inspired a bit of writing.
So, I will start using Ebert's list as a jumping off point, then fill in the blanks with my own films, and looking at his list, mine will be quite, quite different.
The films we will share on our lists: All About Eve Apocalypse Now Casablanca Chinatown Citizen Kane Do the Right Thing Double Indemnity Dr. Strangelove Fargo Hoop Dreams The Lady Eve M The Maltese Falcon McCabe and Mrs. Miller Network The Seven Samurai The Shawshank Redemption Star Wars Vertigo The Wild Bunch
So, we agree on 20 out of 100. A good start. Now to begin my own list.
After Hours Airplane! Alien All the King's Men Back to the Future Barton Fink Blade Runner Blazing Saddles Brazil A Clockwork Orange Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Ghostbusters Jaws The Life of Brian The Lord of the Rings (the trilogy as one entry) The Manchurian Candidate Once Upon a Time in America Once Upon a Time in the West Princess Mononoke Raiders of the Lost Ark Ran Rear Window Reservoir Dogs Robocop Sullivan's Travels The Terminator This is Spinal Tap Unforgiven Young Frankenstein
And, that makes a good start with 50 films to write about. Yes, that is my project for the next few months. I am going to write about my own great movies, and probably make some commentary on why a few standards have been left off of my own list, as well as commentary on movies I really truly love, but just can't call great for some reason or another. Let's start with one of those.
Honorable mention but just didn't cut the mustard.
Runaway Train
When asked what my favorite films of all time are, I always list this one. Often, I'll say it is my favorite. I love the themes it explores, I love the dialogue, the characters, the intensity, there really is nothing shoddy about this film. My contention with calling it one of the greats, however, is that while everything about it is great, there is very little that is new or inspiring. Its exploration of faith has been done before, and when more focused has been done better. There is nary a bad performance in the film, but only Voight's is truly stand-out, and while the script works as I don't think the writer intended the dialogue to be realistic it also does tend to get preachy and hammy.
Why do I list it as a personal favorite, then? I just love this film. I like hamminess, the issue of faith has always been a very personal one to me and I love the way the movie looks at it in all its aspects whether it be faith in God, in man, in technology, or in one's self. Its intense, it isn't pat, it isn't an easy film to watch and decipher. But, it also isn't for everyone, and I recognize that.
That's enough said about a film that didn't quite cut the mustard. Next time we start in with After Hours, a film I'm sure will raise quite a few eyebrows as to appearing on this list.
