Five favorite things about Telluride '07

Telluride 34 is over, and here are some preliminary thoughts, plus my five favorite things.

+ Perspeolis. A lovely, funny animated movie about growing up and out of Shah-controlled Iran.

+ The movie I did not see that got tremendous buzz: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, starring Mathieu Almaric and Max von Sydow.

+ People on Sunday, in 1929 one of the peaks of silent cinema, was conceived and filmed by the young quartet of Robert Siodmak, Billy Wilder, Fred Zinnemann and Edgar Ulmer with non-actors playing themselves. Accompanied live by the Mont Alto Orchestra, seeing this was a rare privilege.

+ Rails and Ties is the worst movie I've seen in a long time, and its inclusion tarnishes the reputation of Telluride. It's a manipulative cancer soap opera perpetrated by inept screenwriter Micky Levy and Clint Eastwood's director daughter, who have kidnapped Kevin Bacon and Marcia Gay Harden and thurst them into the ugliest roles of their careers. There are no words. Well, maybe four: don't see this movie.

And now for the top five:

5. Cate Blanchett in I'm Not There. Audiences swung from praise to indifference to condemnation of Haynes' opus, but everyone agreed on one thing: Blanchett is a sensation. She looks the part of Bob Dylan, but physicality only goes so far. She's burning from the inside out here, and I couldn't take my eyes of the flames.

4. Encounters at the End of the World. Watch the absurd quest of Aguirre or Fitzcarraldo and then watch the "absurd" quests of the people Herzog follows around Antarctica. The quotation marks are significant. They represent the hopefulness (I dare not say mellowing) of Werner Herzog. In Encounters, he explores our motives for studying the inhospitable environment of the South Pole and, therefore, our motives for seeking adventure and knowledge and for struggling to place ourselves in and transcend our Earth. This is Herzog's most accessible movie -- so accessible it will play on basic cable (the Discovery Channel) -- but that does not diminish its value.

3. The Band's Visit. Eight members of an Egyptian police orchestra end up in a remote Israeli village on the way to a gig. What results is a wonderfully controlled concerto of deadpan humor and reveling in the slight or deep connections between people of different nationalities and similar lonelinesses. This is a very funny movie -- the TFF program accurately compares its minimalist humor to Tati and Jarmusch -- that turns beautiful and a little profound at the end.

2. Juno. This movie deserves the success hijacked by Little Miss Sunshine last year, yet make no mistake: Juno gets nowhere near LMS's forced quirkness despite being the most original, snappily written high school romantic comedy in forever. Sixteen-year-old Juno (Ellen Page, alchemizing the best traits of Janeane Garofalo and Christina Ricci) gets pregnant by Michael Cera (who else?) and decides to have the baby and let it be adopted by a nicely manicured couple (Jason Bateman and a revelatory Jennifer Garner), all under the weary and bemused eyes of her brusque father (J.K. Simmons, in a role that finally allows him to show his talents) and perpetually turtlenecked stepmom (Allison Janney, that delight of delights). The best thing about Juno -- other than its energizing pace and sardonically eloquent dialogue by rookie writer Diablo Cody -- is that its characters sidestep every cliche without making a stink about it; Juno isn't just a smartass, the adoptive mother of her child isn't just a hypertense Home-and-Garden creep and Juno's stepmom isn't just a prickly interloper. These characters are complex and they are played with love.

"Who's ready to laugh?" asked director Jason Reitman when he introduced the movie. The audience applauded, the movie started, we all laughed and laughed (I'm saying a good hearty laugh at least once a minute), and at the end the audience erupted in cheers and whistles. Some people even stood. I saw 12 movies and five shorts and this is the only time there was a swelling, elated response from an audience.

There is nothing as exciting as a movie that starts breathing on its own. Know what I mean? When a movie is totally confidant, competently assembled and executed with verve and passion. Juno breathes on its own right away and never stops or hiccups. The laughs keep on coming, the cast is sterling and the movie, most importantly, has joy and heart -- not the cutesy Sundance-y joy and heart of LMS, or the insipid manufactured cultiness of The Movie That Dare Not Speak Its Name, but something far more edifying. I will cease with my praising. I don't want to set you up with too-high expectations. Let me simply revel in one of the great lines and moments in the movie: "In a couple years, when you move out, I'm gonna get Weimaraners."

1. Hal Holbrook in Into the Wild. Holbrook plays Ron Franz, an elderly retired military man who lost his wife and son in an auto accident 40 years prior to his meeting Chris McCandless, the foolish and passionate 23-year-old vagabond whom he picks up on the side of the road. Franz has compartmentalized himself in his quaint one-story house in the Southwest, venturing only as far as his garage, where he makes leather. His rendezvous with McCandless incites a verbal and tacit struggle between lust and restraint, adventure and reservation. Franz recognizes and reproaches the selfish and futile aspects of McCandless' quest, but he is at the same time liberated by this passionate young man who acts both as a son figure and as a motivator to not only live out one's days but to live them out in the extreme. The way Holbrook reacts to this sudden shakeup of his life is masterful and grounding. He enters the movie in its final 20 minutes and temporarilty elevates it to excellence, sidestepping the opportunity to play Franz as a goofy old coot or a stone-cold curmudgeon. What Holbrook accomplishes is very real, familiar and moving.

Telluride Day 1: I'm Not There is a chase movie

TELLURIDE, Colo. -- First impression, written furiously as mountain thunder crackles in the distance:

I'm Not There is a chase movie, and it plays like the lovechild of Cameron Crowe (the music worshipper) and David Lynch (master of splintering the psyche).

No one in the movie plays a character named Bob Dylan, but they all play physical and/or emotional representations of Dylan. Christian Bale plays a folk music hero, Heath Ledger plays the actor who plays the folk music hero in a film, Cate Blanchett plays a folk music hero who goes "electric" and alienates his fan base. Richard Gere plays Billy the Kid. Ben Whishaw plays a "poet" named Arthur Rimbaud who is under interrogation. The overly charismatic preteen Marcus Carl Franklin plays a boy named Woody Guthrie who's trainhopping away from a troubled childhood.

All these characters add up to the essence of Dylan as he changed over his career, and they are all running from something. In this way, I'm Not There is a chase movie. It's about men who are constantly trying to outrun fame, the media, conformity, themselves, their loves, the law and so on. They are trying to excuse themselves from their current reality. Look at the title.

Blanchett arrives late and owns the movie. She and Bale play the pre- and post-electric Dylan, but Blanchett is the axis on which the film spins. She is a joy to watch. She looks and acts like Dylan. There is little artifice. It is fascinating. Why did Todd Haynes want a woman in the part? I don't know. But it works as a ballsy experiment, and Blanchett proves she can pull off absolutely anything.

The movie jumps back and forth between narratives and time periods (think Velvet Goldmine) that are connected by music and images and feelings and tones. It's a pastiche, a four-dimensional quilt. It is a wildly ambitious, verbose, confusing movie with an epic goal: to understand a character, and his place within and without his generation, and then to subvert that understanding with more questions than answers. For better or worse, I'm Not There is a movie that needs to be studied. It has many apparent intricacies. If you want to compare it to bedding, it has a very high thread count. It glows with the same kind of thick, beautiful vagueness as Lynch's Mulholland Dr. does. We have the pieces of the puzzle and we have some idea of how to assemble them, but once we do we don't get a definitive picture. Rather, we're left with colors and patterns and moods and tones and suspicions. Can it be assembled in more way than one? Or should it just be appreciated in its parts?

The bottom line: Telluride reaction is mixed. As tired as I was, I didn't nod off -- even as it dragged laboriously and wrecklessly into its third hour. Haynes' sweat is very visible. The screenplay is a feat. There were moments of transcendence, though -- moments when I was utterly thankful for Haynes' vision and ambition. I need to see the movie again in order to understand if it truly extends beyond its experimental nature, but I can say this for sure: This is Haynes' magnum opus. And even if you hit the wall at minute 120, it's worth sticking with until the end, which features cinema's sweetest, slowest fade out ever.

Breaking news! Plus, Blanchett will win two Oscars in February

A psychology professor at UC-Davis has done statistical research that proves:

1. Movies based on prize-winning material and made by filmmakers of great pedigree are usually critical successes, and are likely to be nominated for Oscars.
2. Big-budget blockbusters with lots of special effects are usually critical failures, and are less likely to be nominated for Oscars.

"I had this hope that there was a difference between blockbusters and really great art films—films that can be considered great cinematic creations," said Dean Simonton, who presented his findings Friday at the annual meeting of the American Psychological Association in San Francisco. "It was gratifying to find out they're very, very different and you can find out what's different about them."

Wow. I...nevermind.

Also, Harvey Weinstein says of I'm Not There: “I may be jumping the gun, but if Cate Blanchett doesn’t get nominated, I’ll shoot myself.”

It's going to be a tricky awards year for Cate, who will no doubt blow our minds in both I'm Not There and Elizabeth: The Golden Age. It should be a stunning two-fer. In the first, she plays Bob Dylan. In the second, she plays history's most famous monarch, returning to the role for which she should've won the Oscar in 1998. So maybe 2008 is the year the same person wins both the leading actress and the supporting actress Oscar. How rad would that be? YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST.

The women of Indiana Jones

Indiana Jones pursues two things in his movies: an artifact and a woman. Two out of three times, he gets both. But just as the Ark is long forgotten by Temple of Doom, so is Karen Allen. And just as the jewels of the Temple of Doom vanish from Indy's radar by Last Crusade, so does Kate Capshaw. I like to think Indy puts his women in a museum, alongside the artifacts, and visits them from time to time to tap on the glass and wink.

So, for The Film Experience's Action Heroine Blogathon, I'm curating an exhibit on the women of Indiana Jones. It's easy to exclude them in the canon of action heroes because the trilogy does not belong to them. It's very much a masculine affair, though they share much of Indy's screentime. They accompany him on his adventures. They bed him. They smack him. They get taken hostage at inopportune times. They save Indy from certain death on multiple occasions. They get dirty, they kick bad guys, they scream about snakes with Indy, they hang from things and get knocked around.

I revisited each movie in the trilogy to ruminate on these women: to what extent are they heroes? To what extent do they use their womanhood to get the job done? Are they on equal footing with Indy, or are they just a pretty accessory? And how does the female role change throughout the trilogy, and what can we expect of Cate Blanchett, who is poised to inherit the mantle in Indiana Jones 4?

Without further ado, I give you the women of Indiana Jones. Please, don't tap on the glass.

Karen Allen
as Marion Ravenwood
in Raiders of the Lost Ark

Age at the time of release: 29
Character profile: A hard-drinking, foul-mouthed, freckled, brassy tomboy who knows how to manipulate men because they're always underestimating her.
We first see her as her hand reaches for a shot glass. She's engaged with a burly Nepalese man in a drinking contest, which she wins handily.
Feminine wiles: She punches Indy at 25:53. "I learned to hate you in the last 10 years," she tells him. She's in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. Masculine. She sucks down cigarettes and does not demur. She blows smoke in a Nazi's face. "Nobody tells me what to do in my place." She saves Indy twice (one time by killing a guy). "I don't need a nurse," Indy protests after a brawl. She dabs him with water, then kisses him where it hurts. He points to his lips. They lock. Her drinking ability serves her multiple times in the movie.
Feminine woes: He needs her, but he also seems to have ruined her life 10 years ago. She's not quite over that. She also plays the hostage several times, gets her skirt torn off to serve as a makeshift torch, and is ogled by a bad guy (and Spielberg's camera) as she disrobes. We get a look up her skirt as she hangs by a rope. She's always shouting "Indy!" and does a lot of screaming, especially when confronted by skeletons.
Denouement: She straddles the paramour/buddy fence right to the end of the movie. "They don't know what they've got there," Indy says. "But I know what I've got here," she replies, smitten, then tough: "C'mon I'll buy you a drink."
Gender study: Marion is more sidekick than love interest, though she does duty as both. There isn't much chemistry between Allen and Ford, so Marion seems very much her own woman and her own hero, despite the deference imposed on her by the film. Of our three women, she is the toughest and most steadfast. Reliable, canny, inventive. A snappy way to start off a trilogy.
Where would Marion be now? At an AA meeting. Or playing softball somewhere.

Kate Capshaw
as Wilhemina "Willie" Scott
in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom

Age at the time of release: 30
Character profile: A squealy, girly diva. The "famous American female vocalist." The anti-Marion.
We first see her 23 seconds in as she emerges from the mouth of a Chinese dragon, singing "Anything Goes." Soon, we'll all be wishing that the dragon would become real, swallow her back up, and digest her into oblivion. This is a markedly different entrance from Karen Allen's. It's drinking game versus Broadway melody.
Feminine wiles: She's good at being helpless/attractive. She's capable of seducing people.
Feminine woes: She meets Indy and he immediately takes her hostage. This is pretty standard: she's a pawn for most of the movie. She can't hold a gun. "I burnt my fingers and I cracked a nail!" she laments after one particular scrap. She's no good in tough situations like Marion was. "I hate the water and I hate being wet and I hate you!" she screams to Indy at one point. She won't drop her purse to get on an elephant. Her general incompetence draws stares from women of an Indian village. As she rides an elephant backward, she wails, "I'm a singer! Oh I need to call my agent. I hate being outside! I'm a singer!" Blah blah blah. Indy says, "The biggest trouble with her is the noise." Agreed. She is game to visit the maharaja only after she learns that he's loaded, but she faints theatrically when monkey's brains are brought out for dinner.
Denouement: They end up surrounded by the children of the village they helped -- virtual "parents" of a whole generation saved by old-fashioned adventuring and romancing. It's a tad biblical and a tad domestic. It's the weakest of the trilogy, both heroine-wise and movie-wise.
Gender study: "I'm allowing you to tag along so why don't you give your mouth a rest, okay, doll?" Indy says with clear disdain. Even Shortround calls her "doll," and instructs her to call Indy "Dr. Jones." Indy is clearly the man in charge and Willie is clearly the dame. Their first kiss comes at 48:15, and Willie tells him, "I could've been your greatest adventure." Really? Steven Spielberg wanted Allen reprised her role as Marion but he and George Lucas decided that every movie should include a different woman for Indy. They obviously wanted to go to the opposite end of the female spectrum here. The character of Willie and Capshaw's performance combine to make one big shrillfest, and it does nothing favorable for the action heroine archetype.
Where would Willie be now? In Vegas, opening for Cirque du Soleil.

Alison Doody
as Dr. Elsa Schneider
in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade

Age at the time of release: 22
Character profile: An exotic, cold, somewhat forbidding Aryan goddess with a brain that rivals her beauty.
We first see her at 25:46, standing in front of choppy Viennese port in the sunshine. Very Kim Novakish. Indy was expecting to be met by a male doctor. Instead, we have Elsa, golden-haired and Austrian-voiced. The flirting starts immediately ("You have your fathers eyes." "And my mother's ears. The rest belongs to you.")
Feminine wiles: She has the thrill of the hunt in her eyes, and is as hungry for treasure as Indy. At last a formidable foil? She's knowledgeable. A scholar. We get the first hint of her duplicity at minute 32, when she gives Indy the look a predator might give its prey -- a simple, subtle flare of the eyelids as she realizes he's going to do the dirty work for her by breaking down a wall in the catacombs...
Feminine woes: ...but she doesn't like rats, and womanly yelps abound before Indy picks her up like a sack of potatoes. At 36:19, she's trapped under a coffin with a bunch of squealing rodentia as Indy finds a way out. To boot: she's in a wet white blouse. And as you'll see, she gets a little hysterical as the film wears on, her psyche unraveling like yarn.
Gender studies: Elsa is, of course, a villainous Nazi (always an object of Indy's hate) in addition to being the woman of the movie (always an object of Indy's lust). At the height of an argument, Indy kisses her. She acts indignant. "I don't like fast women," he says. "And I hate arrogant men," she replies as she bites his ear. Neither, of course, is true. Later, she shows Indy how Austrians say goodbye: bye biting your lower lip. The attraction between the two is aggressive and animalistic -- the flip side of their everyday intellectual mentalities. There's serious chemistry between the two. It's perhaps the most convincing matchup of the trilogy, from a sexual standpoint. Maybe this is because they are really hero and villainess, not hero and heroine.

There is much to say about her. Elsa starts out as a very strong, conniving character, but by 1:08, she is crying at the bookburning. Why? Because she feels terrible about betraying Indy, or because she hates to see books burned? The answer's the key to her character. What do you think?

Other points in the movie are equally curious. At 1:41, in the grail cavern, she says to Indy, "I never expected to see you again." What an ambiguous reading. Was that restrained joy, or just fatigue? She's distraught again when the villain shoots Jones Sr. She's remorseful, shaking her head as if to say, "I'm not a part of this." Her elation is restrained when Indy gets through the Breath of God. She loves him. It's a nasty, rotten love, just like her love for the grail. At 1:55, she goes into her batshit-tantalized-hungry mode again. "It's ours Indy--yours and mine!" she squeals, holding the grail, but she screws up and crosses the seal. She chases the grail into the crevass. She wants both life and Indy and eternal life. Her lips are blood-red, her teeth bared, her hair wild -- she reaches for the grail like a vampire, refuses the help of our hero, and falls through the fog to death.
Where would Elsa be now? In hell...? Or at least at the bottom of a very deep pit.

Concluding remarks

In the arc of Indiana Jones' women, we go from hard-drinking jock to squealing waif to a woman who is a bit of both, but smarter and more of a femme fatale. Regardless of the type of woman, Indy is all about letting them "tag along." He says something to this effect in each movie. Here's the exchange in Last Crusade:

ELSA: You didn't trust me.
INDY: I didn't know you. At least I let you tag along.
ELSA: Oh yes. Give them a flower, and they'll follow you anywhere.

Precisely. These women are along for Indy's ride. It's just that the last time around, it's a little more interesting. Elsa is a complex character -- more dimensional than butch Marion and dainty Willie -- whose character flaws send her not into Indy's beefy arms, but into a chasm of insanity. It's kind of refreshing.

At the end of the trilogy, though, Indy rides into the sunset as a gleeful bachelor, free to have more adventures and acquire/discard women as he see fits.

Despite starring alongside Harrison Ford in a highly successful action trilogy, none of these actresses have had notable careers. Doody has made just eight appearances on film or TV since 1989, though she's done some work this past year on the UK series Waking the Dead (she's 40 years old now). Capshaw married her director, did SpaceCamp, produced The Love Letter and hasn't worked since 2002 (she's 53 now). Allen did Starman and Scrooged, was memorable as the mom in The Sandlot, and is now rumored to be in the fourth Indiana Jones movie, according to IMDb (she is now 55 years old; Ford is 64). Which brings us to:

Cate Blanchett
as Shira Brookingstone, Esq.
in Indiana Jones and the Unfiled Tax Return

Ho ho. Ha ha. It's important to note that Blanchett (at age 38) will be the first Indiana Jones woman who is a movie star in her own right. Expect her to break the mold and give Ford a run for his money. And if Karen Allen does appear in the movie, keep your fingers crossed for a cat fight. Although, between the two of them, there'd be nothing catty about it. They could kick my ass and drink me under the table.