Fincher recap: Early includes Se7en (1995), The Game (1997), Fight Club (1999) and Panic Room (2002). Zodiac (2007) is pivotal. The Social Network (2010), The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011) and Gone Girl (2014) is mid. The Killer (2023) is late. The films I’ve left out are irrelevant.
Oh my god yes. The Killer is a return to greatness. It’s a revenge-o-matic pretty much standard assassin genre entry with an existential loner. Or think of it as an arthouse John Wick.
Its narrative takes a slightly askew take in that the conflicts its protagonist encounters are mostly, how can I say this, minor (or what I'm really trying to say is not conventional Hollywood familiar). But just when you think it starts to become predictable, it ducks you. Its tone is very quiet and takes its time. But it never drags. And its center is its protagonist's vo.
There’s more handheld camera in the first half of this than every other Fincher film combined. Its customary Fincher palette often is an array of murky yellow, cyan, and green hues. And have you ever wondered what the difference is between a subjective camera shot and an objective one? I have struggled to understand this. Like is a pov the only example of subjective and everything else is objective? Anyway. In the Paris portion of the movie, when THE KILLER listens to The Smiths the music is clearly mixed upfront when we see what he’s seeing (subjective) and intercuts with shots where we’re with him and then the music is muffled and distant (objective), a great learning tool.
The Killer sees Fincher having matured. As if it’s an entirely unrecognizable departure from the person who made Fight Club. Fassbender as The Killer dressing like a typical nondescript mannequin from an upscale mall, at various times seen eating McDonald’s, clutching a paper Starbucks cup, and ordering an Amazon order from his wireless device is the epitome of what Jack’s inner voice loathes. But he’s cool. Even him only listening to The Smiths says a lot. Who doesn’t love Morrissey, but they wouldn't exactly indicate anything other than mainstream at this point. Yet most enjoyably The Killer’s that Fincher brand of smug, efficient, and knows how to deliver black comedy one-liners. He’s what you want if you want Fincher.
I love The Killer. It’s simple although immensely rewarding. And it’s the first time I’ve seen a Fincher film that didn’t seem to be striving for the grandiose operatic heights he’s heretofore constantly aimed for.
You ask me chronologically the greatest American director goes: John Ford, Stanley Kubrick, then Martin Scorsese. With each of them you can take any decade of their 50 years or more careers and find major works (that hold up) spanning each decade. Who’ll be the next one to follow?
Killers of the Flower Moon (2023, Martin Scorsese) is perfect. It’s not so much long as it’s the length it has to be for the significance of its historical impact to be felt. Its thematic undercurrent might be the love of money corrupts. And what an American theme it is.
It doesn’t take long to establish its core conflict: white man is gonna take everything from the Osage. Yet it could also be said that it’s not only the white man who is corrupted by the love of money. I can’t seem to be able to overlook the main Osage characters, the sisters MOLLIE, ANNA, and RETA, all marry white men; something that they know wouldn’t be possible if they didn’t have money. It’s hard for us to accept the logic behind the actions of most of the main characters, as I’m sure it was hard for them to make any sense of why they themselves all did what they did. And isn’t that what it means to be human?
There’s something inevitable about the fates of the characters. Like there’s some sense of there’s nothing they could have done any different even if they wanted to. The pace of the story in Killers of the Flower Moon is measured: a steady dose of unendurable traumatic misery. In many ways it’s a film with a very narrow dramatic focus.
But Jack Fisk’s production design is what’s big. The booming town is most impressive when viewed from within. The new money extravagance is depicted down to the most smallest detail—the designs of Mollie’s China for example.
And finally, yes DiCaprio as ERNEST BURKHART carries the picture as a himbo (he adequately portrays with a slouch) who breezes into a life of leisure and privilege that gets him in way over his head so gradually it’s kind of poetic. But the final jab Killers of the Flower Moon hit me with is its moral condemnation of both white man and Osage who don’t work for a living. That’s what makes it relevant beyond only serving as merely a historic artifact. It’s a corrosive critique of the American way of life.
When I go to the movie theater, I’m either seeing what I’d call cinema or popcorn—art or commercial. And when I leave not having felt like the experience gave me something that captivated me with its mastery of plot, genre, dialogue, character, setting or some emotional connection, then that’s the worst. The feeling I wasted my time. An exception to this criteria I’ve just mentioned is camp. Sometimes a movie can be awful, yet entertain me enough that I don’t feel it’s wasted my time. As I’m writing this I’m pretending that the Friday the 13th movies are a trilogy. It’s also Friday the 13th today. The 80s is the best decade for horror movies. And of the franchises to come from that era like Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, my favorite has always been Friday the 13th. It doesn’t have the auteur cred of the other two. It’s the product of a major studio. It doesn’t’ feel as original or inspired as the other two. It’s almost like a cartoon. Jason Vorhees doesn’t ask us to question the metaphysics of evil like The Shape or the psychological dreamscapes of Freddy. In Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981, Steve Miner) as one of the only characters to even try to profile him, GINNY describes Jason as “a frightened retard.”
The Friday the 13th trilogy is one of the finest examples of setting. Along with many of the Disney cartoon short subjects of the 1940s-50s, the Friday the 13th trilogy appeals to me in how it embodies the camp setting. I’ve never been camping or even wanted to, but I’ve always loved a summer camp or a state park as a setting. And Friday the 13th is full of precautions to avoid attracting bears, grilling hot dogs, and American flags. And isn't there something a little surreal about a summer camp we never see the kids show up for?
The main reason I walked to my neighborhood theater earlier this rainy night is because they showedFriday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D(1982, Miner). In 2009 there was a period of a few years I was totally into 3D, starting withAvatar(2009, James Cameron). And I’d never seen a 3D movie in a theater before that. I’d never even really thought about it, but the only title I’d keep wishing I could have caught a screening of but never thought I would isFriday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D.
This movie had the audience in its hand. I can’t remember ever having this much fun in a movie theater (except for maybe seeing 35mm prints of John Waters’ films of the 70s). And the reason it had such an impact is because both the 3D (it’s the red and blue cellophane glasses) technology and the attitudes about sex and drugs are so dated. Yet I don’t consider this an example of camp. When you read about Friday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D you’ll find reports of the cast saying that due to all the focus the filmmakers were placing on getting the 3D right that they neglected the performances—and that’s what makes this movie so amazing. The entire time 3D effects were used the audience all collectively as if they’d rehearsed it were this chorus of oooohs and whooooas whenever there were objects projecting out from the screen at us. At times the dialogue is bad. At many times the logic behind the characters’ motivations doesn’t make sense—but in the most fun and entertaining hilarious possible way. Also I love this scene where the girl in a bikini is seducing the guy and she’s all: wanna go somewhere alone where we can do whatever we want do you know what that’d be like, and the guy replies “disgusting.” It’s perfect. It doesn’t really make sense in that context but then of course it makes perfect sense. I’ve seen 80s horror movies with groups who laugh in that ironic way. But this was different. Friday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D works as a horror movie. The peril is fun but it’s still scary at the same time. The two entries before this one in no way achieve this. Friday the 13th Part 3 also doesn’t mention Crystal Lake. So it’s a cabin in the woods setting, which I’m not thrilled about, but like the franchise itself, it’s kind of an oddity or doesn’t fit in with the other 80s horror franchises. And unlike the first two, it doesn’t have the same nudity and exploitative shots ogling the girl counselors. But it does introduce drugs into the mix, albeit maybe trying to get a little too much mileage out of Cheech and Chong type pot jokes. On a technical level, you could look at Friday the 13th Part 3 as a really great example of how several of its scares utilize taking a shot we buy as a closed frame to sneak in a character from offscreen to give us a jump scare, and not just a jump scare but often the (quintessential to this trilogy’s) brand of fake scare. The Friday the 13th trilogy is really adept at utilizing the open frame, like blood dripping on a character’s forehead while they’re lying down—where’s that coming from?
Almost certainly the last book deal that will ever be given to somebody for having a funny Twitter / Instagram account, I Am Not a Wolf is funnier, sadder, and deeper than it needed to be, and is easily one of the best humor books I have read. It's formally playful—no spoilers!—and as far as I can tell only recycles one and a half jokes from Twitter as it takes you through the surprisingly nuanced challenges of navigating work, roommate relations, public transit, post-work drinks, dating, family, and—again, without spoilers—resisting capitalism in the human world while being a wolf, lightly disguised but so far undiscovered.
Some excerpts from an interview with Malaclypse the Younger by THE GREATER METROPOLITAN YORBA LINDA HERALD-NEWS-SUN-TRIBUNE-JOURNAL-DISPATCH-POST AND SAN FRANCISCO DISCORDIAN SOCIETY CABAL BULLETIN AND INTERGALACTIC REPORT & POPE POOP.
GREATER POOP: Are you really serious or what? MAL-2: Sometimes I take humor seriously. Sometimes I take seriousness humorously. Either way it is irrelevant.
GP: Maybe you are just crazy. M2: Indeed! But do not reject these teaching as false because I am crazy. The reason that I am crazy is because they are true.
GP: Is Eris true? M2: Everything is true. GP: Even false things? M2: Even false things are true. GP: How can that be? M2: I don't know man, I didn't do it.
and, of course:
A SERMON ON ETHICS AND LOVE One day Mal-2 asked the messenger spirit Saint Gulik to approach the Goddess and request Her presence for some desperate advice. Shortly afterwards the radio came on by itself, and an ethereal female Voice said YES?
"O! Eris! Blessed Mother of Man! Queen of Chaos! Daughter of Discord! Concubine of Confusion! O! Exquisite Lady, I beseech You to lift a heavy burden from my heart!"
WHAT BOTHERS YOU, MAL? YOU DON'T SOUND WELL.
"I am filled with fear and tormented with terrible visions of pain. Everywhere people are hurting one another, the planet is rampant with injustices, whole societies plunder groups of their own people, mothers imprison sons, children perish while brothers war. O, woe."
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH THAT, IF IT IS WHAT YOU WANT TO DO?
"But nobody Wants it! Everybody hates it."
OH. WELL, THEN STOP.
At which moment She turned herself into an aspirin commercial and left The Polyfather stranded alone with his species.
And I keep thinking about the Illuminatus! trilogy's thought that "it's not true if it doesn't make you laugh, but you don't understand it until it makes you cry". This feels like the book's goal, and at its best, it succeeds.
Special song of accompaniment with similar power in and of and from mundanity: "Spud Infinity", Big Thief.
Down the River Unto the Sea, Walter Mosely
After the success of last month's read of this series' second book about Joe King Oliver, I tried the first book, with nearly as much enjoyment. To kick off the series, Mosely gives us a private eye who was a cop, then got sent up to Riker's for a sex crime he didn't commit, where he was brutalized both by brutes and by a prolonged stretch in solitary confinement. Ten years later, he's adrift, a bit, getting by but engaged in nothing, when he gets a couple cases dropped on him that, in time, reconnect him with his passion and evolve him into new relationships with his trauma and the law.
It felt like a prequel, rather than the beginning, but that may have been an accident of order. I liked this one, but less than the second.
Art & Fear, David Bayles, Ted Orland
I'm taking another drawing class, and this short, odd, book was recommended as an extra thing to read as part of it. Starting enormously promisingly by staking a claim to be about "ordinary art", it quickly deflates, concerning itself mainly with the issues and anxieties of professionals in and around the art economy. Where it avoids this narrow focus—the "free up time for making art by skipping committee meetings at work" passage is a conspicuous and irritating example of this focus*—it contains many helpful and even insightful reflections on the processes of making stuff, and thoughtful, heartfelt observations about the many, many self-imposed obstacles one can ... impose between oneself and those processes.
Does a lot of it read like self-help? It does. But the whole thing is maybe 120 pages long (or about three hours long, in the audio version I got from the library), so it's not particularly onerous. And while their version of "ordinary art" may not be mine**, somebody interested in making things can certainly find something in here that will be of use in that pursuit.***
* Asking oneself "Who is allowed to do this opting-out, and who shows up to have that work non-escapably assigned to them?" is something nobody involved in the anecdote that undergirds this advice seems to have asked. ** The definition they offer is something like "everything less than Mozart" which is ... not helpful. I found myself redefining the term mentally as something along the lines of "things made in a non-professional(-ized) environment *** A comparably helpful piece of advice, taken from "Nuts and Bolts" from Richard Hugo's The Triggering Town:
When young it's normal to fear losing a good line or phrase and never finding anything comparable again. Carry a small pocket-size notebook and jot down lines and phrases as they occur. This may or may not help you write good poems, but it can help reduce your anxiety.
Know what the difference is between the religions Catholic and Baptist are? I don’t. I just know they both believe in Jesus. A ton of religions believe in Jesus though. Cinematically, Catholicism has always been my favorite religion. From Buñuel and Hitchcock to Coppola and Scorsese there’s really no question of any rival Christian based religion holding a candle to it. But that was a long time ago. The first thing that struck me about The Exorcist: Believer (2023, David Gordon Green) is how in keeping with the expanding inclusivity of contemporary society in addition to a Catholic priest, adds Baptist, Pentecostal, and Hoodoo to the mix. I guess like the cool thing about it is it leads to a view of spirituality with a focus more on people and their faith instead of overwrought adherence to any specific religious institution. Although now that I think about it something else cool about the earlier Exorcist films is that Catholicism is kind of scary—great fit.
The Exorcist: Believer can be broken down into two parts: about 70 minutes of set-up and the payoff 30 minute exorcism sequence. The set-up includes a Haitian prologue rich in exotic imagery and backstory full of significance for the lead character VICTOR. (The Haiti work was filmed in the Dominican Republic, and there are amazing crowd shots that were filmed without permits or releases.) But when the set-up moves into the point after the girls have been found is where the film achieves its force. The home life of Victor and ANGELA is carried off with a subtle calm that’s so conducive to the quiet spooky chills as fundamental to the demonic terror that creeps in. And we care for these characters all the more so because of it. As for the exorcism itself, it’s one gnarly extravaganza. Taking the film as a whole, while encompassing supernatural horror, the demon throughout is mischievously prone to psychological attacks to break down its ops—and does so by breaking down their faith. And here is where The Exorcist: Believer proves it knows its stakes, while maybe even raising those of its forbears.
For fans of David Gordon Green, on display here find his expertise in casting (with the help of longtime “specialty casting” agents John Williams and Karmen Leech) authentic talent for both the homeless camp and the mental hospital. In particular, the actor playing the HOMELESS GEEZER (Eddie Craddock) is great. When he first pops up as the cops are investigating the school after the girls go missing, his dialogue goes something like “We ain’t seen nothing. We ain’t done nothing. We ain’t know nothing,” is way fun. It’s the care taken with characters in general that Green knows goes a long way in creating his cinematic worlds for the stories to exist in.
