Isn’t it a pleasure to see Martin Scorsese igniting controversy again? The Wolf of Wall Street has inspired some lively debates over its morality, its depiction of women, its glorification of greed and corruption, and its unfettered vulgarity. It had almost seemed as though the director had either veered into safe territory with a family-friendly film like Hugo (over which the closest thing to controversy was Scorsese’s decision to make it in 3D) or had established himself as enough of a credible artist that his work would be met with only fawning enthusiasm, a result of earned respect that can sometimes move filmmakers beyond the reach of criticism.
I’m on record as being relatively ambivalent when it comes to an opinion on the virtues of remakes, sequels and reboots. Simply put, any story, whether it’s a retelling or continuation of an old story, or one that’s entirely “new” (if there is such a thing), is dependent on the people telling it more than where it’s drawn from. For every person who can claim that the second movie in a series is always the best (like The Empire Strikes Back), another can claim that movies should usually be left as standalone successes (like Jaws or Psycho).
Does there seem to be more outstanding documentaries produced with each new year, or is my memory so unreliable that every December I feel even more astounded by the surplus of excellent non-fiction filmmaking from the past year? This may merely be a feeling, an illusion. It seems to occur every year. Still, along with the influx of award-worthy narrative features that get released in December and early January, many of the year’s best documentaries are finally available for most people to actually see.
Americannness is an elusive concept. Invoking the term in any situation is an easy, catch-all way of conjuring up images of excess or freedom run amok, perhaps of false confidence or unwavering optimism, or even, in some instances, an unironic appreciation for the promise that anything is possible. Using the word to lead off the title of your movie is a brave move, since it’s sure to conjure up a sense of self importance in itself, making people conscious of a nation’s history and identity in a way that may or may not be in the best interest of the movie’s aims.
In a 30-year career that has produced 16 feature films, movies that have ranged from small, revered indie thrillers to mainstream cult comedies and virtually everything in between, Joel and Ethan Coen have cemented a reputation as two of the finest American directors in movie history. They’ve worked into the type of groove that is a pleasure to behold: when filmmakers are at the top of their game in terms of quality, and are capitalizing with a string of consistent output, like we saw a decade or so ago by the likes of Clint Eastwood and Martin Scorsese.
The concept of any particular movie’s “necessity” is something I wish we could eliminate altogether. Every time a movie like Spike Lee’s Oldboy gets released, many critics and viewers will cite how “unnecessary” it is to make an American version of a foreign film that stands on its own and is internationally beloved.
The latest project from the Coen brothers, Inside Llewyn Davis, is set to be rolled out across theaters throughout December. It’s been three years since True Grit surged as one of the most pleasantly surprising audience hits of 2010, which was also the fourth straight year we were fortunate enough to receive a top-tier Coen product; that run of No Country for Old Men to Burn After Reading to A Serious Man and then True Grit was surely one of the most remarkable consecutive streaks in recent movie history.
In the midst of endless bickering over all the various things movie franchises are doing completely wrong, the Hunger Games franchise appears to be doing just about everything right. The popularity and staying power of the series has been confirmed by the overwhelming success of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, which has been almost unanimously embraced by critics and is currently setting records at the box office.
Myself, I am pretty staunchly “pro-color” when it comes to movies. I would dare to wager that most members of the moviegoing public share this popular stance with me. Color films have dominated the cinematic landscape for quite some time I would say. Yes, I do believe that color is here to stay.
Showtime has not quite achieved the respective reputations of relative rising star AMC and seasoned veteran HBO just yet; it has delivered a number of terrifically promising original series, but its brand has been stained ever so slightly by its tendency to produce shows long after their presumed expiration dates. The most recent example of this is Dexter, a series that served as Showtime’s flagship until it overstayed its welcome with audiences and concluded in a very poorly received fashion. Other shows, like Californication—and some seem to think Homeland may be on this route—continue on after their relevancy has arguably peaked.
