Showing posts with label BiographicalFilm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BiographicalFilm. Show all posts

11 January 2015

#WTW Glance: The Imitation Game

#WhatThomWatched Glance*: 


The Imitation Game




(Morten Tyldum, 2014; In theaters/Disc release details not yet announced)




Recommended for: People interested in cryptography, and/or World War II, and/or British biopics — and/or Benedict Cumberbatch.)

Although there have been a couple high-profile movie treatments of seminal cryptographer and father of the modern computer Alan Turing (most notably Breaking the Code from 1996, with Derek Jacobi as Turing, and based on the same source material), The Imitation Game is really the first attempt to fully address both Turing’s contributions to World War II and his illicit life as a gay man in 1940’s England. Benedict Cumberbatch excels at portraying Turing’s social awkwardness and preternatural intelligence alike; there are also excellent roles for his real-life codebreaking team at Bletchley Park including Keira Knightley as a mathematician determined to operate outside the societal restraints imposed on women. It’s handsomely produced, intelligently written, and well-paced, but beyond being a simple prestige picture it also shows a very specific and shameful example of historical intolerance for homosexuality, in a clear and straightforward way.





Reminds me of:



Other well-made British-cast British-subject biopics — though I don’t usually get into “standard” biopics over the new-school versions from directors like Michael Winterbottom, who seem determined to upend conventions (cf. his depictions of Tony Wilson in 24 Hour Party People, or Mariane and Daniel Pearl in A Mighty Heart). This one has a few of the trite, old melodrama beats and is not terribly faithful to the historical Turing. But I was still impressed at the larger statement it was able to make about Turing’s sexual preference and the way his work could stand in more than one metaphorical way for his personhood and his struggles. I’m pleased to read about scholarship which indicates that his actual life may not have been nearly as abject as what we see here, but at the same time Tyldum and screenwriter Graham Moore have made creative choices which allow Turing to represent much more than just himself; after all, as we learn from a post-film credit, 49,000 other people in Britain were also convicted of gross indecency. The Turing Test is a powerful metaphor for the coded lives these men and women had to lead.



As it happens, in my ongoing (and slow) quest to read everything by Neal Stephenson, I’d recently finished his excellent Cryptonomicon from 1999. This semi-historical novel includes several real Bletchley Park (and rival) codebreakers, among them a far cheerier rendition of Turing. Stephenson also goes light years beyond the complications presented in this film; the final stage of Imitation Game, where the disinformation campaigns begin to kick into gear, is the starting point of the book which (in addition to loads more guns, sex, and haiku) has a much higher level of complexity. For anyone primarily interested in the cryptography problems of advanced warfare, I recommend Stephenson.



But then — the guilt!




As effective as it may be, the movie's still not the accurate story of what happened or what Turing or the Bletchley Park crew did. Showing “science” (or any higher-order creativity) on-screen in ways that audiences respond to is really hard. But as viewers, we should continue to push filmmakers and other artists to do the work and turn these concepts into forms that we can experience and understand. The movie that somehow manages to embody the actual innovative leaps of a Turing (or an Einstein, or a Van Gogh, or a Mozart) and make an audience feel them will be a marvel. (I put this in the BTTG section because I can't readily think of a successful example. Chaim Potok's My Name is Asher Lev is the best parallel I can come up with; in that case a book somehow fully embodies and passes on to the reader the experience of painting, in three incredible pages. I haven’t seen Ed Harris’s Pollock — maybe that captures a similar creative moment in cinematic form? Well, if a movie example comes to me, I won't cheat and edit out my admissions here — I'll post it below in the comments. Feel free to contribute your own!)

Pitch:


Knightley and Cumberbatch's scene together where she denounces his clumsy attempts to push her away is an impressive one — she’s doing a lot of emotional work with a small set of lines.

*For movies and shows which are current — in theaters or streaming — I'm posting a short, less-spoilery take on #WhatThomWatched (and generally only when something really strikes me as worth passing on). These shorter essays are labeled Glance.



03 December 2014

#WTW: All That Jazz

(#WhatThomWatched the third)


#WTW All That Jazz: Hands


All That Jazz 
(Bob Fosse, 1979; Criterion spine 724)

Roy Scheider is indelible in his high-profile 1970’s roles: as Gene Hackman’s turtlenecked, slicked-down partner in The French Connection, or behind those large wire-frames and that drooping cigarette in Jaws, muttering about a bigger boat. He’s a great actor in much lesser movies too, and even in his three seasons on television’s seaQuest DSV. But his Joe Gideon in All That Jazz is transformational — his greatest creation. A thinly-disguised double for choreographer and film director Bob Fosse, Scheider is completely convincing as a sardonic, driven genius with many weaknesses — not least an unending internal flow of self-doubt which belies his massive talent, accomplishments in multiple spheres, and huge circle of family and collaborators who love and accept him (ex-lovers just as strongly as anyone). In All That Jazz’s brave construction, naturalistic scenes of casting a Broadway show, rehearsals, choreography sessions, and film editing are interwoven with a fantastical visualization of that stream-of-consciousness in the form of a conversation with a beautiful angel of death, expanding in the film’s final thirty minutes to an extended dream sequence as Gideon, hospitalized for heart surgery, drifts toward and away from life's end. Musical numbers thus fit seamlessly into either narrative strand: as real-life scenes based on Gideon’s choreography job, or as internal fantasy. The editing (by longtime Fosse collaborator Alan Heim) between and among these points of view is mind-blowing.



#WTW All That Jazz: Mirrors...

#WTW All That Jazz: ...and mirrors...


#WTW All That Jazz: ...and more mirrors.













Reminds me of: 


From our perspective now, so much of what Fosse did has been imitated, badly, and the endless bad imitations have been endlessly mocked; consider Exhibit A: "Jazz hands!!” And yet none of this takes away from the real thing in the least. Viewing other musicals from the same late-seventies-early-eighties time frame, we see a few “big numbers” that have some superficial resemblance to Fosse — that endless roller disco in Xanadu, or the ridiculous “Satan’s Alley” production in Staying Alive — but they don’t compare; in fact, the final dying hallucinations in Jazz are so unique and so bold that I’m hard-pressed to come up with anything similar. I do like to imagine that Forbidden Zone, the no-budget cult film directed by Richard Elfman and featuring the first score by his brother Danny Elfman, took some inspiration from the Fosse visions in Jazz which had been released just the previous year; extended sequences in Zone are set in Hell and have avant-garde images which resemble the do-it-yourself version of a full-Technicolor musical, and indeed the two movies both use the Shelton Brooks standard “Some of These Days” (sung by Gideon’s daughter in the surgery hallucination, while characters in Zone lip-sync to Cab Calloway’s version). For that matter, the use of repurposed standards — both early stage songs and newer pop like “Bye Bye Love” — with altered or recontextualized lyrics to further the story is a trick used in movies like Moulin Rouge, and, I suppose (to lesser effect) in the current rash of “jukebox musicals.”

I'm also a complete sucker for the metaphysical games which occur when a helpless, muzzled version of Scheider's character is confronted by his mocking doppelganger:



#WTW All That Jazz: "You don't have any lines here."


But also — the guilt! 

I need to re-watch Fosse’s Lenny, the Lenny Bruce biopic which shows up as a work in progress in Jazz under the name Standup — and I need to watch or re-watch all of his other films, even the failures, just to see more of his work! (that includes his early choreography jobs like Damn Yankees and his underperforming Sweet Charity, and of course the flawless Cabaret). Just generally, there are a slew of hard-edged musicals which I’ve never seen. (I just got Criterion’s Jacques Demy collection on Blu-ray, six weepers, of which I’ve only seen Umbrellas of Cherbourg in the past -- so that’ll help even the score. No pun intended.)


#WTW All That Jazz: Dying


#WTW All That Jazz: Dying with style


Pitch:

Every musical number, dream or real, is a keeper, but if I had to pick one . . . . I have a friend, a singer and pianist who has recorded several albums, one of which contains (and is named after) the Peter Allen standard “Everything Old is New Again,” which has become part of my own endless internal monologue*; that number, danced in Jazz as a surprise gift for Scheider’s character by his daughter and his lover (Erzsébet Földi and Ann Reinking), is perfect — a perfect performance of a perfect song. It’s not representative of the movie’s tone — it is the peak from which the characters must fall — but it’s still a pretty good reason to watch the whole. “Let’s go backwards when forward fails . . . .”


*If you’re interested, search for “Daryl Ott, Everything Old is New Again” in iTunes, Amazon, or your favorite source for digital music.



#WTW All That Jazz: Joe contemplates