I wish I could come up with a catchy title, but it just isn't going to happen.

Akira Kurosawa. I'm kind of undecided on how I feel about his films. In some aspects, I really enjoyed the Kurosawa films we watched in class. In others, I really didn't.

Take Stray Dog for example. To begin with, the entire movie gets an incredibly uncomfortable vibe because of how sweaty everyone is. When people are sweating so profusely that they are literally drenched, it's just kind of icky. Count me out. The character of Murakami also bothered me throughout most of the movie. His obsession over what happened to the gun was understandable, but it got too extreme. He took everything as a personal attack and whenever something awful happened with his gun, he tried to take full responsibility. Generally, this would be an admirable quality. However, it was just overdone and became really obnoxious instead of respectable. My final problem with the film was the slow progression of the story. It wasn't easy to follow in the first place and when the plot is only creeping by, it doesn't help the situation. When a slow plot is added with something like the montage sequence of Murakami exploring the black market, the film is nearly too unbearable to watch. Definitely not my favorite.

Yojimbo and Ran were far more enjoyable for me to watch. There was more to the stories, characters I liked better, and more action than a couple of cops wandering the city. These films didn't try my patience hardly at all (a very nice break after Stray Dog) and I was able to follow and enjoy them. Overall, Kurosawa isn't exactly my favorite director, but I'm not going to try to say that he wasn't any good. I'm just really looking forward to starting our Altman unit now.

"Virgil, you weiner."

Ed Harris. What a stud. Way to save the world from nuclear war with a bizarre water-controlling alien species by being willing to sacrifice your life to disarm a nuclear warhead that some psychotic asshole of a Navy SEAL sent into the depths of the abyss. A gold star to you, my good sir.

Anyway, The Abyss was an interesting movie. I know that the word interesting doesn't necessarily denote something good, but I think it does in this case. Clearly I haven't quite made up my mind yet. In no way did I enjoy The Abyss as much as The Terminator, but it was still two hours and forty-five minutes of my life that were relatively well-spent. I was definitely surprised at how normal most of the movie was (normal being the operative word).

The Abyss tells the story of a pretty random group of people who work on an oil rig in the ocean. When a US submarine gets struck down by some unknown party (most people think it's "the Reds"), they get sent to rescue any survivors and check stuff out in general. The rig workers even get the help of some Navy SEALS (all except one end up dead or being total jerks). For most of the movie, they're legitimately trying to do what they're supposed to do without falling into the abyss and never seeing the light of day again. Obviously, they encounter some problems with this, but whatever. It's to be expected. I'm going to make a suggestion now. If you plan on ever seeing this movie, don't read on (even though I kind of already ruined part of it in the first paragraph). Heed this warning or pay the consequences.

I was totally surprised with how normal the movie was until maybe the last hour. It went from a moderately realistic plot line to one riddled with aliens. Ouch. However, considering that I was dealing with James Cameron, I was willing to put up with the large fluorescent amoebic monster/alien/machines to see where it all went. And go it did. To cut the introduction short, Ed Harris frolics (sinks) his way more than three miles down into the abyss to disarm a nuclear warhead. After he arrives and accomplishes his mission, he doesn't have enough air to get to the surface. Ed Harris (self-sacrificing and valiant as ever) accepts this doomed fate extremely calmly and sits back to enjoy the eerie and oddly-present iridescent lighting in the deep evil abyss. He prepares himself for death. BUT NO! Suddenly, a neon floaty alien comes to his rescue, takes him by the hand, and shows him their marvelous underwater city of alien/monster/machines. Once safely inside, they manipulate the water enough to give him some air to breathe so he doesn't actually die. To cut to the chase, up on land the aliens are threatening the entire world with a mile-high tsunami wave that promises to wipe out the entire population. Meanwhile, Ed Harris is underground and the aliens are explaining, through the magic of television, why they're doing what they are. Of course, they don't actually carry out the nefarious (but well-deserved) scheme because of Ed Harris's selflessness and honor. Go figure. Finally, they somehow float their entire city up to the surface of the water, rescuing the oil rig and freaking out everybody topside. Wow.

That's pretty much the movie right there. I apologize for the large amount of plot summary, but there really was no better way for me to explain myself. And before I forget, may I please talk about my absolute favorite part of the movie. Prepare yourself.

So...Ed Harris and his wife are stuck in a mini-submarine that is quickly filling up with water. They have one dive suit between them (Ed has it). If they don't do something soon, they're both going to die. They quickly decide that Ed should drag his wife's body through the frigid ocean back to the oil rig where (hopefully) they can revive her. Of course, things don't seem to go as planned. I should probably interject the fact that, at this point of the movie, my mom had come downstairs and was watching with me. I should probably also say that, earlier in the day, we had gone to a reception for a university in Hawaii that I might attend to be a marine biologist. Keep that in mind. In the movie, we have Ed Harris desperately trying to revive his dead frozen wife. He tries futilely to use the defibrillator, CPR, he even resorts to slapping her across the face and yelling "Goddammit, you bitch!...Fight! Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!" At this point, they show the aforementioned dead frozen wife, very blue in the face and very clearly dead (unfortately, she later came back to life). Then my mother turns to me and says "Oh, Katie, that could be you!" Thanks, mom. Much love.

Overall, The Abyss was not my favorite James Cameron film. However, I still enjoyed it greatly and am still willing to adventure further into Cameron films (although I may avoid Piranha Part II: The Spawning). I haven't decided whether or not this makes me a terrible person.

"I'm fairly alarmed here."

Jurassic Park...what a classic. It is an absolute visual delight that tells a lovely story of the imminent disasters caused by trying to control nature. There are also enormous dinosaurs that eat people.

This past Saturday, Whitney and I saw Jurassic Park at the Uptown theater at midnight. At first, I was iffy about the idea. However, considering the fact that (for once) I didn't have choir the next morning, I decided to go for it. I am so happy I made that decision. Overall, this was an excellent experience. The night started at the Uptown Diner where we indulged in some tasty malts and were slightly creeped out by our enthusiastic waiter. Definitely a positive start. After that, we made our way to the Uptown theater where, after standing in line for a bit, buying our tickets, getting popcorn, and me freaking about about a poster for Teeth, we made our way to the second row and settled in for the long haul.

What a good choice. No viewing of Jurassic Park could ever compare to that with a live audience. Especially if you consider the type of people who would actually go see Jurassic Park at midnight in Uptown. There was no doubt in my mind that the crowd would be excellent and I was not disappointed. At the introduction of each new character, there was much cheering and ruckus. When Wayne Knight was introduced as Dennis Nedry, a distinctly hateful murmur of "Newman..." arose from the audience. Although I was probably the person who laughed when B.D. Wong (who now is on Law and Order SVU) showed up, I didn't feel stupid at all. Fabulous.

I really wish that every movie-going experience could be as lovely and enjoyable as seeing Jurassic Park at midnight. Unfortunately, such is not the case....

"Television has brought murder back into the home - where it belongs."

A gold star to anybody who can answer the question of the day: what exactly did Hitchcock have against relationships? I don't really understand how somebody who seems to be rather jolly in a dark and suspenseful way can be so clearly bitter about something. Shall we examine the films we viewed in class.

We begin with The 39 Steps. This doesn't exactly support the idea of marriage. As we've discussed time and time again in class, almost none of the relationships in this film are happy. We have the crofter and his wife. He's an angry, religious little Scot and she's just there to make his food and clean the house. Why they're together in the first place nobody knows (clearly they would both be better off with someone else). During the film, Hitchcock exploits their bogus relationship to critique (in a way) the lies about marriage. Even at the end of the film, Hannay and his new found secret love aren't really happy, they're just kind of there. After experiencing such a ridiculous event, happy isn't really an option. It isn't all fun and games, kids. In real life, people are crabby and mean.

Moving on to Rear Window. Again, we've absolutely talked this to death but I'm content with digging the grave a little deeper. Jeff is completely set against marrying Lisa even though she is clearly perfect (and way too good for him as Stella points out repeatedly). Once again, Hitchcock has his protagonist shy away from the idea of marriage. Also, none of the relationships in the apartment complex are happy ones. Ms. Lonely Hearts is suicidal, Ms. Torso entertains man after man because she's bored, the composer sits alone banging away at the piano, Thorwald kills his wife, and the bizarre couple who sleep on the balcony are just bizarre. The only happy couple is the newlywed kids (and that is only because they're having sex like rabbits). Again, this entire movie is a sort of critique on people's awful relationships.

Finally, we have Vertigo. Definitely the most eerie of the films that we watched in class. We have the protagonist of the story in a relationship with a seemingly wonderful woman that he doesn't appreciate (could Hitchcock possibly be bitter about something?) We also have a clearly unhappy marriage, seeing as Elster hatches an ultra-elaborate plot to murder his adoring wife. At this point, we realize that Hitchcock clearly has had some bad relationship experiences. Not to mention an almost sick obsession, something that comes through clearly in this film. Nobody ever gets to be very happy in Hitchcock films.

Honestly, I don't know what Hitchcock could possibly have against relationships. They're not that bad - often they're actually enjoyable. It's possible that he had some bad experiences, maybe he had his heart broken one too many times. But it seems as though he is extremely bitter about this whole "love" thing. Maybe he's just a very crabby person.

"That son of a bitch took my pants."

The Terminator. What an excellent movie. And believe it or not, I say that without a hint of sarcasm in my voice. Before viewing The Terminator for Art of Film, I had never seen the movie (or any of the sequels). I was familiar with a rough outline of the plot - a cyborg comes from the future to kill some chick who has no idea what's going on. But I had no idea what awaited me....

The first shot of Terminator reminded me instantly of Ed Wood's films. While I realize that the special effects involved in this movie were probably super exciting and believable for 1984 (especially according to this reveiw), by today's standards they were absurd beyond imagination. In the introductory sequence, a ferocious battle of laser ray guns raged between men and machine. My favorite shot from the scene showed a tank-like cyborg rolling over the ground, crushing countless human skulls as it went. Even after the first minute and thirty seconds of Terminator, it was surpassing my expectations.

After this memorable opening scene, the film returns to a more recognizable earth. We meet a garbage truck driver who encounters some bizarre lighting and charismatically utters the first lines of the film, saying "What the hell? Goddamn son of a bitch..." This is just the first example of a meticulously eloquent and caringly crafted script that includes such gems as "Come with me if you want to live," "I came across time for you, Sarah. I love you; I always have," and "You're terminated, fucker." Beautiful.

Just minutes into the film, good old Arnold arrives. After a few flashes of blue light and some gale-force winds, the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger, duh) appears in the street, naked and curled up in the fetal position. At this point of the viewing experience, I was laughing so hard that it warranted my mother poking her head down the stairs with an "Oooh, is everything alright, Katie?" (anybody who knows my mother will find this hilarious). I was enjoying myself so much that I thought the movie couldn't possibly get better. That delusion only lasted about a scene until the Terminator encounters a group of "ruffians" (i.e. hooligans, punk-ass kids, etc.). Upon demanding their clothing (to gird his naked loins) and being refused, he proceeds to physically rip the heart out of one troubled young man's chest. It was absolutely epic.

The rest of the film followed in a similar fashion. It was extremely difficult to avoid becoming a "plausible" in a movie such as this. Although I am ethically and morally against the "plausibles," I found myself wondering things like "How does he know his way around this city?" and "Where did he get surgical tools, why did he lay them out on a desk in a nasty apartment, why are his heavy artillery guns hidden beneath the mattress, and why did he enter/exit through the window instead of the door of what is clearly 'his' apartment?" Unfortunately, in a movie such as this, those questions simply don't have answers.

Although I'm sure that most of this post seems extremely sarcastic, don't get me wrong - I thoroughly enjoyed watching The Terminator. I expected to loathe the experience, but I now find that it is one I wouldn't mind repeating. Whether I like it or not, I'm actually considering seeing the rest of the Terminator films. Yikes.

"...a deep ocean of secrets..."

"Where to, miss?"

"To the stars."

When Roger Ebert wrote about Titanic on December 19, 1997, he had nothing but praise for the film. He, as well as countless others, couldn't say enough for the 194 minute masterpiece depicting one of the greatest and most tragic stories in history. In Ebert's review, he almost immediately accepts the fact that, considering the story of the Titanic and the sad romance surrounding it, some things were inevitably a little predictable. "We know before the movie begins that certain things must happen," he says. Everybody knows what happened to the Titanic. It was a magnificent ship, supposedly unsinkable. However, it sank. Going into the movie, the audience is prepared for this great tragedy. Some people would look upon this predictability as something undesirable, something that would make the film less exciting to experience. Personally (and Ebert agrees), that is not the case. It may even be helpful that so many people know the background of the Titanic. Because of that, it is easier to focus on the characters and the beauties of the film rather than being bogged down with following the voyage and the plotline.

Ebert goes on to talk about Cameron's skill in showing off the entire ship. Enormous models were used with smaller models as well as special effects to achieve the Titanic that viewers know and love. He applauds the manner in which these different techniques compliment each other and miraculously avoid drawing attention away from what really matters. After commending nearly every aspect of Cameron's dramatic film, Ebert ends his review with a poetic and almost haunting thought.

The image from the Titanic that has haunted me, ever since I first read the
story of teh great ship, involves the moments right after it sank. The night sea
was quiet enough so that cries for help carried easily across the water to the
lifeboats, which drew prudently away. Still dressed up in the latest fashions,
hundreds froze and drowned. What an extraordinary position to find yourself in
after spending all of that money for a ticket on an unsinkable ship.

"I'm a goddamn marvel of modern science."

The film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (Milos Forman, 1975) tells the story of Randle Patrick McMurphy, a man society has cast away as a hooligan. In order to avoid being sent to a workhouse, McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) claims insanity and is committed to a mental hospital. He enters a world the likes of which he has never experienced. The ward is commanded by the formidable Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher) who rules with an iron fist and a heart of stone. As McMurphy gets to know the other patients in the ward, he begins to see the dark side of the perverted little society shielded from the public by the unrelenting walls of the mental institution. In the film, Forman abstains from nondiegetic sound and portrays the bizarre way of living at the mental hospital in order to critique the total power on which the ward thrives.

During the film, there is almost no sound or music that doesn’t take place in the actual scene. This technique is put in place from the very beginning of the movie. In the opening sequence, the mental hospital is shown deserted and silent. Shot after shot reveal white walls, fluorescent lights, and absolute silence. Already there is a tangible oppression on the ward. Enter Nurse Ratched. Whenever Nurse Ratched is shown in the film, she is an unflinching pillar of order and discipline. Upon arriving at the mental hospital, McMurphy soon realizes the supreme power Ratched has over the other men. They seem to tremble in silent fear of the woman who regulates each and every aspect of their lives. On the rare occasion that Ratched’s power is questioned during the film, it is always met with the same shot. Ratched is alone in the frame, stony-faced, cold, and calculating. The silence echoes her burning eyes and unspoken challenges. Near the beginning of the film, McMurphy believes that he can break the mountain that is Nurse Ratched. “In one week, I can put a bug so far up her ass, she won’t know whether to shit or wind her wristwatch,” he brags to the other patients. Unfortunately, McMurphy’s attempts are met with utter silence.

Life on the ward is something less than a cakewalk. She reigns tyrannically and lets nothing happen without her knowledge and approval. With time, Ratched and the hospital take away all of the men’s simple privileges and rights. After McMurphy organizes a bit of a gambling ring in the washroom, the men lose all of their money and cigarettes to him. In response, Ratched takes all of the cigarettes from the men and rations them. During a memorable scene where Martini (Danny DeVito) has a meltdown and demands his cigarettes, McMurphy takes the initiative that the other men won’t and punches through the glass window of the nurse’s station to retrieve them. Along with denying them of their belongings, Ratched slowly wears down the men’s dignity and self-worth with group therapy sessions. Sitting in a circle, they discuss each man’s inadequacies and the reasons that society has cast them out. She humiliates the men, forcing them to bring their problems before the group and analyze them until she reaches satisfaction. The most glaring example of the twisted hospital life occurred near the end of the film. After McMurphy brought in women and booze for an all-night party, he disappears from the ward for a few weeks. He is returned to his bed in the dead of night as to not wake the other patients. McMurphy’s best friend in the ward, Chief Bromden (Will Sampson), witnesses Mack’s return. Upon approaching the seemingly sleeping man, Bromden sees that McMurphy was given a lobotomy. They couldn’t control his personality so they took it away entirely. That is the true tragedy of the mental hospital.

Between an eerie and unrelenting silence and a horrifying portrayal of life at the mental hospital, the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest casts quite a critique on the society within mental institutions. It shows how personal liberties can be taken away until only the shell of a man remains. Randle Patrick McMurphy tried to bring change to the ward. He tried to teach the men to think for themselves, to get themselves out of the hell they knew as life. Unfortunately, he did not entirely succeed. McMurphy gave the men a taste of how life should be lived, gave them a taste of everything that they were missing. It just wasn’t quite enough.