Showing posts with label Mia Farrow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mia Farrow. Show all posts

Sunday, October 18, 2020

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2020: The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985), directed by Woody Allen

 

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The Appropriate Tune: "Guilty", by Al Bowlly


      Cinema might be the most adaptable form of art ever created by man. No other medium, except perhaps video games, can so easily run the gamut between the provocative and thought-provoking and cynical, money-grubbing trash. A badly-written book or painting reveals itself almost immediately, a bad video game might malfunction as soon as you put your hands on the controller, but cinema as a medium is such that even a poorly made movie can be beloved more so than a well-polished, more expensive one. I mean look at the enduring popularity of a film like Carnival of Souls over a multi-million dollar blockbuster like 2012, or Rocky Horror Picture Show becoming an entire party experience. That’s the real ‘movie magic’ in my schmaltzy, Hallmark Original Movie kind of opinion, not special effects or cinematography, but the way it can grab hold of you in such a powerful way. It’s probably why I’m still kicking around here today instead of killing myself years ago.


      Stepping on through, we are led to today’s film: The Purple Rose of Cairo, released in 1985, written and directed by Woody Allen, who last appeared on the blog several years ago with Sleeper and Play It Again, Sam. Mia Farrow plays Cecelia, an absent-minded woman with a penchant for breaking dishes at her waitressing job and an alcoholic, abusive husband at home (played by Danny Aiello). Also it’s the Great Depression, in case you thought things were too happy. Her biggest joy in life is going to the cinema, and her current obsession is the hot new flick The Purple Rose of Cairo, a story of ribald hijinks and the idle rich. So often does she come to see this picture that eventually explorer Tom Baxter (Jeff Daniels), one of the minor characters of the film, takes notice and walks out of the film to meet her. It seems that Tom has gotten tired of playing the same role over and over and wants to explore life on the other side of the silver screen, and he wants to do it with Cecelia as it seems that he’s fallen head over heels for her. Cecelia is thrown for a loop, but she can’t say she’s not interested. Can love blossom between a real person and a fictional one? What does it mean for the movie industry when characters can just up and leave the movie they’re in? Why is the movie called The Purple Rose of Cairo when the titular rose seems to have barely anything to do with the film’s plot? Watch and see.


      Stories where women fall in love with weird creatures aren’t exactly uncommon; and that’s certainly true in the world of film. Beauty & The Beast, Starman, the Twilight films, Austin Powers, get a girl and some guy with a gimmick and some emotional baggage and you’ve got yourself a movie. The Purple Rose of Cairo, then, works as something of an inverse. Baxter is fictional, a minor character in a movie, and so he can only be as he is written; simple, forthright, uncomplicated. Cecelia however is nothing but complications and hesitations, and unlike the common thread of some of those other films the solution is not love. Rather it could be love, but whether we in the real world can recognize it or act upon it is another matter entirely. I don’t wish to say much more than that, but it’s a much more sobering depiction of romance than one might expect. More a tragedy than a romantic comedy, in some respect.


      The cast is what really gives that idea life. Jeff Daniels is young as hell in this movie, his third ever at this point, and so that vitality really shines through in his performance as Tom Baxter and which is later mirrored as Gill Shepherd, the actor who played Baxter in the movie. Mia Farrow still has this meek, waifish quality that she had in Rosemary’s Baby, which I did not care for at the time, but she’s managed to temper it in a way that really works; Cecelia as the faded beauty, the girl that had to grow up too quick. Too very distinct people which contrast well on screen together. You’ve also got Danny Aiello doing some easy lifting as the dickhead husband Monk and a generally solid cast beyond that.   


      Man, not really the best headspace to be writing reviews right now. Anyway, while the basis for a lot of the well-regarded Allen films is the dialogue, I thought at times the dialogue felt a little awkward, and not quite as naturally as it may have been intended. I liked the scenes in the theater, where the rest of the characters are stuck in the scene where Baxter left and they’re growing increasingly agitated, but I wish the whole ‘fictional character in real life’ angle had been played around with a bit more; It doesn’t have to be Last Action Hero but it also seems like we don’t get that much of Baxter challenging the real world or rather it challenging him. Also while I generally enjoy Dick Hyman’s score, I wonder if it's a bit too jaunty and pleasant for a movie that throws things like domestic violence around casually. As if it were for a film much more screwball than this turned out to be, like if Mr. Bean was a depressed housewife.


      Would I recommend the film though? Yeah, I suppose. It’s a very second gear kind of movie, very low-energy, but I think by the end it really manages to wrap things up in a very poignant way. If you’re the kind of guy who can only stomach the hard stuff on Halloween then this is not the film for you, but if you’re down for a quiet night in with your significant other then you might get some mileage out of The Purple Rose of Cairo. If Jeff Daniels starts making eyes at your spouse, you might want to consider turning off the TV.

Friday, October 30, 2015

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2015: Rosemary's Baby (1968), directed by Roman Polanski

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     Man, people sure are obsessed with the idea of things tempting people to worship Satan, aren’t they? Rock music makes you worship Satan, Metal music makes you worship Satan, Jazz, marijuana, alcohol, video games, comic books, movies, dancing, sex, not voting Republican, Harry Potter, Pokemon, Dungeons & Dragons, vaccinating your child from deadly infectious diseases, being an African-American president, it seems like the only way not to supposedly spend an eternity in hell is to spend your entire life in fearful prayer while living in a thatched-roof hut. And since no one has being doing that since the 16th century I guess we all better hope that Christianity isn’t real, just so we all don’t end up burning in a lake of fire. Because if you follow a belief system when an omnipotent deity gives you all free will only to punish you for-fucking-ever when you don’t follow his arbitrary set of rules, you can’t expect him to consider society’s value shifts over time.

     Sorry. I’m a little peeved about this one.

     From the late 60s to the mid 70s, three movies about Ol’ Scratch were released in theaters, and all three were enormous commercial and critical successes. Those movies were, of course, William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (Academy Award winner for Best Writing Adapted Screenplay and Best Sound Mixing, Golden Globe Award winner for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Supporting Actress and Best Screenplay), Richard Donner’s The Omen (Academy Award winner for Best Original Score, BAFTA Award winner for Best Supporting Actress, Golden Globe Award Winner for Best Acting Debut) and of course Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (Academy Award winner for Best Supporting Actress, Golden Globe Award winner for Best Supporting Actress), which came first in 1968. Each one featured a child, baby or older, who by some otherworldly shenanigans is connected with the Devil, a single character who knows what’s up and who none of the other characters believe, and a couple people dying due to demonic magical stuff. I guess thousands of people dying in the South Pacific made people really hungry for supernatural bullshit in their movies.

     I wish I had the time to really dig into an analysis for Rosemary’s Baby, but I’m pressed for time, so I’ll try to keep it brief: This movie pissed me off. Roman Polanski is a great director, the movie looks good, the cast does excellently, you get to see Mia Farrow’s tits, it’s a great experience at first. Once that ending came around though, and Polanski built it up a snail’s pace, I couldn’t help but feel that I sat in front of a screen for two hours for fucking nothing. Anything I could have said about the themes of the movie, of Polanski’s more avant-garde filmmaking style as compared to Friedkin and Donner, it all gets washed away because I can’t stop thinking about that fucking ending and the feeling that I wasted my time watching this when I could have been reviewing some other film for the Marathon that I might have enjoyed, like Nightcrawler or M. It’s the same kind of feeling I got from The Seduction of Dr. Fugazzi, but while that movie was pure uncut shit, Rosemary’s Baby leaves me with an overwhelming sense of frustration and disappointment that you only really get from a movie that you expected great things from. We all know what that’s like.

     Of course I’m just one guy, and Rosemary’s Baby is one of the most well-regarded films in movie history, so you should probably judge for yourself. I guess I can recommend it on a historical basis, since it’s one of the few times that a horror movie has been met with mainstream critical approval. I don’t know how many people watch movies on Halloween for their historical context though, and I don’t know how many people would sit down and watch a movie about a woman’s pregnancy anxiety with their friends. Maybe that’s what the kids do nowadays instead of buying Furby’s.


A Brief Return

       If anyone regularly reads this blog, I'm sorry that I dropped off the face of the Earth there with no warning. Hadn't planned...