War Horse (2011)

A quick perusal of my top 100 films can tell you any number of things about me. For starters, that I have an unabashed love for all things Kurosawa. Then again, spending five minutes talking with me about movies could easily tell you that one. However, if you were to dig a little deeper. To seek out the connections and overlaps between many of the relating films, one constant should become entirely evident. I love me some good ol' fashion epics.

Throw a group of characters together, stretch their journey through life and war over two and half plus hours and low and behold, I'll be waiting at the end hands ready in applause position. So imagine my excitement when I found out that Spielberg was set to deliver such an experience. Let alone one covering one of the most oft ignored and yet still powerful wars in history, World War I.

From the sweeping landscapes of old English farm land to the mud enriched, rat infested, world of trench warfare, War Horse takes us on the kind of journey one might imagine would be found in the likes of a Disney film grown up. Joey, our titular horse, whose journey through a war with which he had nothing to do is sentimental to the highest degree, and yet at the same time strikes subtle and yet resonating chords on the true nature of war.

War Horse boasts what I might argue is some of Spielberg's finest directing moments in over half a decade. Not least of which is found in Spielberg's craft at creating a violent war film without much of the violence. In a way that would make Pulp Fiction era Tarantino proud, Spielberg creates graphic violence through carefully place camera movements. The substitution of imagery for actual bloodshed is a particularly nice decision - as evident in the riderless horses in one early battle sequence. This decision presents something I've been asking Hollywood to deliver for years - intensity without blatancy.

Of course for a generation like myself which has been born and raised on that graphical conclusion to events, these might leave some wanting. But I would like to hope that deep down one can admire the craft in coordinating and filming such scenes.

Still, where War Horse succeeds in visual poetry, it falters in a revolving cast of characters. Like many epics, War Horse deals with a wide array of characters coming and going, and as such the time for whole and complete character building is often left to the cutting room floor. Take for example Captain Nicholls and Major Stewart, played by the equally brilliant Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch respectively, who give off so much charisma in their short screen time that they still leave you longing for their return. Not to mention the sadly underused Eddie Marsan in the generally thankless role of Sgt. Fry towards the film's climax.

So in substitute for the revolving characters we are effectively given human bookends to Joey's journey. In this we find ourselves with Albert (Jeremy Irvine). The young, poor farm hand son of a perpetually drunken father (Peter Mullan) and fiery mother (Emily Watson). Albert provides much of the necessary scenes which help Joey build the skill set he needs to survive so many of the sequences he deals with in war. At the same time, Albert is also given a journey of his own to survive. Including a thrilling battle sequence - by far the film's most violent - as he seeks out his long embattled friend, Joey.

The rest of the cast is a wide assortment of "hey, it's um that guy" talent who deliver time and time again. But no matter what is thrown at us, there is never a doubt that this film is entirely Joey's film. For he is the heart of the matter. He is the life blood through which each character is given a reason for being. The film thrives and falls on the strength of his shoulders. Luckily for us all, he is made of stuff stronger than steel.

OVERALL SCORE: 8.00 / 10

Film Credits:
Directed By Steven Spielberg
Screenplay By Lee Hall and Richard Curtis
Novel By Michael Morpurgo

Japan's Longest Day (1967)

The emotional and spiritual antithesis cousin to America's 1962 War Epic on the invasion of D-Day, The Longest Day, Japan's Longest Day recounts the events leading up to the eventual total surrender of Japan during the middle of August in 1945. Specifically concentrating two-fold; 1st being the actual orchestrating of the surrender by the parliamentary council and representatives of the various Departments of government following the dropping of atomic bomb at Hiroshima and Nagasaki; 2nd what has come to be known as the Kyujo Incident, an attempted coup orchestrated by high ranking military officers to prevent Japan's surrender.

At the heart of Japan's Longest Day is the notion of the 'war mentality.' How to go about convincing people whom you have hammered in the notion that victory or death are the only two options, that surrender is not only viable but in the best interest of the country. It's a mentality deeply embedded in the mindset of much of the military command and the people themselves. For after a seemingly never ending collection of victories, Japan must now face a different question entirely: Surrender or enter what will surely end in the entire annihilation of its people.

That question and how the film tackles it is without a doubt the most captivating component of this film's 2 hour and 40 minute runtime, which feels stretched in even its most generous moments. And in no place is that better embodied than in the staunch coup supporter "Wide Eyes" (as I think he ought to be called) Major Kenji Hatanaka and the solemn transformation of Lt. Colonel Masutaka Ida. While Hatanaka, as a character, suffers from being overacted on the part of Toshio Kurosawa, Masutaka benefits from the careful and sublime handling by Etsushi Takahashi. And in a film with as many cast members coming and going as this one has, it's nice to have such strong constants to log in memory and keep track of.

Of course it doesn't hurt if that ensemble cast contains some of the best working actors in Japan circa 1967. Including, but not limited to, Kurosawa favorites Toshiro Mifune, Takashi Shimura, Seiji Miyaguchi, the seemingly eternal Chishu Ryo, and So Yamamura. Don't worry if the names don't strike a cord, their performances certainly do. Each contributing exactly what is needed in the film's intentionally tedious opening hour to setup the powerful and emotionally tearing finale. Though Mifune, as one might expect, is the film's true leading figurehead as Minister of War General Anami, who finds himself torn between the love of his troops and the acknowledgment of the need for an end to the conflict. A truly captivating man - whom I recommend reading up on if you haven't heard of him - and Mifune handles with great care his inner turmoil.

Though the wide spreading cast does hinder the film in key moments, especially when you consider the film seeks to introduce each and every one of them by name and rank. In the end there's just way too many, especially among those who just disappear for long periods of time or only play a key part in one scene and are then never seen again. Simply put, not every character needed a name, and while I adore the film for its dedication to include everyone involved in the real life events, it weighs down the prevailing narrative and holds up the flow of the film on more occassions than anything ought to.

So by the time we actually get to the much eluded rebellion, there is a built in disenchantment with the prevailing tale. Especially for those who have come to expect a certain speed and flow for a film to take. So it is perhaps best that the second half of the film begins the way it does - with a pile of blood. In a Sanjuro style bloodbath battle, the rebellion kicks off and thus begins a race against politics and time to secure the Emperor - who receives some very generous treatment by the filmmakers (some of which I attest to him still being alive and in charge at the time the film was made) - and destroy all evidence of Japan's notion to surrender. This is where director Okamoto earns his keep several times over.

Carrying the weight of the first half, Okamoto builds up each character and molds them into the final form that would come to define them in history books for decades to come. Those who would rise to the occasion, stand against oppression, or simply resign themselves to a particular fate. The inner conflict between dedication to the country or to the emperor become torn along the way mean delude themselves into believing the sovereign nature of their own cause.

Despite some sluggish moments, and struggle between exasperating overactors and seasoned veterans maintaining a staunch status quo, Japan's Longest Day is an effective War Epic Drama with plenty of history for fans of way and an even greater collection of important figureheads whose words resound even today.

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly (1966)

Top 100 Films: #2
Overall Rating: 10/10

To try and summarize the importance of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly on the evolution of my perspective of film as more than purely an American based art form would be in vain even at my most articulate. Simply put, this film put the notion of greatness into my own zeitgeist and sent me down a path from which there was no turning back. It introduced me to foreign cinema, stylistic direction, the epic, classic movies, westerns, and was one close up draw jump from here to Kurosawa.

But no need to go there now, this post is about the mesmerizing style of Leone, catapulted by the charismatic crook Eli Wallach, ignited by the dynamic villainy of Lee Van Cleef, and launched into the stratosphere of legendary by the smooth, timeless Clint Eastwood. The Good, The Bad and the Ugly (GBU) is a film unphased by aging or the growing trends of high octane entertainment. It survives the decades because it shaped the films of each of them. As influential as a film would ever dare be, and the kind of movie you can watch over and over again and constantly get something more out of.

It is perhaps best said that GBU is a film of nonstop minor escalation and deescalation wrapped around a larger, ever escalating primary plot. With each passing turn, each down time, each move, the viewer is privy to new insights to the characters, new ways of viewing the western as Leone viewed it, and somber morality tales to interspersed throughout the lot. The backdrop of the Civil War reminds us that violence is more than the never ending bloodbath of nightmares, it is the revelation of a man's inner being. It strips away at the heart of them, and delivers unto us their true form.

Are they a sultan of greed? A swindler of life? Or perhaps a compassionate loner with eyes full of gold? Maybe they're just a lowly captain tired of the endless nothingness at costs we dare not dream to imagine. Such is the world of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly. And with that you mind find it hard to imagine, this is one hell of a fun ride.

GBU starts of slow. Three scenes, three introductions, three foundations for the entire film, with each character defined for us in their most basic sense. After all, once we know what we're dealing with, all that is left to us is the journey, right? That's where Leone gets his pay off. That's where he truly makes his mark. For Leone takes these characters to their brink of their archetypes, and in each shows us something more raw. Of course, there's no denying Tuco is Leone's caricature masterpiece. He's the full realization of the byproduct of such a world as the one Leone examines through this film's near three hour runtime.  The world of the west, put so eloquently by Tuco himself creates two kinds of people - priests or thieves, and those who opt for the inbetween pay the price.

So it is perhaps most noteworthy that while Tuco himself succumbs to the primal nature for greed, his compatriot in fate, The Man with No Name/Blondie, is a more subtle, and intriguingly complicated man. For without much thought you could easily label him as little more than another Tuco himself. He lies, steals, but above it all shows an awareness for the world in which he resides. As if he is playing his own game with those around him, the prize of which often comes out to be their life. In many respects he is a gatekeeper, a judge who acts in favor of the better man, but only when that man chooses to act so. That doesn't mean he won't drop you off at the next desert if he feels you've served your purpose. It just means that when push comes to shove, he'll always plan for the upper hand.

As a villain, Angel Eyes' iconic status rests entirely on the cold, sly snarl of Lee Van Cleef. Every bit the soldier he pretends to be, Angel Eyes is not a man of great wit or charisma, but instead relies on pure, unadulterated dedication to the task at hand. Once his direction has been set, one would need an army to deter him from his inevitable course. And for that reason, his sinister nature comes out in full. He'll torture a man as soon as friend him, and if you're not careful he'll leave you behind to save his own skin in a heartbeat.

So take those three, those lovable, cartoonish characters and wrap them into the world of Leone's one of a kind style. Just watch this movie for the way Leone uses the camera. Sure, we all know the closeups, but pay attention to what he gets out of them - especially the eyes. The amount of emotion he gets out of his main characters. The subtle facial twitches and quirks that give them a relatable life, where another director would stick for the warmth but distant medium shot. Look at the compositions of the shots, the blend of Ennio Morricone's magnanimous score, the prolific nature each camera movement takes. Each shot is setup to be a portrait of the film at large.

So developed that once you see a photo of it, the entire film begins to flash through your mind once again. You remember that music, the lines, the looks on each character's face as they match wits and guns against one another. The steadfast calm at which Blondie drew his gun. The shifty look of annoyance as Tuco tried to make heads or tails of a given situation. The way Angel Eyes laugh brought flames into those sharp, dagger eyes. It's all there, all memorable, and only gets better with time. The Good, The Bad and the Ugly may not be a movie you have to watch dozens of times to understand, but it is one that pays off no matter how many times you do.


Film Credits:
Directed By: Sergio Leone
Screenplay By: Sergio Leone, Furio Scarpelli, Agenore Incrocci, & Luciano Vincenzoni
Story By: Sergio Leone and Luciano Vincenzoni
English Version By: Mickey Knox

The Way Back (2011)

OVERALL SCORE: 7.50/10

There are certain rules to the epic that have trickled along through most any film of worth. First, you save characterization until the end of a character. Whether it be through death or narrative completion, you allow the audience to guess on why characters act the way they do, with minor hints thrown in, and deliver only when it's time for them to step aside. The second is that while you can revisit, you never repeat. Even if the film is about monotony, you must find new ways of tackling the same subject. Put them on a shelf and only go back when you're in dire need of a plot point to move along.... or if your film is building up to something mentioned early on.

It is by those rules alone that The Way Back flounders about, struggling to elevate beyond 'just good.' From Truman Show to Master and Command to Gallipoli, Peter Weir is a proven pictorial master of the camera. He can craft prolific shots, wrap them around mesmerizing scores (as long as they're not techno), and integrate even the most rascally of scripts. So I find myself a bit troubled by his latest outing in The Way Back.

The film tells the tale of a group of political prisoners, during the Soviet Union's occupation of Poland, escaping their imprisonment in Siberia, trekking all the way South through USSR territory, and into China before eventually escaping Communist land upon reaching India. Wide in scope, wondrous in imagery, and captivating in premise, The Way Back drinks up all that can be had of the long standing tales of men versus nature. And it is in that aspect that the film seems unsure of what to do.

Water is the constant driving force of the men. From the backwoods of Russia to the deserts of China, much of The Way Back is centered around the consistent lack of water. Remember the rule on repetition I mentioned earlier? This is where The Way Back struggles. Finding water then losing water and then finding it again and losing it, this point is hammered home beyond description throughout the narrative. To keep this sentiment from feeling too draggy, Weir finds solace in the characters.

Some coming, some going, Weir keeps a consistent stream of new faces and new tales to tell. Mark Strong takes the force for the opening setup. Collin Farrell becomes the colorful criminal through the early to late middle. Saoirse Ronan then steps up to nail in the final few character arcs before the main crew are finally established enough to take it the rest of the way. This setup works sublimely because it helps keep you constantly guessing about the backgrounds of our characters, only offering tiny nibbles as they brave harsh landscapes.

That's where Jim Sturgess, Ed Harris, and lesser known actors Dragos Bucur and Gustaf Skarsgård become crucial to the film. Sturgess is more than capable of handling the film, but as the movie goes on the requests for his acting chops to be at a premium seem to reside. Harris is more than charismatic enough to carry the role, but his performance feels hollow in the best of times. Bucur and Skarsgård have the talent, but spend much of the first half of the film being just faces among the crowd.

In essence that very fact becomes the crucial misstep in Weir's The Way Back. For all the imagery, beauty, and intense moments of human struggle, the setup just isn't there. The movie rushes everything. "Oh these are my friends. Look snow. Look mineshaft. Now we're running in the forest. Now we have no water in the forest. Have water, oh hi girl. Damn you mosquitoes. Look desert, wait where did the water go? Oh look water, wait... why are you dying? We ran out of water? When? Wahoo India!"

Now I apologize for that horrid generalization of the film, but that's a bit of how the movie plays out. If it weren't for the talented cast and situational intensity, the movie would be a total misstep. Luckily enough for the viewer those things are there, and the high intensity pace keeps drama constantly flowing. Weir just does enough to create an emotional connection with the characters at just the right time, but it's a few shots short of greatness.

Film Credits:
Directed By: Peter Weir
Written By: Peter Weir & Keith R. Clarke
Novel By: Slavomir Rawicz