Roger and Me: Part 2

It has been just over a week since the passing of one of the strongest voices in film criticism. Since that fateful Thursday, life has seemed to return to normal in Roger Ebert's native Chicagoland playground. I suppose the majority of Chicagoans caught a glimpse of the front page cover of the Redeye last Friday and paused for only a brief moment before continuing through their day. Admittedly even an ardent fan like myself took the tact of going about my life as if nothing had happened; reflecting only in warm yellow glow of my neighborhood coffee shop. I suppose grief isn't as tumultuous if its tertiary.

Best movie ever...EVER!

Again I never knew Roger Ebert. I grew up watching him on satellite and later Armed Forces Network. When I was older and disciplined enough to sit down and read his reviews I was taken in by his warm and welcoming prose and his rapier wit. Even when I disagreed with his opinions I always appreciated the analysis. Sometimes I imagined sitting with him arguing over the validity of Brazil (1985) my favorite film of all time and one he seemed to almost despise. He would win the debate of course but at least by the end of the conversation I'd know what an ouroboros was.

It cannot be reiterated enough that we have lost a gifted writer and major contributor to the film industry as a whole. Last week I sat back and watched five of Roger Ebert's Ten favorite movies of all time. I gave an honest personal assessment of each. This week I want to finish that list.

Vertigo (1958)

The world has a serious Vertigo fetish

The action of Vertigo centers around former detective Scottie Ferguson (James Stewart) who had to call it quits due to disabilities incurred while on duty. Now a few years out of the game, he is hired as a private investigator to tail a mysterious young woman (Kim Novak) who he eventually becomes obsessed with.

I find that in addition to Ebert's official selections being ambitious works by talented directors, to me, they all have another thing in common: they're hard to watch a second time around. Don't get me wrong Vertigo is a strong choice especially since it is considered to be THE best movie ever made but the labyrinthine story combined with a slow build-up and fetishistic subtext makes the final twist in this Hitchcock classic unconvincing to me.

As indefensible as calling Vertigo just an above average Hitchcock outing is, you must consider the fact that Vertigo wasn't exactly popular during its initial release. That's not to excuse the taste of the viewing public in 1958 nor give it credence but to highlight one of my primary beliefs about film and art as a whole; its visceral. While I do appreciate Roger Ebert's attempt to intellectualize Vertigo as "[creating] a moral paradox" and "may be the one time in his entire career that Alfred Hitchcock completely revealed himself," I simply cannot reconcile that with its uncomfortable psychological themes.

I don't do drugs, I am drugs

That being said, film is a visual medium and Vertigo is certainly an example of an incredibly talented director at the top of his game. The film's rich color and setting provides a level of aesthetic appeal absent from other films like Sabotage (1936) or the ever popular Psycho (1960). Additionally the camera techniques and dreamlike sequences involving Scottie (James Stewart) and Judy (Kim Novak) are a striking improvement from 1945's Spellbound, which had dream sequences designed by none other than Salvador Dali.

I know I may have been ragging on it but I highly recommend Vertigo. Not just to film students but to anyone not turned-off by its release date. I suppose because it was only recently named best movie on earth and will be canonized as such for at least ten years, I had to take a pot shot at the largest kid on the block.

Raging Bull (1980)

Speaking of trying not to take pot shots at the largest kid on the block, lets talk for a moment about Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull. Raging Bull is based on the life of middleweight champion boxer Jake LaMotta who because of his uncontrollable rage distanced himself from friends and family, petering-out into obscurity. It's a sad, personal story that paralleled the director's own struggles at the time. During the filming of Raging Bull, Scorsese was recovering from substance abuse. Both Robert De Niro and Scorsese viewed Raging Bull as a very personal project.

Roger Ebert caught onto the directors zeitgeist from the get go. "The project languished while Scorsese and De Niro made the ambitious but unfocused musical “New York, New York,” and then languished some more as Scorsese's drug use led to a crisis. De Niro visited his friend in the hospital, threw the book on his

Would later make Hugo (2011)

bed, and said, 'I think we should make this.'" Ebert was such a big fan and ardent supporter of Scorsese's work he wrote a book about his filmography and art, "Scorsese by Ebert".

Now for my money, Taxi Driver (1976) is quintessential Scorsese but take away the boxing aspect of Raging Bull and its essentially a continuation of the same themes. While Robert De Niro's Travis Bickle was unable to unleash his violent tendencies as a taxi driver, Jake uses the ring as a form of release and absolution. The black and white cinematography stunts the impact of the violence (which is great for a hemophobic like me), I much prefer Taxi Driver's climactic coda to Raging Bull's constant claustrophobic jabs.

Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972)
The only first time director on Roger Ebert's list is Werner Herzog and his freshmen project Aguirre, the Wrath of God. The movie concerns Spanish conquistador Lope de Aguirre and his obsession with finding the lost City of Gold in the unforgiving Amazon. Starting out as an assisting lieutenant, Aguirre eventually takes over the doomed expedition into the jungle descending deeper and deeper into madness.

What if this guy was the only one with a gun?

Aguirre once again highlights Ebert's fascination with plot lines paralleling with the obsession, personal passions and frustrations of a singularly gifted filmmaker. The making of Aguirre and Herzog's similarly themed counterpart Fitzcarraldo (1982) is legendary in film circles. "Herzog, a German director who speaks of the 'voodoo of location,' took his actors and crew into a remote jungle district where fever was frequent and starvation seemed like a possibility. It is said Herzog held a gun on Kinski to force him to continue acting, although Kinski, in his autobiography, denies this, adding darkly that he had the only gun."

Aguirre is a hauntingly beautiful film pure and simple. One that creates a verboten sense of dread within the first frames and doesn't let up. Like a dream, the film delves into the psyche of film history's most potent evil madmen and forces audiences not only to experience such madness but transcend it. Herzog is brilliant at fashioning dreamlike states in naturalistic settings. While at times his stoic naturalistic approach may be maddening at times as it was in Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979) and Woyzeck (1979) it works to stellar heights in Aguirre.

Apocalypse Now (1979)

I love the smell of kitty litter in the morning

Perhaps it was because I first saw Aguirre before I sat down and watched Apocalypse Now but at times I find the two movies too similar. Not in plot mind you; Apocalypse Now isn't exactly a conquistador epic as it is, on the face of it, a soldier's story. But the themes and the mood set by yet another singularly obsessed director are similar enough for me to let my eyes wonder around the room instead of having them affixed on the screen.

I suppose one of the major differences between the two films is Apocalypse Now's American sensibilities. While Ford Coppola tries a similar form of transcendence through cinema as Herzog, he can't help but punctuate the point with iconic scenes meant to create tension instead of keeping the camera at arm's length to create godlike perception. Iconic scenes such as when Chief (Albert Hall) is hit by a spear, an entire family is dispatched by a trigger happy private (Laurence Fishburne) and finally when Col. Kilgore orders the attack on a Vietcong village. I suppose it doesn't matter all that much, it really just depends on your personal bias.

Tokyo Story (1953)
Tokyo Story marks my introduction to Yasujiro Ozu's filmography and unlike most other masterpieces on Ebert's list, I have only just now seen it. Admittedly I was afraid to watch Tokyo Story as it was the perfect

storm to avoid for everyone but serious film buffs. It's black and white, in a foreign language, its a seemingly simple family drama and its over two hours long. With such a description even Pulp Fiction (1994) fans are running for the hills. Still I sat down and promised myself that I would finish Tokyo Story.

Believe it or not I actually enjoyed it. Not enough to recommend it to my college roommate but serious film-folk shouldn't be afraid of its superficial faults. Ozu has a way with sympathetic disconnect. The family getting the star treatment in the film aren't portrayed with sentimentality nor with a sense of cruelty. It's a simple story of human nature told with an intellectual maturity and matter of fact-ness that doesn't blunt its emotional core but advocates for it.

Let me back up. Tokyo Story tells the story of an aging couple who go to visit their grown-up children in Tokyo only to find out the kids have less time to dedicate to them than anticipated. The only member of the family that gives them much time and attention is their daughter-in-law whose husband died in WWII.

Its a bittersweet story but instead of admonishing the children for their busy schedules and modern sensibilities, the parents expose Ozu's ultimate message. Things change. Sure children don't turn out how you expect them to but we must all be thankful that they turn out at all.

The final scene involves the elderly father telling the daughter-in-law that she must get remarried, and forget her sadness. In a world constantly in motion, "improving" from the hard fought battles of the past, we must always remember the words of Robert Frost "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."

But before life goes on I leave but one last message from the late and great Roger Ebert:

“I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try.”-Roger Ebert