#23: You Betcha!

(Fargo, 1996, Joel Coen)

Warning: There are spoilers ahead, doncha know? Yah, you betcha!

Going into this post I know that there is absolutely no way that I'll be able to write anything that will adequately describe how much I love this movie, or the Coen brothers in general. I adore them. That's all. I'll admit that I haven't seen all of their movies, and there's at least one that I won't see because I don't want to tarnish my opinion of them, but I am entirely convinced of their brilliance, which Fargo is an excellent example of. It's genius, and that's all there is to it.

The Coens are clever guys. Fargo begins with text that reads "THIS IS A TRUE STORY. The events depicted in this film took place in Minnesota in 1987. At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed. Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred." Well, that's a lie. Kind of. In reality, the Coen brothers drew inspiration from a few different cases and sort of combined them and relocated them in order to get Fargo. Two of the cases that form the basis for the story (the kidnapping of Virginia Piper and the murder of Carol Thompson) actually took place in Minnesota. Essentially, those two incidents were combined to become Jerry Lundegard's plot to have his wife kidnapped and then have his father-in-law pay the ransom, which he exaggerated so that he could pocket most of the money to pay off his debts. The third crime that inspired the Coen brothers actually took place in Connecticut, was far more gruesome, and ended being one of the most memorable parts of the film. That event was the murder of Helle Crafts, whose husband killed her and attempted to dispose of her remains with the help of a woodchipper.

So... why the "based on a true story" introduction? The Coens have said that they added the disclaimer to encourage viewers to suspend disbelief, which actually makes some sense. As Joel Coen himself puts it, "if an audience believes that something's based on a real event, it gives you permission to do things they might otherwise not accept." And, in a way, Fargo is presenting the truth, it's just the truth through the Coen brothers' filter. It's a few truths mixed with some fiction and then all mashed together to make one really good movie about a pregnant police chief and some really inept criminals. Someone gets put through a wood chipper, but it's not Lundegard's wife. Lundegard does hire two guys to get rid of his wife, though he hires them to kidnap her rather than murder her (I guess she ends up dead anyway though, so that's kind of a moot point). But the point is that the truth is mixed in there. Sure, the disclaimer asserts that the entirety of the film is truthful, and that's a lie, but the film isn't entirely untruthful either, which is kind of what makes it fun. It's fun to pick the little tidbits of truth out of the fiction.

I feel like this post is really short considering how much I like this movie, so I'm going to spend a little bit of time on the cast, because it really is a remarkable cast. William H. Macy plays Jerry Lundegard so well that "perfectly" doesn't seem to be a strong enough word. He stutters, sweats, and all together fails to hide his guilt, all while his incredibly expressive face shows every note of panic and fear that crosses it. Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare play Carl Showalter and Gaear Grimsrud, the two criminals hired to kidnap Lundegard's wife. Showalter just can't stop talking, with Buscemi making him simultaneously insufferable and somewhat sympathetic. Stormare plays silent, chain-smoking Grimsrud with calm and patience, until his patience with Showalter finally cracks and he murders him and shoves his body into a woodchipper. Finally there's Frances McDormand, whose portrayal of Marge Gunderson won her an Academy Award. Marge Gunderson is arguably the only character in the film who has any idea what she's doing, and while she doesn't succeed in stopping any of the crimes from being committed, she does succeed in catching the criminals. Her bubbly "Minnesota nice" accent makes her seem air-headed and silly, but she's tougher than she looks and she knows what she's doing. As the only one of the main characters who's unequivocally good, Marge Gunderson gets exactly what she deserves; to go home to her husband knowing that she's a good person who's done a good job. And Frances McDormand got exactly what she deserved; a nice, shiny Oscar.

So that's it. I love Fargo, and I love the Coen brothers. I'm excited that some of their films that I haven't seen are on The List because it will give me a chance to evaluate some of my thoughts about their entire collection of work. For now I just hold Fargo close to my heart as one of those films that is just good because it's good. It's well-written, well-acted, and well-directed, and there's not much more you can ask for.

#19: This Is War! This Is Not A Game Of Cricket!

(Bridge on the River Kwai, 1957, David Lean)

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!!

I’m not sure what the reason for it is, but honor has never really been a driving factor in my life. It might be the times we live in, or the society we’re a part of, but I never find myself thinking that when I’m doing something I’m doing it primarily for the honor of it. Let’s be honest, it’s almost always for personal gain. It’s just the way it is. I’m not necessarily saying I’m happy about it, sometimes I think it would be nice to live in a time where a person’s most important quality is their honor, but we live in a world where honor is on the list of important things somewhere far below monetary holdings and good looks. Which is why Bridge on the River Kwai, where honor is valued above all else, is such a fascinating watch.

Bridge on the River Kwai is essentially a story about two colonels, Col. Nicholson of the British army and Col. Saito of the Japanese army, who have to build a bridge. Saito must do it because those are his orders, and Nicholson must do it because he is a prisoner of Saito. In reality, both must do it to preserve their honor. In the interest of time and space, I’m going to focus on Saito, even though Nicholson is played by Alec Guinness, Oscar winner and future Jedi Master. In the end, though, I think Saito is the much more interesting character.  I can talk about Alec Guinness down the road when he’s actually a Jedi.

So here’s the deal: Saito is bound by the Japanese traditions of honor. He must have the bridge built by his deadline, or he has to kill himself. It sounds harsh, but to not have the project completed by the time his superiors say it must be would be extremely dishonorable and disrespectful, and the only way to regain that honor would be to commit seppuku and remove himself from the world. Saito uses a number of methods (mainly torture) to try to convince Nicholson and his men to build the bridge for him in order to meet his deadline and avoid having to end his own life. However, Nicholson refuses to defy the Geneva Conventions and allow his officers to work, so Saito is stuck. Well, kind of. After a few days in a hot box without food or water, Nicholson changes his mind and says he will help get the bridge built as long as Saito upholds the Geneva Conventions and doesn’t make the officers do manual labor. The shake on it, and the both go on their merry bridge-building way.

Long story short, they get the bridge built by the deadline, and everyone’s honor is restored, right? Wrong! Because now Saito must contend with the fact that the building of the bridge has essentially become a British project. The Brits designed the bridge and built the bridge, and all he did was order them to do it. Due to his inner torment, Saito brings his ceremonial knife with him to the bridge during it’s unveiling, and we are left to presume that he is going to commit seppuku anyway. Because, you know, a bridge built entirely by British hands is just as dishonorable as no bridge at all. And then it gets complicated.

While Saito’s inner battle is raging, Nicholson discovers that the Brits have rigged the bridge with explosives so that it will blow right as the first train crosses over it. When Saito and Nicholson get down to the exposed wire, the audience knows that Saito has the knife in his coat. But does he cut the wire? NO! Why? HONOR! If the bridge is destroyed by British forces, Saito cannot be punished because the evidence of his lack of involvement in the project will be reduced to toothpicks. And he would have still met his deadline, solving the initial “meet the deadline or kill himself” problem. He’s saved. Well, kind of. Until he gets shot at least. But that’s really not the point.

I guess that after 4 rewrites I still don’t really know where I’m going with this, except to pose this question. If Saito had lived, and the bridge had exploded because he didn’t cut the wire… would that really have restored his honor? In my mind, not really. By not cutting the wire he allowed the bridge to be destroyed, causing Japanese deaths and a huge inconvenience for the Japanese army. I guess this question is kind of irrelevant because he did die, but I didn’t really know what else to write about this movie. Which, by the way, I really liked. Just don’t ask me to explain why.

 

#5: That'll Do, Pig

(Babe, Chris Noonan, 1995)

We watched this movie unexpectedly. We were just hanging out, and it happened to be just starting on HBO so we decided to watch. We've both seen it before (though not for many years), and it ended up being a great idea. Especially because after it was over we realized that it was on the list. Which is awesome.

And Babe totally deserves to be on the list. You see, the best way to make a great movie for kids is to use adorable, talking animals. And, if there was a competition for cutest talking animal movie, Babe would probably win. I know that Pixar has made some very popular movies featuring talking critters (Ratatouille, Finding Nemo), and though I love those movies, the truth is that animated mice (okay, I know, rats) can't really compete with real mice as far as cuteness goes. And Babe uses real animals, so it wins. And oh, does it win.

Babe tells the story of a young pig who gets raised by Border Collies and in turn wants to become a sheepherder himself. It's a simple premise. Cute pig. Cute dogs. Cute sheep. And the overreaching moral of the story is that if you are polite and ask for things nicely, then people (or sheep) will be much more willing to do what you want. While that is not always the case, it's a really great lesson to be teaching little kids. And Babe is adorable, so they'll listen to him. And it's wonderfully nice. Also wonderfully nice is the relationship that Babe has with Farmer Hoggett. Because Farmer Hoggett might be the nicest man ever. It's just a beautiful example of how powerful a relationship man and beast can have, and yet another reason why the movie is so great for kids.

Now, at the end of the film, unsurprisingly, Babe successfully herds his sheep and wins the herding competition. Babe is happy, everyone cheers, and Farmer Hoggett just looks down at Babe and quietly says one immortal line: "That'll do, pig. That'll do." While we watched it I silently tried (and failed) to hold back tears. When I was young I didn't understand the poignancy of this scene, but now that I'm older (and have lost a pet more significant than a hamster or goldfish) it just pulls at my heart. I didn't want Jack to see me crying over a movie intended for kids, but as I looked over at him he was silently wiping a tear away as well, and suddenly everything was okay.

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I could count on one hand the number of movies that have made me not want to eat bacon. Actually, I really only need one finger, because Babe is the sole film to hold the power to potentially drive me away from that miracle food-stuff. I love the taste of fried pig skin as much as the next guy, but after watching Babe, you don't just want to avoid eating pork; you don't want to eat ANYTHING made from animals (For the record, with my goldfish-esque memory, I still eat bacon).

I distinctly remember seeing Babe in theaters with my parents back when it first came out, and loving the heck out of it. Thinking about it now, it seems odd that it would have had such a hold on me as a kid, especially when you consider how dark it is. His mom dies in the first five minutes, for Pete's sake! Add on to that the threat of animal death at seemingly every turn, some crazy wild dogs and the titular pig almost dying of pneumonia, and you have a "children's" movie that is reaching the echelons of Up for tragedy.

Fortunately, Babe doesn't stand out because it's the most depressing movie about animals ever made. Instead, the movie is cute, funny, a little scary and ultimately, mind-blowingly uplifting. A large part of this is due to James Cromwell's outstanding performance as Farmer Hoggett. He only has 171 words of dialogue, and 61 of them are sung, yet his presence is so commanding that it garnered him an Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor. He keeps his emotions close to the chest for most of the movie, which makes the Act III bursts of passion all the more moving. Plus, he gets to utter one of the best lines of dialogue in all of film: "That'll do, pig."

Aside from that, there's not much else to be said about Babe. All the animals' lip movements were done by the Jim Henson Workshop, so it looks like the filmmakers found actual talking critters to populate their movie. And Hugo Weaving is the voice of the lead sheepdog Rex, who doesn't wear a Guy Fawkes mask or beat Keanu Reeves heavily about the face and neck, but does provide a nice redemptive moment towards the end of the film.

Really, if you haven't seen Babe yet, you are absolutely missing out. It's pretty significant that it was the last G-rated film to be nominated for Best Picture (it lost to Braveheart, by the way). And if you don't cry during the climactic finale, your heart is made of stone (clearly, my heart is made of the opposite of stone).