#10: I'm Making Spoon Bread!

(Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Don Siegel, 1956)

My absolute favorite part of Invasion of the Body Snatchers has literally nothing to do with any body snatching. In fact, it has very little to do with the plot of the film at all. Early in the story, our hero (played by Kevin McCarthy) is meeting up with an old flame at her house, and her mother offers him to stay for dinner. And what does she say she's making? "Spoon bread." I had no idea what spoon bread was (it's some kind of savory pudding) but the enthusiasm with which the actress delivered the line made me laugh out loud. So there you go.

Aside from spoon bread, Invasion of the Body Snatchers still has a lot to offer. If you've ever been paranoid about anything in your entire life, this might be the best film you can watch. Unlike a lot of other films, the supposed "crazies" here are 100% right the whole way through. The reason your dad is acting so weird? He's not your dad, he's an alien drone whose only mission in life is to conquer our planet. So run. Run now!

One of the best things Invasion of the Body Snatchers has going for it is the concept that anyone could be a pod person, and it would be near impossible to tell. The film creates an atmosphere of extreme tension in all the scenes where characters we'd seen just previously are acting completely normal, but with a few small quirks. You get whipped up in a frenzy, much like the rest of the characters, until you feel the same panic McCarthy feels when he shouts "They're already here! You're next! You're next!"

Despite their efforts, Hollywood is never going to produce a better version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers (but the '70s version still has Leonard Nimoy!). Communism is no longer the perceivable threat it was in the 1950s, and no studio would let the subtle moments of this film slide by without filling them with a shaky-cam chase scene or gory mutilation. It's a nice little sci-fi/horror film, made at exactly the right time.

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I have to admit, I've kind of had enough of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I watched it for a Politics and Film class I'm taking and ended up writing a film analysis on it, so I really wish I could just skip this post because I don't need to talk about this movie any more. I would just post my film analysis, but it's kind of long and not very good, so I'll spare all of you good people the agony. But I'm kind of mentally done with this film.

In case you didn't already know, Invasion of the Body Snatchers is about the terrifying, ever-present fear of COMMUNISM! That's right, the first incarnation of this film was made during the McCarthy era and the Red Scare, and those scary, soulless aliens that are taking over the bodies of the main character's loved ones are actually communists in disguise. As aliens. Or maybe they actually are just aliens. I'm still not clear on that.

Okay, I'm kidding. I'm pretty clear on it. They are actually aliens. But the aliens are a metaphor for communists. At least that's one theory. The other theory is that the filmmakers made a film about aliens that grow in weird space pods and take over the bodies of innocent citizens, and American society just assumed it was about communism. Because there's this theory out there that when a society is going through a problem they will project that problem onto things in popular culture such as television and film. I like to believe that the filmmakers are intelligent people and the metaphor was intentional, but I also used to dream of being a screenwriter so I might be biased. Either way, this film has kind of gone down in history as being a big red communist metaphor, so that's pretty much all it will be remembered for. That, and the multiple remakes.

To be completely honest, this film is kind of enjoyable in the same way that any 1950's horror film is enjoyable. By today's standards of horror it's completely cheesy and not scary at all, but that's kind of why it's fun. So I guess I don't hate the film, I just hope that I never have to write about it ever again.

#9: Once, When I Was Little, I Fell into a River.

(Spirited Away, Hayao Miyazaki, 2001)

My love for Spirited Away is something that I find hard to define. I'm not one of those people who worships the ground that Hayao Miyazaki walks on, and as such I don't automatically love every film he's ever made simply because he made it. My feelings about Howl's Moving Castle were decidedly lukewarm, and, in all honesty, I've never actually seen My Neighbor Totoro in its entirety. I just never have gotten around to it. But I really adore Spirited Away.

Part of it could be because the first time I saw it I was in high school and I had been taking Japanese. Though I didn't see the film in Japanese, I did feel like I was taking a step in learning more about Japanese culture and, I'll admit, it felt good. Or it could be that my mom and I saw it at the Bijou (for you non-Eugenians, that's our independent theater) and there weren't many other people there. For some reason it made it seem all the more personal. I also love that, even after seeing this film 10+ times, I'm still not entirely sure what any of it means. Probably because I'm not Japanese. There are aspects of it that I'm sure resonate really well with people who have lived their entire lives in Japan. I'm certain that there are symbols in this film that just don't translate to an American audience. And I think that element of the mysterious and exotic appeals to me.

For me, Spirited Away ends up being a beautifully illustrated and whimsically told story about a young girl who wants to get her parents back. She meets interesting "people" (I use that term extremely loosely), does interesting things, and has a great adventure. And there's a dragon. I'm a sucker for dragons. I don't feel like I need to understand exactly what's happening and what the symbols mean to appreciate the sweeping, colorful beauty of Miyazaki's art. Because, ultimately, that's what Spirited Away is. Wonderful, colorful, whimsical moving art.

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Let me start by saying that by no means do I think Spirited Away is a bad film. It's a weird film, to be sure, but it is definitely not bad. I like when animated movies, especially animated movies aimed at children, push the envelope, creating detailed story lines and complex characters, trusting kids to understand what they can and accept what they don't. And Spirited Away definitely does that.

Perhaps the biggest issue I had with Spirited Away was the hype. Just about every person I have spoken to about the film raved about how much they loved it, and how they found it so moving, and how it had changed the way they look at film. And I appreciate that everybody seems to like it. Heck, John Lasseter himself does the intro to the American version of the film on DVD. In short, there was no way this movie could live up to the hype unless it was a documentary showing the second coming of Christ, but it played like an episode of Doctor Who (By the way, who wouldn't want to see Jesus as the 12th Doctor? It would make for an interesting season, to say the least).

Alas, Spirited Away is not the greatest film I'd ever seen. Hayao Miyazaki clearly knows his way around a complex story, but despite the immense attention to detail, I found myself getting lost or confused several times. I found the way the story flowed to be a little off-putting, as it covered so much ground in so little time. Spirited Away is a very fast moving film, but I felt like it was jerking me around rather than allowing the story to flow cohesively.

Above all else in the film, and the one thing I took away from it, was the extremely awesome characters Miyazaki came up with. We have a talking frog, a weird ghost/man named No Face, a cross between a spider and an old guy, a Stink Spirit/River Spirit, a gigantic baby, humans who turn into pigs, and twins with awkwardly proportioned heads and bodies. Watching all of these characters (supplied with their American voices by an amazing cast including Suzanne Pleshette and David Ogden Stiers) interact with one another is absolutely fascinating, even if it doesn't make sense at times.

So what did I think of Spirited Away? I'd have to say I like the film, but not nearly as much as everyone seemed to think I would. That's okay, but it was still kind of a letdown. I wanted to fall into the story, but I couldn't quite get into it.

#8: You Can't Interfere With Destiny. That's Why It's Destiny.

(Election, Alexander Payne, 1999)

I think the main reason I like Election so much is the memory I have associated with the first time I saw it. I was a sophomore in high school, and I went over to my friend Kaitlyn's house after school. She, our friend Kristin and I all watched this together in her basement. I don't necessarily remember, but it may have been the first "R" rated movie I'd seen in its entirety. I do know it was the first time I had seen one without my parents knowing. I know, I was such a rebel at 15.

The benefit, however, of watching it a second time was that, with age, I find that I actually understand the movie a whole lot better. I remember being confused as to why this movie was billed as a comedy. Now I realize that it truly is comedic, just blacker than black. Matthew Broderick is compromise personified as Jim McAllister, the high school civics teacher who is punished by the fates for having the audacity to try to break away from the established norm.

Reese Witherspoon steals the show, though, as overachieving senior Tracy Flick. She's the usual perky blonde that everybody knows from the Legally Blonde films, but Witherspoon gets the chance here to create real depth and emotion in her character. She's manipulative, vindictive, angry, and completely willing to do whatever it takes to win. And, in the titular student government election, Tracy has to go up against ex-football star Paul Metzler (Chris Klein).Chris Klein, unbeknownst to everyone at the time, suffers from what I like to call "Matthew McCanaughey Syndrome." Much like Mr. McCanaughey in "Dazed & Confused," we were all convinced that Chris Klein was merely really good at playing the stupid, big-hearted jock that provided some much-needed levity (I know McCaunaughey wasn't a jock, but I think you get my point). Turns out, the guy can't act his way out of a paper bag. But it works in Election, where he provides the perfect foil to Witherspoon, choosing to be far more innocent than she could ever hope to be.

Yes, Election really does work in making you laugh out loud. But Witherspoon and Broderick really serve as the film's prime examples of the two outcomes should you choose to do whatever it takes to get what you want. In Broderick's case, his world comes crashing down, but he emerges somewhat better off, with a new life and a new job. For Witherspoon, she ultimately gets what she wants, but without the rich, fulfilling life we all want. For Klein, he's just happy he didn't die.

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It should be said from the start that Matthew Broderick holds a very special place in my heart. Specifically, because Ferris Bueller's Day Off is consistently one of my all-time favorite movies, and my go to movie to watch when I'm home sick or in a particularly bad mood. What can I say, it cheers me up. It must be something about that parade scene. It just gets me. But this post isn't about Ferris Bueller. It's about Election. And Election is decidedly not Ferris Bueller's Day Off. And this is NOT the Matthew Broderick I fell in love with.

I like Matthew Broderick one of two ways. I like him as Ferris Bueller (plucky, tenacious, looking for a good time, and, let's face it, completely brilliant). Ferris is charming and cute, and he achieves what every high school senior dreams of: the perfect day off. The other way that I like Matthew Broderick is the way he was in The Producers. Leo Bloom is meek and cowardly. He spends his days as an accountant and has never done anything remotely interesting...until he meets Max Bialystock. Then all of his dreams of being a Broadway producer come true (after a short stint in prison, of course). Once again, he gets what pretty much everyone wants. He gets to be what he's always wanted to be, despite living most of his life as an average Joe.

Matthew Broderick in Election is neither of those two versions of Matthew Broderick. And that's probably the main reason that I am somewhat uncomfortable with Election. In Election, Matthew Broderick is meek and unassuming like he was in The Producers, but he doesn't triumph. At all. He ends up being defeated by Tracy Flick, who can be found in literally every high school in America.

I can see why Election is considered "good." I understand what makes it appealing, and I can even see that it was something of a subversive film at the time it was made. And usually that would be right my alley, but I honestly just have a hard time getting behind a movie that doesn't end with Matthew Broderick getting exactly what he wants.

#7: What Have You Done to His Eyes!?

(Rosemary's Baby, Roman Polanski, 1968)

Warning: Spoilers. So many spoilers.

If one movie exists that makes me never want to have children, it's Rosemary's Baby. The first time I saw this film I was in high school, and I don't think I fully understood just how terrifying it was. Now, 4+ years later, I find this to be one of the scariest movies ever made. Maybe it's a woman thing, but there isn't much that is more terrifying than the possibility of giving birth to a demon baby. Being raped by the devil, maybe. But don't worry, Rosemary's Baby has that covered, too.

Beyond the demon child/devil rape scenario that takes place in this film, there's also the constant presence of paranoia. Rosemary (iconically played by Mia Farrow) starts to believe that her seemingly innocent, elderly neighbors are actually witches, and that she is carrying the devil's spawn due to a ritual they've performed. She gets pale. She feels sick. She has an incurable pain in her womb. She starts eating raw meat. Oh, and on top of it all, her husband won't believe her. Because, it turns out, HE'S IN ON IT. And no one will listen to her. She gets told that she's paranoid by almost everyone she talks to, and she sees her life spiraling out of control and all she wants to do is save herself and her baby (who, until the very end, she has no idea is actually a demon baby). And she can't.

Now, all of this wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the fact that she's RIGHT. About EVERYTHING. She is more right than any "paranoid" person in any movie about paranoia has ever been. With the help of Hutch, the one person who doesn't think she's crazy, she manages to figure out almost everything that's going on around her. Of course, Hutch is killed off by the people who are driving her to madness, and she is left alone with knowledge that she has no idea what to do with and absolutely no one to trust. And it's heartbreaking because all she wants is to have her baby, and the one thing she doesn't know is that the witches don't just want the baby. They created the baby. And no matter what she does, she can't get away.

In the end, we never see the baby. As far as a description goes, all we're left with is Rosemary maniacally asking what they've done to his eyes. Some (*ahem* JACK) are left unsatisfied with the ending of the film because Rosemary still accepts her role as the baby's mother. Because she IS the baby's mother and nothing can break that bond. But for me, whether Rosemary accepts her son or not doesn't matter. What I've always been left with is the unnerving feeling that, sometimes, when everyone is telling you you're paranoid...you aren't.

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We could talk about how Roman Polanski is an excellent director. We could talk about how Mia Farrow delivers an amazing performance. But that would be neglecting one of the greatest features of Rosemary's Baby: the Dakota building in New York City. Granted, the interiors of the Dakota were filmed on a soundstage, but the building itself has an incredibly imposing presence that bookends the movie. Immediately upon seeing the opening shot, with Farrow's lullaby playing over it, you get the feeling that some seriously creepy business is about to go down. And you couldn't be more right.

The most worrisome thing about Rosemary's Baby is that there's no reason to be scared by anything that is going on. Rather than choose to show anything overtly demonic going on, Polanski instead chooses to ratchet up Rosemary's paranoia.

You can really look at this movie from two different perspectives. On one hand, you can side with Rosemary, who feels that her pregnancy is completely unnatural, slowly convincing herself that everyone she knows is against her. The film provides plenty of evidence towards this side (her dreams, her constant pain) and you can see that there could be some truth to her beliefs. On the other hand, if you come to the situation from a cold, logical perspective, you would side with the neighbors and Rosemary's husband (John Cassavetes). Almost every other character in this movie is convinced nothing is wrong with Rosemary, and that it's all in her mind.

And that's why this movie's ending works. If you side with Rosemary (as I think Polanski tries to do), you are completely vindicated by the films final reveal. If you sided with cold logic, you get one of the rare chances to be truly shocked by a film's ending. Granted, I wasn't really a fan of Rosemary's decision to keep her spawn of Satan. But I think that's what I like about the movie the most. I was so emotionally involved in the film that I truly cared enough about the characters to be outraged by a character's decision. I may not have liked the ending, but I'm really glad I didn't.

#6: I Am Terribly Drunk...

(Throne of Blood, Akira Kurosawa, 1957)

Macbeth, on which Throne of Blood is based, is not my favorite Shakespeare play. That distinguished honor goes to King Lear. But Throne of Blood is my favorite Kurosawa adaptation of any Shakespearean work (we'll discuss Ran at a later date). I know that's kind of an odd statement to make, but I kind of feel like this blog is a safe place for odd statements to congregate. But I digress.

The most entertaining thing about Throne of Blood is how seamlessly Kurosawa is able to take something that was written in 17th century England and convert it to feudal Japan. The system of government at that time was remarkably similar, and Kurosawa is able to recognize the importance of a warrior based culture in both settings. What we get as a viewer is something that feels wholly unique. Even if you've read Macbeth, or seen it performed, Throne of Blood is a very different experience, although a familiar.

Most of the credit for this fact can be placed squarely on the shoulders of Toshiro Mifune and his portrayal of Washizu, the Macbeth character. He brings a level of intensity that is palpable, showing immense greed and hubris while still finding time to scream at his underlings in a bug-eyed rage. It's a tour-de-force performance, helped largely by an extremely imposing presence.

That said, Mifune doesn't carry the movie alone (although he probably could). His Lady Macbeth (Asaji, played by Isuzu Yamada) is an excellent femme fatale who seems even crazier than anything Shakespeare ever concocted. His friend, Miki (the Banquo character, played by Minoru Chiaki) is the innocent bystander who is brought along for the ride, willingly or not.

But despite these standout performances, the true star of this movie is Kurosawa's direction. In the hands of a lesser director, Throne of Blood would fall flat, appearing to try too hard to be something it's not. Instead, Kurosawa made ample use of the fog that shrouds Mount Fuji (where the film was shot), giving everything an immediate air of mystery and deception. Nothing inherently scary ever happens, but the viewer is tense the entire time, expecting something to come raging out of that fog. The best part is that you don't even see it until a forest is descending on Washizu's castle, and he realizes he's at his end.

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Okay, I'll be honest and start by saying this: Throne of Blood probably would have been a lot better if I had, you know, payed attention to it. When we watched Throne of Blood I had just purchased a new game for my computer and, needless to say, found it very distracting. Which normally would be alright, except that Throne of Blood is directed by Kurosawa, which means it's in Japanese, which means there are subtitles, which means that actually paying attention is kind of crucial. I know that this kind of goes against the spirit of our whole experiment here, but seeing as we have 994 more films to watch we figured that we could just let it go and try harder with the next subtitled film.

For those of you who don't know, Throne of Blood is Kurosawa's adaptation of William Shakespeare's Macbeth. We watched it when we did because I'd just spent about 5 weeks reading and analyzing Macbeth and was inhumanly excited about it because I'm such a nerd. So we watched Throne of Blood. And what I saw of it was pretty amazing.

I'm always intrigued to read or watch different adaptations of well known stories, and because Shakespeare's work has been around so long it lends itself especially well to adaptation. I think that what I like so much about these various adaptations is seeing what things are changed when the material is placed in different hands. Obviously, Kurosawa chose to set Throne of Blood in Japan and recast the title king as a samurai. Big surprise. I don't think anyone was or will ever be surprised by that. That's fine. What I found that I liked so much about this film was that all of the other changes to the story were really, well...cool. For example, instead of three unholy witches, Kurosawa used a single old woman as a ghostly forest spirit. And instead of the film opening with her, she is not seen until Washizu (the Macbeth equivalent) and General Miki (essentially Banquo) find her in the forest. And the scene is absolutely breathtaking. It's beautiful and chilling, exactly as it should be.

However, probably the best change made by Kurosawa is the way that Washizu dies. Rather than being beheaded (by the character of Macduff in the original story), Washizu is shot repeatedly by his own archers. The death is spectacular, and made even more striking by the intense fear on Washizu's face. What makes it even more striking is that all the fear the audience sees is real, as all of the arrows shot that don't make contact are real arrows that are actually being shot at the actor playing Washizu. It is no longer acting, but true fear of being impaled by incoming projectiles.

Looking back on Throne of Blood I know I've done myself a disservice by not giving in the attention it deserves. So, I say right now, that someday, when I don't have 994 other films waiting to be watched, I'll come back to it and give it my undivided attention.