Wednesday, 16 December 1998

RANTING & RAVING

Much of the mail about Monday's column on The Thin Red Line (THB 12/14) included requests for more specific information., such as this excerpt from Matthew's letter: "I look forward to reading a more in-depth report about the cast of The Thin Red Line on your page. You didn't say too much about the actors, and I want to know who you felt stood out amongst the many illustrious faces in the picture. Is it Penn? Chaplin? Caviezel? Who is the 'star?' Or is it an ensemble? How large are the roles held by the 'established' stars, such as Clooney, Travolta, Nolte, etc.? MORE INFO, PLEASE!" Well, here you go, Matt.

First of all, let me say that I will not be offering up any spoilers here. So, it's safe to proceed.

I hope Fox doesn't think it's still some secret, but the bigger the movie star in The Thin Red Line, the smaller the part. But Malick made use of celebrity in a very specific way that was more than just using names for promotional value. Reports have Fox demanding five major stars to carry the financial weight of this movie. John Travolta, George Clooney, John Cusack, Nick Nolte, Sean Penn and Woody Harrelson are the major names that made the cut. (Don't expect to see Lukas Haas, Gary Oldman, Bill Pullman or Mickey Rourke except in the end credits under "thanks to.")

Who's the biggest star? John Travolta. Who's the highest ranking officer? John Travolta. Nolte is the next highest ranking soldier, but I listed Clooney and Cusack ahead of him because Malick uses their movie star good looks to separate them from others of their rank (and Nolte as well) to suggest, I believe, that they are the ones who are on the way to the top. Nolte's hard-edged face suggests that he had the potential, but that his time has passed. Penn and Harrelson are men who may show the most bravery, but will never get past the sergeant level. What better analogy for great character actors?

There was nothing haphazard or callous about Malick's casting choices. It was one of the fascinating things about going to the junket. The actors were much like their characters in the film. The centerpiece of the movie, Jim Caviezel (pronounced Ka-vee-sul) seems almost as placid and calm in life as his character, Witt, does in the movie. Ben Chaplin, who plays Bell, has that same far away look in his eyes when you talk to him as he does when he daydreams about his beloved wife in the movie. Dash Mihok is the same brash kid that he is in the film, as Doll. (Maybe a bit more worldly.) And Elias Koteas, the deeply religious and moral company commander, Staros, seems as world-weary and unbelievably sincere while talking about his choices of roles as when you see him on the screen. (Nolte doesn't exhibit the frustration of his character in real life, but you feel the wounds of life when you watch him talk.)

As I wrote, the "star" of the movie, if there is one, is Caviezel, Malick starts the movie with him and he remains the moral center throughout as other stories are woven in and out. If I were going to nominate anyone in a Best Actor category, it would be him. Everyone else is so much part of an ensemble, that they would have to be considered supporting actors. Nolte and Penn do some of their very best work here, but if I were to pick one supporting nominee, it would be Koteas. Maybe it's the role. Maybe it's the fact that he's an underdog. Maybe he just gets more to do in the movie. But Koteas deserves to be recognized.

Tom S. added some more good comments and questions: "The key scene in the trailer for me, the one that made my mouth drop, was the 'swinging scene.' Do you know which one I am referring to? It's the one where the young woman is swinging and the shot seems to be upside down? I was wondering if that is in the 'first act' and if the entire scene is as miraculous and inventive as that one shot."

The "swinging scene" is a memory of a loved one and it is astute of you to recognize the genius of the shot. Sadly, the repeated use of flashbacks to the woman in the swing (not always in the swing) is one of the bones that some people are picking. Every flashback is elegant and tender, though that particular shot is singular. This is one of those things. Chaplin mentioned a scene at the junket, which is no longer in the film, where he discusses his wife with another soldier. It is the genius of Malick that he was able to express the same emotions even more powerfully (I imagine) without the actor explaining his feelings in a dialogue scene.

Tom adds: "Tell me: exactly why is this film so great? Was it the fact that Malick didn't chop the hell out of his film and left vital, human affecting scenes in?"

I have one friend who says that the film would be a masterwork if only Malick would have cut half an hour. I say, "Bull." Scent of a Woman was 157 minutes long and got raves from many of the same critics who ripped the same director's Meet Joe Black at 178 minutes. Cut 21 minutes from Meet Joe Black and it's still too long. It's not because two hours and 37 minutes is too long for any movie (as so many critics are droaning on about regarding The Thin Red Lines current two hours, 46 minute running time, which is expected to end up around two hours, 35 minutes or so), but rather because Meet Joe Black is a conventional tale with few surprises and there's only enough story to fill about two hours.

The Thin Red Line isn't a conventional storytelling movie. It never was. It never could be. Whether it be two hours and 46 minutes, 2 hours and 35 minutes or 2 hours and five minutes, this film would be too long for those who don't want to experience this kind of movie. And that would be fine except for the fact that critics don't just write, "Hey, I hate this kind of movie. I need action or I just end up napping in the theater." They have to find blame. They feel compelled to explain that their disinterest is something wrong with the movie.

Ryan wrote in with this example: "Critics trashed I Still Know What You Did Last Summer as a pointless, gory, standard horror sequel. What was the point in even reviewing it? The main target audience was fans of the first one -- and most critics were not. Is there really a danger that discerning moviegoers who rely on reviews were really going to run out to watch Jennifer Love Hewitt and company being chased by a man with a hook? Did everyone who put time and effort into what was an ultimately profitable film need to be subjected to the unkind and lacerating remarks that critics spewed from their venomous pens? Does the audience that did like the film need to feel that bad about a film they happened to love? Should that be taken away from them? For what? What purpose that does serve? None. The film made money anyway. So it didn't matter."

I agree and disagree with Ryan on this. I appreciate the idea of just not offering an opinion on something you know you're going to hate, but I felt that I Still Know was a significantly worse movie than the original. In this one case, the quality of the work between films had deteriorated to a degree that I felt was of some note. And in the end, even when I disagree with critics, I can live with differences in opinion. What I object to is the lack of any sense of proportion that has run rampant among those of us who offer our opinions.

Tom's last words: "Does the film abound with 'nature watching?' Is it effective if so?"

The answer is an unqualified yes. But it's not really nature watching; it's nature watching us. The sun, the moon, the trees and the animals are the witnesses. They stand in for God. One particular animal stands as a metaphor in the beginning and near the end of the film. Rarely have I heard such misunderstanding of an image. I don't want to say too much and give something away, but viewers were apparently so busy judging the choice of showing an animal that they failed to connect its actions to the structure of the film. It is so clear and so simple, but to the mob, it's just another one of too many pictures of animals.

Let me address one last thing. I was not the biggest fan of Days of Heaven. I went to see Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris at a sold-out showing of a new print and wouldn't have been any happier on a rack with Torquemada at the wheel. A friend that got me to pay good money to see Derek Jarman's War Requiem is still paying the price for it, eight years later. I don't have a thing for aggressively arty, pretentious movies. If you are a regular reader, you probably know that about me by now. But I appreciate the artistry involved. I understand the contributions that Days of Heaven made to film as a medium. The influence that Tarkovsky has on so many filmmakers. The gentle imagery of Jarman.

Understand, The Thin Red Line stands head and shoulders above all the films I just mentioned. On every level. There is a clear story. There is action. There are distinct and easily comprehended character arcs. But viewers have to try to see the trees through the forest. The film is so rich, so ambitious, that many may want to have a guidebook. I can understand that feeling. But if you love Shakespeare, I'm willing to bet that you didn't quite know what was going on in every passage of Hamlet the first time through. This film works on that level. And I guess that just pisses some people off. So be it. Just don't lick your chops, oh, disbelievers, as you make the decision for all of us that we shouldn't like this movie.

---

E ME: This battle will go on for a while and I'll try not to bore you with it. In the meantime, you should know that roughcut.com will be doing a cybercast and chat from the premiere party of The Thin Red Line. No, that's not why I am so impassioned about this film. (Recall, if you will, my lukewarm reaction to the film premiere we last cybercasted from -- The X-Files.) Oddly, I forgot this fact at the junket and forgot to say, "Hey, see you at the premiere party chat," which would have helped me next Tuesday night. But I wanted you to know that conflict-of-interest accusations may fly. Tomorrow, no Thin Red Line news. Is there anything in particular you'd like to read about?