Lawrence of Arabia

“If I fear him, who love him, how must he fear himself who hates himself?” – Sherif Ali

Those words, spoken through tears by Sherif Ali near the close of ‘Lawrence of Arabia’, are at once incisive, poetic and heartbreaking – like the film itself. David Lean’s masterpiece is rightly praised for its sweeping scope, its lavish production and its general “epic-ness”, but lines like that are what give the film real power and life. ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ is as much a quiet, personal film as it is an epic, and it is the interplay of these two elements that make this film absolutely riveting for me. Scope alone is not enough, but when coupled with superior dialogue and a fascinating personal story about a unique historical (or fictional) figure, it can catapult a film into greatness. This explains why films like ‘Ben-Hur’ and ‘Schindler’s List’ work, while others collapse under the burden of a vast canvas. Amid the battles at Aqaba and Tafas, the pageantry on display at Wadi Rum, and the numerous treks across forbidding deserts, the central theme of the film is always at the forefront. 

What is the central theme? Midway through the film, after Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) sees the eerie image of a ship – obscured by sand dunes – navigating the Suez Canal, a man on a motorcycle provides it as he yells across the Canal: “Who are you?!” (this line was actually shouted by director Lean). The film examines the discovery of identity by telling the story of a man who didn’t fit into British society, British military ranks, or even his own family (due to his illegitimate parentage). As Sherif Ali (Omar Sharif) remarks to Lawrence, “It seems to me that you are free to choose your own name, then.” In Lawrence’s case, he finds his real identity, of all places, among warring Bedouins in the “burning, fiery furnace” of Arabia – and to his horror discovers masochistic and barbaric impulses.

 The first half of the film soars as Lawrence finds confidence, success and eventual fame as a brilliant military tactician. The second half examines Lawrence’s hubris as a self-appointed messiah of the Arab people, and his inevitable downfall as he first flees and then indulges his thirst for bloodshed. Most people I talk to who have seen the film (a small group, unfortunately) say that they loved the first half but not the second. But without the second half, Lawrence’s character arc would not be as resonant or tragic, and therefore not as powerful. Lean conveys Lawrence’s decline in many subtle ways – when Lawrence first dons the flowing white Arabian robes, they are clean and unwrinkled. Near the end, as he tours the military hospital in Damascus, his robes have become dirty, blood-stained and nearly see-through – as if Lawrence has become a ghost of himself (the costume department gradually eroded the texture of the robes until they resembled muslin cloth). There is the brilliant final shot, where Lawrence’s face is seen opaquely through a glass windshield right after a passing motorcycle prefigures his eventual death. Even the film’s original poster (used for the 50th Anniversary Blu-ray) beautifully conveys the character’s ambiguity and complexity. In a sense, ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ contains the seeds of the antiheroes that saturate our multiplexes today.

Remarkably, the film is more or less faithful to actual historical events, and most of the key plot points (though somewhat romanticized) are taken from actual occurrences during World War I. The siege of Aqaba, the success of the Arab revolt, Lawrence’s imprisonment (…) at Deraa, the Sykes-Picot Agreement, and the ultimate failure of Arab governance in Damascus are all well-preserved in the annals of history, and in Lawrence’s autobiography ‘The Seven Pillars of Wisdom’. Col. T.E. Lawrence is a well-known figure in British military history due to his successful (though short-lived) uniting of the Arab tribes against the Turks. From a film perspective, the historicity of the plot lends the central themes even more gravitas and power by providing a compelling backdrop for sensational battles and quiet moments alike. Furthermore, the movie contains many perspectives on the Arab peoples that are very salient today. The divisions among tribes that caused a failure of the Arab National Council in 1920 also threaten to fracture today’s fledgling Iraqi government. T.E. Lawrence is credited with innovating guerrilla warfare tactics that are still employed today by ISIL, Taliban and al Qaeda fighters against the West. The US remains embroiled in the quagmire of Arabia, just as Britain and France were for so long. Though the desert has indeed dried up more blood than we can imagine, we are approaching the ability to do so.

There is no shortage of things to admire in the film. ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ is blessed with an uncommonly intelligent, literate screenplay by Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson (Bolt also wrote ‘A Man for All Seasons’, a film similarly blessed). Dialogue exchanges are deep, thought-provoking and frequently inspiring. Some memorable examples:

(Prince Feisal) “There is nothing in the desert. No man needs nothing.”

(Ali) “These are not ordinary men.” (Lawrence) “I don’t want ordinary men.”

(Lawrence) “I shall want quite a lot of money.” (Gen. Allenby) “All there is.” (Lawrence) “Not that much.”

(Ali) “The Nefud is the worst place God created.” (Lawrence) “I can’t answer for the place, only for myself.”

The script is genuinely thrilling to follow, and it achieves a type of poetry through its utter simplicity. However, ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ is far from a simple film. Complex themes aren’t just introduced, but given time and depth so the implications can sink in. Take Lawrence’s rescue, and subsequent execution of Gasim. The incident serves as his first experience with bloodshed, yes, but it also reveals Lawrence’s emerging God complex via his mediation, and extends the subtext of whether one’s actions are indeed “written” or not. Scenes will also hearken back to lines and events seeded earlier in the script. Consider the heartbreaking friendship of Lawrence and Sherif Ali at the film’s core. With self-righteous indignation, Lawrence first accuses Ali of being “greedy, barbarous and cruel” – words that Ali uses to convict him after the final massacre at Tafas. Ali has become the sympathetic and pacifistic one, while Lawrence has descended into madness and shame. This is also depicted in scenes where Lawrence views his reflection in a dagger – first clean and then drenched in blood (remarkably, O’Toole improvised the initial dagger scene).

So many other elements combine to make ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ a masterpiece. O’Toole is perfect in what would become a career-defining role, and he is able to convey Lawrence’s inner turmoil with the slightest facial tic. Sharif matches him with a supremely confident, emotive performance, and he is given one of the best ‘exits’ in film history, retreating into the shadows in Damascus. David Lean’s direction is peerless, telling the story through rich visuals and memorable set pieces. Visually, it is a very generous film – I think of the famous mirage scene at the well, the crashing waves along Aqaba’s coast at sunset, Lawrence framed in shadow as he walks on top of a train, the image of blood on the sand just before Lawrence shouts “No prisoners!” Lean also employs exciting techniques, like the cut that takes us from Lawrence blowing out a match straight into the desert, or the cut from Feisal’s interview with Bentley to Lawrence detonating a Turkish rail line. I can’t think of a film that is as old, yet feels so modern. And to top it off, Maurice Jarre’s rich score contributes a great deal to the alchemy of the film’s success.

‘Lawrence of Arabia’ is a flawless film and the best, most intelligent of all epic films (AFI voted it the top epic in their 2008 ’10 Top 10’ list). It continues to thrill after all these years, and hasn’t really aged at all. It never steps wrong.

Note: I highly recommend reading Tim Dirks’ summary of the film on filmsite.org, which highlights additional themes and subtexts that I had scarcely contemplated.

Interstellar

**** out of four

Christopher Nolan’s ‘Interstellar’ is exactly the film it aspires to be – intelligent, visionary and actually quite stirring. It does NOT aspire to be this generation’s ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’, which may explain why some have been less forgiving of its perceived faults. Where Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece about man’s interactions with both technology and the cosmos told its story mainly through haunting imagery and stillness, ‘Interstellar’ aims to be more accessible. That’s not to say the film dumbs things down for the audience – on the contrary, it trusts the audience a great deal to follow its multiple explanations of wormholes, quantum physics and other such phenomena. But it is a more plot-driven film with a fascinating logic that proceeds toward a satisfying and totally unambiguous finale.

The comparison is justified because Christopher Nolan (who wrote the screenplay with his brother and frequent collaborator Jonathan) has named ‘2001’ among his favorite movies and as a direct inspiration for his new space epic. Certainly its influence is present as Nolan borrows elements that worked in that film – total silence in its space scenes, exciting jump cuts, and talking robot companions. These are appropriate and inventive takes on Kubrick’s innovations, and they exemplify the impressive craft on display throughout ‘Interstellar’. There are a number of space sequences here that are elegant and beautifully rendered, especially as displayed on an IMAX screen (a highly recommended experience – I saw it here). In keeping with Nolan’s style, the effects are not polished or glitzy. You feel as though you may be looking at actual spaceships and black holes – detailed, but not necessarily crystal clear.

Looks like a black hole to me...

But beyond being driven by plot and imagery, I found ‘Interstellar’ to be a very compelling emotional experience, due to the father-daughter relationship at its core. Matthew McConaughey is well-suited to the role of Cooper, a former NASA test pilot and father of two who is reduced to operating a corn farm when global staple crops begin to die. Alberta, Canada provides the setting for the first hour of the film, as well as later crucial scenes. With its sparse prairie population and malevolent dust storms, the earth-bound set pieces strike just the right tone of weariness and dread, as well as Cooper’s yearning for something grander. Earth is faced with a rather plausible environmental crisis, and it becomes clear that mankind’s existence is quickly becoming imperiled. In the final two-thirds of the film, Cooper and a team of NASA explorers employ interstellar travel to search for a new planet to sustain life for humanity.

Meanwhile Cooper’s daughter, Murph, searches for the meaning behind an apparent coded message that routinely shows up in her room, which would sound weird if it weren’t totally convincing in the film. Murph is a smart, plucky amateur scientist in her youth and her exchanges with Cooper are more than just cute dialogue– they show a love of science taking root within her. It is truly wrenching to see father and daughter separated as Cooper, armed with knowledge about Earth’s impending doom, opts to journey to another solar system. Those scenes work, and payoff wonderfully in the film’s climax. As Murph grows to be a middle-aged theoretical physicist (Jessica Chastain), she searches for a way to overcome the challenge of gravity and shuttle the planet’s inhabitants to a new home, if indeed it can be found. She must also deal with the pain of her father’s absence and hang on to the diminishing hope that they will be reunited, all while Earth becomes increasingly scorched and barren.

Home sweet home

This film has done its homework, (noted physicist Kip Thorne contributed a lifetime of research to the project) and yet it never sounds like a science lecture. There is real substance in discussions about gravity, space-time and higher dimensionality, but characters do not dwell on unnecessary explanations. We are given enough information to orient ourselves, and we move on. A common complaint about Nolan’s ‘Inception’ was the higher-than-usual amount of exposition required to lay the ground rules. That was true to some extent, but never as distracting for me as it was for some. However, I found that ‘Interstellar’ had almost no unnecessary or even obvious exposition. Each time an explanation is needed, it is organic and highly engaging. Even the film’s humor is actually funny this time (thanks to the robot named ‘TARS’, voiced by Bill Irwin), instead of the groan-inducing kind found in previous Nolan films.

There were many things that worked for me in the film. I appreciated the theme of pioneering and exploration – elements increasingly absent from our society. One of the trends I analyze in my job is the current lack of strategic vision and purpose in the Department of Defense, and NASA in particular. Those agencies are using R&D funds to pay for increasingly expensive, aging (and ironically ineffective) legacy systems, thus robbing investments in crucial next-generation technology. Recent events have underscored the lack of direction and purpose at NASA, and there is real worry about the future of American innovation in general, which now seems to aim no higher than cranking out the next smartphone. It is refreshing, therefore, to see a dramatic portrayal of people embarking on an expedition with real stakes and uncharted territory. I also found it refreshing to see the robot character ‘TARS’ represent a more hopeful, non-threatening view of artificial intelligence and technology. It has become rather tiresome for a film to include a warning on the dangers of technology run amok, when a lot of the advances I see in fields such as robotics are more optimistic and affirming in reality. A key theme here, as Cooper’s team moves among possible new homes for the human race, is that evil is not found in technology, or even nature – it is found in our flawed human nature.

Cooper and TARS explore a forbidding planet

I did have minor quibbles with the film, but nothing to detract from the film’s overall trajectory or impact. Cooper’s son, Tom (Casey Affleck), was not as developed as he could have been with even a few more lines (or a proper sendoff), but there are some heartfelt moments shown between father and son. The scientist Brand (Anne Hathaway) is decidedly sterile considering her prime position on the intrepid team of explorers, as well as her eventual fate. However, she delivers a key poetic interlude about the quantifiable nature of love, and the film’s ultimate impact does not depend on the audience fully embracing her character. Hans Zimmer’s wall-of-sound score was slightly overwhelming at times (possibly due to the eardrum-shattering IMAX sound), yet even here there are grace notes. His use of organ music in particular evokes the lofty, grand themes inherent in a story about mankind’s search for a new home among the stars.

‘Interstellar’ is an exciting, thoughtful, and life-affirming epic more akin to ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ or ‘Contact’ than ‘2001’. It mixes substantive “science speculation” with a touching human story that I, as a parent, found very powerful and resonant. Perhaps I have neglected to convey how genuinely thrilling the film is – there are sequences on the prospective new worlds that are quite suspenseful, propelled by Nolan’s clever editing of parallel lines of action. I was surprised to find the pacing of this nearly three-hour movie to be so crisp. The film plays neat tricks with time and employs it as an effective device in one particularly thrilling sequence on a world composed primarily of water. ‘Interstellar’ is a film of ambition, ideas and logic, but it also conveys something that I have long believed about the universe – love is a powerful and penetrating cosmic force. How many Hollywood films dare to say something like that these days? None, that’s how many.

 

 

Toy Story 3

I can still remember the first time I saw Toy Story.  I recall laughing a lot, and having lots of admiration for how ingenious the whole thing was.  For some reason, I never got around to Toy Story 2 until maybe three years ago.  Once I did, I really enjoyed it too - the humor was smart, the characters were well-drawn (in more ways than one...get it??) and the new chapter took the series in a welcome direction.

Now along comes Toy Story 3, and the whole gang is back...except for the loss of a few characters, as explained by Sheriff Woody at the beginning of the movie.  When I heard that this one was coming along, I thought - where else could the story possibly take these toys?  I didn't doubt that it would be good (though my brother Ben worries about every new Pixar release...and he may be right to do so with Cars 2), but I just had no idea what to expect.

Well, what we get is a colorful, bright, and breezy tale of belonging and friendship.  It's packaged as a lot of things - a buddy movie, a prison break movie, and a comedy.  Thankfully it hits all these notes with great balance and the superb craftsmanship we've come to take for granted from Pixar.

I will forgo providing an outline of the plot, and just list some of the things I liked a lot about this entry in the series:

 - I highly enjoyed any scene involving Ken.  The movie gets lots of mileage out of mocking Ken's ambiguous orientation, and Michael Keaton really makes the role a lot of fun.  Whoever thought of him as the voice of Ken deserves a shiny nickel, cause I would never have put those two together.  My favorite line, I think, is when Ken tells Buzz, "You don't talk to Lotso until we say you can talk to..." only to have Lotso interrupt him by coming in.  A host of other moments could be mentioned.

- I really enjoyed the quality of the animation.  Any serious fan of this movie has to watch it on Blu-ray to appreciate all of the color, texture, and gloss that went into the artwork.  This is nothing new from Pixar, but I think they may have topped themselves with this one.  Just look at this:

 "The door has a rainbow on it!!"

-  I didn't recognize at first, but this is a movie that rewards multiple viewings.  Over the holidays I got the chance to watch this movie about 4 times, and I got new things out of every viewing.  I love the little details embedded in the screenplay.  It is these little touches that get big laughs for me - like when Buzz quickly flips his helmet on when little kids come bursting in the room to play, or when Rex drops a piece of popcorn from his mouth.  Blink, and you'll miss stuff like that.

- I admired the craft of the narrative this time as well.  Like I said, I had no idea where the writers would take this one.  Yet the themes are well-developed, and there is real emotion at the end when characters part ways.

- I liked the new characters that came along, like Mr. Pricklepants, a doll named Dolly, and Chuckles.  I could have done without Big Baby though.  Bonnie is also a wonderful addition that really ties the emotional narrative together.

Those things and more make Toy Story 3 very entertaining and, for me, more rewarding as time passes.  I think I like it better with each new viewing.  However, I think it falls just a tad short of the first two in some very very minor ways.  Again, these are minor complaints/observations.  Minor - got that?

- Some of the scenes seem like they are kinda shoe-horned in there just to get an easy laugh.  The best way to describe this is by comparing it with other of today's animated films.  Sometimes these films throw in a scene that is sure to gain a big laugh from lots of kids, like some joke about someone's butt, say.  It doesn't really grow organically from the story, and it seems a bit cheap.  There may be, like two of those in this whole movie, which is infinitely better than some of the mindless eye candy that's out there - but sometimes it just feels that way with this one, like maybe it is a little...hyper?  Spanish Buzz comes to mind, but it is still pretty funny.

- I wish that some of the characters were better used in this one.  Slink doesn't really do that much, and sometimes Mr. Potato Head's jokes don't really land.  It even seems like Buzz has been relegated to secondhand status.  However, the fact that we're talking about character development in an animated film is quite remarkable.

So, on the whole a very worthwhile movie experience.  In fact, a lot of recent 'Best-of 2010' lists place Toy Story 3 at or near the top.  I would put it up there too, but not quite at the top.


Three-and-a-half stars out of four.

The Social Network

The 2010 Baseball Season has been correctly labelled the "Year of the Pitcher", due to the noticeable shift away from the power offense that punctuated recent seasons (combined with those 4 no-hitters, two almost-no-hitters, and two perfect games).  A no-hitter is a beautiful thing to behold, because as it is happening there is an increasing impression that the pitcher will not falter.  The no-hitter reflects command and precision despite enormous pressure to fail.  Contrast this phenomenon with something as exciting and flashy as a game-winning walk-off grand slam.  The sheer thrill involved, the energy, and the collective release make this feat a dream of all big league ballpalyers.  Now imagine that these two complimentary achievements were accomplished in the same game...

Such is the way I would describe the creation that is 'The Social Network', the endlessly fascinating new film that combines the precision and certitude of David Fincher's direction with the propulsive energy and power of Aaron Sorkin's screenplay.  Both elements are fully realized in a film that never steps wrong and represents everything I love about the movies.  Here is a film that contains enough ideas for three films, that hurtles the viewer through its events at a headlong pace, and that quietly earns the high praise it has been recently accorded.  Like 'The Godfather', the overriding word I would use to describe it to others is: richness.

But let's qualify all of this, shall we?  As anyone must know, the film provides a 'massaged' history of the founding of Facebook, and specifically the subsequent legal battles over its ownership and possible intellectual property theft.  It's central character is Mark Zuckerberg, who dropped out of Harvard following the astronomical success of his creation.  Jesse Eisenberg (unseen by me until now) plays Zuckerberg as a wordy enigma who seems irritated at having to be surrounded by those who aren't as smart as him (usually meaning everyone).  At one point Zuckerberg says "I don't hate anybody."  That may be true, but he certainly doesn't like anybody either.  The character constantly engages others with a palpable disconnect, while somehow failing to seem involved in actual conversation.  He addresses implications, not statements.  This disconnect is central to the themes that Fincher and Sorkin insinuate.  Some really good films (The Dark Knight) suffer a little bit from insisting upon the themes in case you didn't get it.  'The Social Network' invites you to draw your own conclusions, and is powefully understated in its persuasive abilities.

If Zuckerberg seems largely aloof from the proceedings, his roommate Eduardo Saverin is clearly dialed in to the many social mores of Harvard University.  As played by Andrew Garfield, Eduardo is a likable young undergrad who is being considered by an exclusive fraternity, and resembles that guy that we all know whom everyone likes and identifies with.  This is a key tool for evoking audience empathy, but it is also a sharp characterization in its own right.  Eduardo provides start-up cash for early iterations of Facebook as it begins to take form.  The site generates more attention, most notably from the Winklevoss twins and their entrepreneurial roommate.  The twins are talented rowers and all three "gentlemen of Harvard" recruit Zuckerberg to work on their Harvard social networking site.  Zuckerberg accepts, but stalls them while pursuing his own purposes with coldness and tunnel vision.  This single-minded focus becomes increasingly apparent to Eduardo, who is not stupid, yet is powerless to stop the emerging circumstances that provide the central betrayal.

Thus the seeds are planted for the ensuing legal debate over who provided the various components of the modern Facebook.  Justin Timberlake enters the latter half of the film as Sean Parker - a streak of flash and showmanship.  It is ostensibly a no-brainer to cast Timberlake in such a role, yet he succeeds at showing us a darker, subversive, even insecure side to the character.  He offers Mark the chance to relocate to Palo Alto, where his creation can really take off.  An instant rivalry begins between Parker and Saverin over not just ownership, but Zuckerberg's attention.  The film cuts very deftly between the recent (and ongoing) legal proceedings and these key events in the genesis of the rising business.

Okay, enough 'cake and watermelon' as Zuckerberg puts it.  The film fires on all cylinders, with each element combining so seamlessly that the whole truly is greater than the sum of its parts.  "The Social Network" is a triumph of several 'intangibles' such as tone, pacing, and atmosphere.  The richness of the film is greatly facilitated by Andrew Cronenweth's brilliant, dark cinematography.  The early passages of the film paint a memorable portrait of Harvard in the fall and winter seasons.  Fincher's direction shines as well, with a steadiness and confidence in his camera movements.  Each shot is deliberate without calling attention to itself (much like 'Zodiac', the earlier Fincher classic), and I would argue that the whole film contains not one superfluous or misjudged shot (though there is one scene where the score misleads us when it shouldn't). 

Fincher does not wait long to establish his formidable skill.  The film begins with a rapid-fire dialogue assault between Zuckerberg and his girlfirend at a bar, signalling the breakneck pace of the whole film and quickly letting you know that passive observance will get you nowhere in this business.  Zuckerberg leaves the bar after being dumped and we are treated to a methodical credit sequence that follows him as he jogs back to his dorm room in the autumn night of Harvard.  Fincher avoids quick cuts, and lets us observe the beautiful imagery.  As this proceeds, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross provide a score that more than anything else simply builds and builds, suggesting that something big is simmering in Zuckerberg's head.  This music continues right up until Zuckerberg grabs a beer and begins to blog about the exchange, at which point the music is released into a driving beat.  Scenes of blogging are then intercut with the exclusive party atmosphere of Harvard, and we know we're watching something special.  There are a hundred shots like that where I simply had to sit back in sheer admiration, and be thrilled at the craft of it all.

A word on Aaron Sorkin's screenplay.  I have enjoyed Sorkin's work in previous fare such as TV's 'Sports Night'.  At the same time, I was always aware that real people don't talk with such rapid awareness, and the dialogue would often play as things that people would say if given a moment or two to respond between sentences.  The great accomplishment of 'The Social Network' is that the dialogue is sharp and quick without seeming to exist above the characters.  Because the characterizations are so fully realized, the dialogue always seems like it flows from the character, not from Sorkin.  In this way, I accepted the package and was engaged.  Credit Sorkin, Fincher, and the skilled performances for this.

Several memorable scenes have stayed with me.  In addition to the above mentioned credit sequence, there is the scene when 'relationship status' is added to the calculus of Facebook, the virtuoso rowing sequence set to 'In the Hall of The Mountain King' which works more for me the more I reflect on it.  There is the inevitable confrontation between Eduardo, Zuckerberg, and Parker that wrenched my guts, as well as the memorable exchange when Zuckerberg is asked if his full attention is being given.  The ending is truly significant, without being too heavy-handed.  The film contains so many memorable scenes and inspired moments that repeated viewings will be a necessity.

'The Social Network' is already considered the best movie of the year, with some critics going even further into the scope of the decade.  Is it a great accomplishment that will dominate the year and then become a semi-relevant footnote, or does it have loftier implications?  I believe time will reveal this film as a prescient and incisive commentary on our times, and one of the best movies of the decade.  It is already one of my favorite films of all time, and it is difficult to see how anyone who is part of the computer-literate 'me' generation would not respond to it.  Fincher and Sorkin have crafted a masterpiece that is thrilling, timely, and unsettling.  Everything I love about the movies.

A link to the fabulous trailer, which plays like a short film:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lB95KLmpLR4