Everything is everyone’s fault.

Leviathan

(2014)

(SPOILERS) Andrey Zvyagnistev’s tale of misery and despair is the sort of sunny fare one typically expects from Russian cinema. Taking its cues from the Book of Job, the director has fashioned a bleak and persuasive vision where persevering through suffering and loss yields no ultimate reward; indeed, punishment elicits further punishment. The powerful get more powerful, while the impoverished are ground under foot. God has no place in this universe, except as a totem of the religious structures using his iconograpy to support the state.

The picture, partially funded by the Russian Ministry of Culture, was subjected to criticism from its Minister for its cynical view of a country inflicted with an utterly corrupt system and a populace fuelled by vodka. Naturally then, western media has seized this upon this, since Putin’s Russia being held in new lows of regard. One wonders if this wasn’t partially the reason for its Best Picture Oscar nomination; the chance to use a picture from and financed by his own government to dress the President down.

Leviathan isn’t going to change anyone’s preconceptions on Russian fare (“Always full of women staring out of windows, whining about ducks going to Moscow”), although the amount of alcohol consumed here would make even Withnail blanche. This isn’t a picture populate by likeable protagonists; the most sympathetic character is driven to suicide following an affair with her husband’s lawyer. There’s no new dawn to look forward to in this dying coastal town, where handyman Kolya (Aleksei Serebrayakov) is unsuccessfully fighting Mayor Vadim’s (Roman Madyanov) order to possess his land (the only thing they have in common is a proclivity for liquor).

As his former army friend and lawyer Dima (Vladimir Vdovichenkov) tells Kolya, he’s a “hothead”; as much as chain-smoking Kolya is on the receiving end of corrupt deals and persecution, he has only as much clarity as he can see through the gauze of a vodka bottle. His young second wife Lilya (Elena Lyadova) is unhappy, isolated, stuck with a dead-end job gutting fish, prospectively consigned to an apartment that makes most squats look plush and resented by their stepson; it’s little wonder she seeks respite in Dima’s arms, leading to further ructions. When she kills herself, it’s the caustic icing on Kolya’s downfall; whether by Vadim’s direct involvement or not, Kolya is tried for his wife’s murder (“Thank God. That’ll teach him to know his place” Vadim comments on learning of Kolya’s 15 year sentence; he has already seen off Dima by staging a fake-out execution).

In the early part of the picture, Dima’s voice of reason and logic at least appears partially as a guiding light (Kolya is only comparable to Job in as much as his situation is hopeless; he isn’t comforted by any affirmations or abiding belief). Facts are most important to Dima; facts can change things. Truth will out. His bafflement with the townsfolk’s preoccupations (“Why do you all keep asking me about God?”) only becomes thematically clear as the relationship between Vadim and the local bishop in his pocket plays out. The final scenes reveal that Kolya’s house has been knocked down to make way for a new church, not the subtlest illustration of the hypocrisy of the religious edifice and the manner in which it is just another side of the same coin as government. The wiles of a Moscow lawyer have no place where the rules are disregarded and truth won’t out (although the main reason for Dima being chased out of town is presumably that he bluffed Vadim, and there wasn’t actually anyone with any weight behind the dossier he presents to the mayor).

As acutely well performed as Zvyaginstev’s picture is, understatement is not its strongest suit. Not only is Kolya cast as Job, but a priest he converses with also quotes the book as a recipe for stoicism in the face of torment. He just so happens to pick a passage featuring the leviathan of the title, and there just so happens to be an immense whale skeleton decorating the local beach, a symbol of the barebones poverty of the town and the fate of Kolya. It’s also a rebuke to the scripture, which claims that nothing can pull in such a beast – it seems the machinations of the powerful can hook it (although it’s much more evocative to see the biblical leviathan as a sea monster, rather than a common or ocean whale).

The cast deserve universal praise. In particular, Lyadova’s descent into oblivion is devastating in its claustrophobic inevitability. Madyanov is also strong portraying the mayor’s loathsome tyranny. Perhaps a problem here is that, in remaining with Kolya’s essentially unsympathetic character (drunk, ill-tempered and violent), it is difficult to fully engage with the tragedy after Lilya exits. Leviathan ends on a note of resigned inevitability, which may be a reflection of how Zvtaginstev sees his homeland. In one scene, framed pictures of former Russian and Soviet premiers are used for target practice. Kolya asks where the more recent ones are; the current office holder is conspicuously framed in Vadim’s office.

Your Mickey Mouse is one big stupid dope!

Enemy Mine (1985) (SPOILERS) The essential dynamic of Enemy Mine – sworn enemies overcome their differences to become firm friends – was a well-ploughed one when it was made, such that it led to TV Tropes assuming, since edited, that it took its title from an existing phrase (Barry Longyear, author of the 1979 novella, made it up, inspired by the 1961 David Niven film The Best of Enemies ). The Film Yearbook Volume 5 opined that that Wolfgang Petersen’s picture “ lacks the gritty sauciness of Hell in the Pacific”; John Boorman’s WWII film stranded Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune on a desert island and had them first duking it out before becoming reluctant bedfellows. Perhaps germanely, both movies were box office flops.

If I do nothing else, I will convince them that Herbert Stempel knows what won the goddam Academy Award for Best goddam Picture of 1955. That’s what I’m going to accomplish.

Quiz Show (1994) (SPOILERS) Quiz Show perfectly encapsulates a certain brand of Best Picture nominee: the staid, respectable, diligent historical episode, a morality tale in response to which the Academy can nod their heads approvingly and discerningly, feeding as it does their own vainglorious self-image about how times and attitudes have changed, in part thanks to their own virtuousness. Robert Redford’s film about the 1950s Twenty-One quiz show scandals is immaculately made, boasts a notable cast and is guided by a strong screenplay from Paul Attanasio (who, on television, had just created the seminal Homicide: Life on the Streets ), but it lacks that something extra that pushes it into truly memorable territory.

Other monks will meet their deaths here. And they too will have blackened fingers. And blackened tongues.

The Name of the Rose (1986) (SPOILERS) Umberto Eco wasn’t awfully impressed by Jean Jacques-Annaud’s adaptation of his novel – or “ palimpsest of Umberto Eco’s novel ” as the opening titles announce – to the extent that he nixed further movie versions of his work. Later, he amended that view, calling it “ a nice movie ”. He also, for balance, labelled The Name of the Rose his worst novel – “ I hate this book and I hope you hate it too ”. Essentially, he was begrudging its renown at the expense of his later “ superior ” novels. I didn’t hate the novel, although I do prefer the movie, probably because I saw it first and it was everything I wanted from a medieval Sherlock Holmes movie set in a monastery and devoted to forbidden books, knowledge and opinions.

Say hello to the Scream Extractor.

Monsters, Inc. (2001) (SPOILERS) I was never the greatest fan of Monsters, Inc. , even before charges began to be levelled regarding its “true” subtext. I didn’t much care for the characters, and I particularly didn’t like the way Pixar’s directors injected their own parenting/ childhood nostalgia into their plots. Something that just seems to go on with their fare ad infinitum. Which means the Pixars I preferred tended to be the Brad Bird ones. You know, the alleged objectivist. Now, though, we learn Pixar has always been about the adrenochrome, so there’s no going back…

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies.

Watership Down (1978) (SPOILERS) I only read Watership Down recently, despite having loved the film from the first, and I was immediately impressed with how faithful, albeit inevitably compacted, Martin Rosen’s adaptation is. It manages to translate the lyrical, mythic and metaphysical qualities of Richard Adams’ novel without succumbing to dumbing down or the urge to cater for a broader or younger audience. It may be true that parents are the ones who get most concerned over the more disturbing elements of the picture but, given the maturity of the content, it remains a surprise that, as with 2001: A Space Odyssey (which may on the face of it seem like an odd bedfellow), this doesn’t garner a PG certificate. As the makers noted, Watership Down is at least in part an Exodus story, but the biblical implications extend beyond Hazel merely leading his fluffle to the titular promised land. There is a prevalent spiritual dimension to this rabbit universe, one very much

In a few moments, you will have an experience that will seem completely real. It will be the result of your subconscious fears transformed into your conscious awareness.

Brainstorm (1983) (SPOILERS) Might Brainstorm have been the next big thing – a ground-breaking, game-changing cinematic spectacle that had as far reaching consequences as Star Wars (special effects) or Avatar (3D) – if only Douglas Trumbull had been allowed to persevere with his patented “Showscan” process (70mm film photographed and projected at 60 frames per second)? I suspect not; one only has to look at the not-so-far-removed experiment of Ang Lee with Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk , and how that went down like a bag of cold sick, to doubt that any innovation will necessarily catch on (although Trumbull at least had a narrative hinge on which to turn his “more real than real” imagery, whereas Lee’s pretty much boiled down to “because it was there”). Brainstorm ’s story is, though, like its title, possibly too cerebral, too much concerned with the consciousness and touting too little of the cloyingly affirmative that Bruce Rubin inevitably brings to his screenplays. T

Piece by piece, the camel enters the couscous.

The Forgiven (2021) (SPOILERS) By this point, the differences between filmmaker John Michael McDonagh and his younger brother, filmmaker and playwright Martin McDonagh, are fairly clearly established. Both wear badges of irreverence and provocation in their writing, and a willingness to tackle – or take pot-shots – at bigger issues, ones that may find them dangling their toes in hot water. But Martin receives the lion’s share of the critical attention, while John is generally recognised as the slightly lesser light. Sure, some might mistake Seven Psychopaths for a John movie, and Calvary for a Martin one, but there’s a more flagrant sense of attention seeking in John’s work, and concomitantly less substance. The Forgiven is clearly aiming more in the expressly substantial vein of John’s earlier Calvary, but it ultimately bears the same kind of issues in delivery.

Maybe the dingo ate your baby.

Seinfeld 2.9: The Stranded The Premise George and Elaine are stranded at a party in Long Island, with a disgruntled hostess.

He tasks me. He tasks me, and I shall have him.

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982) (SPOILERS) I don’t love Star Trek , but I do love Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan . That probably isn’t just me, but a common refrain of many a non-devotee of the series. Although, it used to apply to The Voyage Home (the funny one, with the whales, the Star Trek even the target audience for Three Men and a Baby could enjoy). Unfortunately, its high regard has also become the desperate, self-destructive, song-and-verse, be-all-and-end-all of the overlords of the franchise itself, in whichever iteration, it seems. This is understandable to an extent, as Khan is that rare movie sequel made to transcendent effect on almost every level, and one that stands the test of time every bit as well (better, even) as when it was first unveiled.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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