Fall 2001 Films:

Heathers (1989)
The feature-length debut of director Michael Lehmann (Hudson Hawk, Airheads) turns out to be his only particularly noteworthy film. Heathers is easily one of the most scathing black comedies ever filmed, unrelenting in its vicious humor. As a satire of the upper-middle class of the 1980's, Heathers succeeds in skewering all of its chosen targets.

Winona Ryder (Reality Bites) stars as Veronica, a precociously bright, sensitive high school junior who doesn't enjoy her status as one of the "Heathers," the reigning social clique at Westerburg High, as much as she thinks she should. When Veronica meets the dark, mysterious transfer student Jason Dean (Christian Slater, doing an excellent Jack Nicholson impression), the road to the prom takes a sinister turn. As Veronica writes in her diary, her relationship with Jason has a body count.

In light of the high school tragedies of the 1990's, Heathers comes across as belligerrently un-PC, so consider yourself warned if you're susceptible to that kind of thing. Still, it's easily the best-ever social satire set in a high school. As added bonuses, Heathers is one of the few 80's teen films in which the slang has aged well, and Shannen Doherty (Mallrats) clearly has a ball playing a character modeled after herself.

The Daytrippers (1997)
KFS' "Parker Posey Week" kicks off with this engaging comedy from writer-director Greg Mottola ("Undeclared").

After discovering a clandestine letter written by her husband, Eliza (Hope Davis) piles her family into their station wagon for a trip into New York City, where she intends to confront her possibly-cheating husband at his office. Along the way, the family encounters a fascinating assortment of characters. Although the plot is thoroughly engaging, the real strength of The Daytrippers is its attention to these interesting supporting characters, each of whom has some form of underlying personality conflict.

Indie-queen Posey (The House of Yes, Best in Show) shines in her role as Eliza's younger sister, Jo, whose boyfriend, Carl (Liev Schreiber, Scream 2), a horribly pretentious, know-it-all writer at whose expense the film offers some of its most hilarious moments. A film about familly loyalties and betrayal, The Daytrippers, like all good indie films, doesn't attempt to devise any simple resolutions to its complex problems.

The Clockwatchers (1997)
KFS concludes its wildly successful "Parker Posey Week" with the feature-length debut of writer-director Jill Sprecher. 1997's The Clockwatchers, incidentally, is Sprecher's only film to date. As the structure of the national workplace changed and became more varied during the 1990s, an increasing number of films work-centered films proved that these settings were ripe for satire-- films such as Clerks and Office Space.

The Clockwatchers turns out to be an update of the Dolly Parton travesty Nine to Five, filtered through post-Gen-X cynicism, and the results are far more endearing than they have any real right to be. Focusing on the absolute monotony of office work, Sprecher inverts the warmth and good-will-towards-men of Nine to Five and tackles more complex themes-- how an environment that actually discourages loyalty makes it all but impossible to trust co-workers.

Toni Colette (The Sixth Sense) portrays Iris, the wallflower who's just starting out at Global Credit, and once again she shows her capabilities as an actress. Lisa Kudrow (The Opposite of Sex) and Jamie Kennedy (Scream) overcome their more obnoxious tendencies and give excellent supporting performances. But Parker Posey, as life-of-the-office-party Margaret, genuinely steals the movie, showcasing her perfect sense of comic timing in one of her most intelligently-written roles.

The primary reason that The Clockwatchers works so well is its attention to the tiniest details-- how the minute hand actually seems to move backwards just before 5 o'clock, for example. Some people have dismissed The Clockwatchers as "boring," but its subtle observational humor rarely misses its targets.

Brazil (1985)
KFS kicks off yet another theme week-- this time, "Cult Classics Week"-- with Brazil, Terry Gilliam's 1985 black comedy / sci-fi futuristic allegory thing. Think A Clockwork Orange, had Stanley Kubrick's eyelids been held open, forcing him to watch a week's worth of Monty Python. Or something like that.

Borrowing heavily from George Orwell's 1984, Brazil centers on the mundane life of computer jockey Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce, Evita, Stigmata), who sees absolutely no escape from a bland, meaningless world, other than to retreat into his overactive fantasy life, which centers on his ideal woman.

Eventually, his fascination with this woman (Kim Griest, inexplicably, Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey) comes into play when Sam attempts to rectify a man's wrongful arrest; both of their lives are put in danger when the oppressive government makes Sam a target of a series of possibly unrelated crimes. As Sam descends deeper into the inner workings of the complex government, the distinction between reality and his fantasy world all but disappears.

Confused? Don't worry, Roger Ebert says he still can't follow Brazil's plot.

Fortunately, Brazil's greatest strength isn't its plot-- rather, it's the way in which director Gilliam (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) gleefully abuses the film's budget on extended fantasy sequences. The special effects, unlike those of most mid-80s films, have aged remarkably well, and the setpieces are all intricate. Gilliam's emphasis is on ensuring that all of his images are striking, not whether or not they make much sense. Still, one has to wonder about Gilliam's apparent fascination with duct work, and how that has any bearing whatsoever on the story he's trying to tell.

Strangers on a Train (1951)
Although admittedly not a theme "week" in the traditional sense, KFS begins its "Hitchcock Week" with one the acclaimed director's lesser-known, if most complex films, 1951's Strangers on a Train. Adapted from the Patricia Highsmith novel, Strangers on a Train also represents one of those rare instances in which the quality of a film surpasses that of its source material.

Hitchcock builds his trademark sense of tension from the film's outset, with a short, cleverly-directed scene in which two men-- the titular "strangers" -- meet on a train-- similarly, the titular "train"-- and begin to discuss the persons in their lives who are impeding their overall happiness, speculating about what could be done to solve their problems. Guy (Farley Granger, Hitchcock's Rope), a tennis star, innocently confides a secret desire to have his wife killed to the nefarious Bruno (Robert Walker, Her Highness and the Bellboy), and this miscommunication sets in motion a sinister, convoluted series of events that lead to an unforgettable climactic scene.

While Hitchcock, whose cameo in Strangers on a Train is one of his most amusing, relies heavily on his masterful gifts with suspense, he also incorporates more elements of dark comedy than are found in many of his other films. And Walker turns in one of the most memorable performances from any of Hitchcock's films as deranged mama's boy, Bruno.

Rear Window (1954)
Concluding "Hitchcock Week" is 1954's Rear Window, considered by many critics to be Hitchcock's most stylish, effective psychological thriller. James Stewart (It's a Wonderful Life, Vertigo) stars as a photographer who, following an accident at an auto race, is confined to a wheelchair in his New York City apartment. He passes the time by using a telescope to observe the occupants of the neighboring buildings, until he begins to suspect that the mysterious salesman in the apartment directly across from his may have committed a murder. Stewart then enlists the help of his model girlfriend (Grace Kelly, To Catch a Thief) and his nurse (Thelma Ritter, All About Eve) to investigate, giving Hitchcock plenty of opportunities to show why he's known as "The Master of Suspense."

If the plot seems somewhat familiar, that's because Rear Window has been referenced or parodied in just about everything from American Beauty and Toy Story 2 to "The Muppet Babies" and "That 70's Show."

Ultimately, Rear Window is so compelling because Hitchcock doesn't hesitate to toy with the film's premise of the consequences of situational ethics, making Rear Window a film without a traditional "hero" without losing the viewer's emotional involvement with the characters. Grace Kelly shines in a nuanced performance as Stewart's devoted girlfriend, and James Stewart is James Stewart. An absolutely brilliant film.

Rosemary's Baby (1968)
To recognize the Halloween season, KFS follows up its pair of Hitchcock psychological thrillers with two classic horror films. First is Rosemary's Baby, writer-director Roman Polanski's (Chinatown) perfectly realized adaptation of Ira Levin's novel. Considered by many critics to be the best big-budget horror film, Rosemary's Baby stars Mia Farrow (Hannah and her Sisters, Supergirl) as a clueless young wife whose husband (John Cassavetes, The Dirty Dozen) becomes involved in the sinister plans of a witches' coven.

Although the acting is uniformly stellar-- Ruth Gordon (Harold and Maude) won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her portrayal of Rosemary's elderly neighbor, who may not be as friendly as she appears-- the real strength of Rosemary's Baby is in Polanski's subtle direction. Polanski builds the dramatic tension slowly, as Rosemary experiences increasingly bizarre events, from the strange death of a woman she meets in a washroom to her suspicions that her neighbors may have special plans for her forthcoming child.

Rosemary's Baby is an atypical "horror" film in the sense that it relies on its compelling story, rather than excessive gore or a gimmicky monster, to reach a powerful, terrifying conclusion.

Halloween (1978)
Okay, so KFS couldn't pass up this golden opportunity to get our dork on with the scheduling. Hence, we're showing Halloween on Halloween. Although its reputation has been somewhat cheapened by a seemingly endless series of lame sequels-- the eighth installment of the franchise is slated for release in March-- and countless imitators-- Jason X is also headed to theaters in 2002-- there's just no denying that John Carpenter's original, tiny-budgeted serial-killer film is genuinely scary.

Michael Myers has been institutionalized for fifteen years, after murdering his older sister on Halloween night. On Halloween, 1978, Myers escapes from the careful watch of psychiatrist Sam Loomis (Donald Pleasance, whose once-respectable acting career found him little non-Loomis work of note after he starred in this film) and returns to his hometown of Haddonfield, Illinois, to continue with his murderous agenda, which centers around Laurie Strode (the nubile Jamie Lee Curtis).

What makes the original Halloween superior to other cheap slasher flicks is that Carpenter focuses on Loomis' pursuit of Myers-- who wears a spraypainted William Shatner mask-- rather than too-obvious "cheats" that telegraph every supposedly scary moment. Still, there are many in-jokes that fans of self-referential 90s horror films will enjoy, such as all of the "rules" broken by the three teenagers Myers stalks.

Pollock (2000)
To restore order to the disrupted "theme week" schedule that ran throughout October, KFS presents one of 2000's best films, Pollock. Directed by and starring Ed Harris (Apollo 13, The Truman Show), Pollock is such an exceptional film that it shuns the restrictive boundaries established by one of KFS' crude themes.

Setting this biopic in the compelling art scene of 1940s New York City, Harris offers a perfect balance between the private life and the career of legendary American painter Jackson Pollock, and his relationship with his wife, fellow artist Lee Krasner (Best Supporting Actress winner Marcia Gay Harden). As Krasner neglects her own work to promote Pollock's career, Pollock begins to unravel emotionally, and the two escape to the country. There, Pollock creates the work that makes him America's first internationally renowned modern painter. But the pressures of fame quickly combine with Pollock's violent temper, his intense self-doubt, and his nasty drinking habit.

The key to any great biopic is in the performances, and Ed Harris' portrayal of Jackson Pollock is incredible. His scenes of Pollock's "action painting" are mesmerizing, and his drunken rage at Thanksgiving dinner is far more affecting than Kevin Spacey's dinnertime hissy-fit in American Beauty. Marcia Gay Harden turns out to be one of the few genuinely deserving Oscar-winners in recent memory, and Jennifer Connelly (Labyrinth, Requiem for a Dream) shines as Pollock's young mistress.

Because of its limited release, not many people saw Pollock during its theatrical run last winter. KFS hopes everyone will take this opportunity to see a shining example of why the "only the emotionally tortured can produce great art" mindset so pervades our culture!

Dog Day Afternoon (1975)
Maybe that last review gave the wrong impression. KFS loves its theme weeks! On Wednesday, KFS kicks off its "Al Pacino is a Bad-Ass" week with 1975's Dog Day Afternoon, the screenplay to which is adapted by an article written by Kenyon's very own writer-in-residence P.F. Kluge.

Dog Day Afternoon tells the incredible-but-true story of a bank robbery gone horribly, horribly wrong. Sonny Wortzik (Pacino) and two accomplices plan to rob a bank in order to pay for a sex-change operation for Sonny's lover. Once the three men enter the bank, however, this plan quickly unravels, turning into a two-day media circus. Eventually, an army of police officers, then the FBI, are called in, and the hostage situation becomes a too-accurate precursor to "reality TV" programming.

Director Sidney Lumet (12 Angry Men) again shows his mastery of settings that, in the hands of a lesser director, would turn claustrophobic and smother the life out of a film. Instead, the relationships that develop inside the bank are layered and interesting, progressing naturally over the course of this very long day. John Cazale (The Godfather, The Deer Hunter) gives an exceptional performance as Sal, Sonny's forlorn, dim-bulb accomplice, who thinks that Wyoming is actually its own country.

That said, Dog Day Afternoon is unquestionably Pacino's movie, and Sonny's transformation from a failed bank robber into a minor media-darling ranks among his very best performances. The scenes of his interactions with the hordes of police surrounding the bank are among the most gripping ever filmed.

The Insider (1999)
Rounding out KFS' "Al Pacino is a Bad-Ass" week is The Insider, one of the most compelling films of 1999. As an added bonus, The Insider is a film with a great deal of social relevance to the hot-button issue of smoking at Kenyon, since it focuses on the evils of "Big Tobacco."

Although far from an objective depiction of the exposure of a sinister conspiracy, The Insider is the fact-based account of how two men reluctantly became entwined in one of the most controversial social and political issues of the 1990s-- the conspiracy of tobacco companies to enhance the addictive properties of cigarettes, then to cover up that conspiracy. Russell Crowe (Gladiator, although he actually deserved his Best Actor Oscar for his work in this film) plays Dr. Jeffrey Wigand, the "whistleblower" who exposes the conspiracy to the news media. Wigand has just been fired from his position as VP and Head of Research and Development at Brown and Williamson, America's third-largest tobacco company. As part of his severance package, Wigand signed a confidentiality contract that he would not divulge any of the secrets of his former employers.

Lowell Bergman (Pacino), a producer for 60 Minutes, eventually convinces Wigand to consent to an interview with veteran newsman Mike Wallace (a superb Christopher Plummer), although Wigand fears what effects his breach of the confidentiality contract will have on his family.

But telling the truth isn't quite so easy. After the interview has been finished, the story takes a surprising turn. Fearing a corporate lawsuit that could topple the network, CBS executives pressure Bergman to sanitize the story, removing any references to Wigand or to any tobacco companies. How Bergman, Wigand, and Wallace each react to the incredible pressures of the situation tests each man's character and forms the film's climatic scene.

Stylishly directed by Michael Mann (Heat), The Insider works as an intense thriller because of the layered performances of the three lead actors and the intelligently-written dialogue. And it puts such issues as twenty-foot boundaries into a completely different perspective.

Nashville (1975)
In recent years, the term "Altmanian," as applied to multi-character plot structures (re: Magnolia), has lost pretty much any connection it ever had with director Robert Altman, from whom it is theoretically derived. Arguably his greatest work, 1975's Nashville showcases Altman's skill with juggling an enormous cast of characters. Hailed by some as a masterpiece and profound social commentary, dismissed by others as a pretentious, rambling mess, Nashville is not a film that inspires lukewarm reactions in its viewers.

Drawing a less-than-subtle parallel between the myths of celebrity that exist in Hollywood and Nashville, Altman focuses on a seemingly endless array of wannabes, successes, and has-beens who fight for supremacy on an overcrowded social ladder. Nashville unfolds as a series of overlapping set-pieces-- an airport, a traffic jam, a barbecue, the Grand Ole Opry, and finally at a political rally for a "Replacement Party" candidate.

The film's "point," if it has one at all, could be that celebrity, at a time when the media and the political world feed off each other, is becoming the new social class system. Is fame really the new American dream? Altman has repeatedly argued that it is, and has pointed to a subplot in Nashville that eerily parallels the murder of John Lennon.

The real emphasis of Nashville, however, is in Altman's shrewd eye for the most subtle nuances of social interaction. What gives his complex story arcs such impact is that he doesn't shy away from situations or conversations that might be embarrassing or uncomfortable. When some of the conversations in Nashville completely lose their direction, it's because Altman directed the actors to improvise. If it isn't always easy to watch, Nashville is a consistently fascinating film.

The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover (1989)
Anyone who has ever questioned whether or not unchecked hedonism is a realistic, meaningful lifestyle choice will be well-advised to check out KFS' presentation of writer-director Peter Greenaway's brilliant The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover, the second half of our "Well, We Don't Really Know What to Say About These Films" series. Despite its length, the title of this film doesn't give any indication as to what The Cook, et. al. is actually about, although the four characters are certainly the focus of the action.

The Cook..., on one level, is about the four eponymous characters who do absolutely unimaginable things to each other. But this film, easily one of the most controversial films of the past twenty years, is far more complex and layered than that, and it conjures far too many deeper questions about rage and the corruption of the human soul to be classified as a mere character study. In England, for instance, the film was widely banned because it can be interpreted as an absolutely savage "parable" of the Margaret Thatcher administration-- like a less subtle version of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal. Even without the political context, The Cook... doesn't lose any of its power.

Although he's listed second, The Thief's (Michael Gambon, Sleepy Hollow) boorish, horrifying personality dominates the film, in a way that's not dissimilar to his treatment of the other characters, particularly his wife (Helen Mirren, The Madness of King George, Teaching Mrs. Tingle). His treatment of the cook in the film's opening scene is so cruel that it's almost perversely funny, but it pales in comparison to the actions that he and, eventually, the other characters take over the course of the film.

A caveat: If you're the type of person who struggled to sit through films like Happiness or Requiem for a Dream, you probably shouldn't bother with The Cook..., since it makes those particular films look like Never Been Kissed. Thoroughly uncompromising from the very first frames, The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, & Her Lover is a film that takes what would normally constitute "shock value" and presents it in a deliberate, thoughtful manner that actually personifies the most unsettling emotions of which people are capable.

Blood Simple (1984)
In comparison to The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover, the first film in KFS' "Coen Brothers" un-week seems like a lighthearted romp and a testament to the triumph of the human spirit. Since it's the Coen Brothers (Fargo, The Big Lebowski), however, you should really know better than that by now. 1984's Blood Simple is the first feature film by the Coen Brothers, and the "Director's Cut" of the film was released in 2000. Smartasses that they are, the "Director's Cut" of Blood Simple actually removes some of the original footage of the film, rather than splicing in additional scenes of questionable necessity, as is the common practice for Directors' Cuts. Both the original version and the re-released version stand as true high watermarks of independent film.

A tribute to the film noir genre, which the Coens' latest film, The Man Who Wasn't There, almost perfectly resurrects, Blood Simple is a film that speaks to the Coen Brothers' skill with a limited budget and a small, but intelligently written, cast of characters. The basic premise is that a sleazy bar-owner (Dan Hedaya, Clueless, Dick) discovers that his wife (Frances McDormand of Almost Famous and Fargo, in her film debut) is having an affair with one of his employees (John Getz, The Fly, The Late Shift). Hedaya then hires a private investigator (M. Emmet Walsh, Critters, Raising Arizona) to spy on, and then to kill them.

The Coens' trademark humor comes into play, however, as the plan quickly unravels. Although some have erroneously criticized Blood Simple (and most other Coen Brothers films, for that matter) as deriving its plot from the stupidity of its characters, it is more accurate to say that Blood Simple works because of the way it highlights the fact that ordinary, desperate people just aren't capable of handling the complexities of a "perfect crime." This is a theme the Coen Brothers addressed in Fargo, as well, but Blood Simple focuses more on the humor of the characters' inability to resolve the problems with their plan, rather than the austerity of the situation.

And it's the Coen Brothers. You know it's has to be good.