#22. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

When I was a little kid, we’re talking like 8 or 9 years old, my favorite thing to do was watch Nick at Nite and take in all the classic TV shows. I loved “Mr. Ed” and “The Donna Reed Show” but I always had a special place in my heart for “Car 54 Where Are You?” I don’t know why but I’m sure it must have something to do with my lifelong fascination with New York, but I digress. Jump ahead to about ’94-’95; I got all excited over what I knew was going to be a very poor quality film version starring some of the most annoying people in the world (that’s not me being opinionated, I literally mean some of the most annoying people in the world; Fran Drescher, that Buster Poindexter guy and Rosie O’Donnell to name a few), but I didn’t care, I was going to get to see something that resembled “Car 54” again!! About an hour in, I distinctly remember telling myself “this is the worst movie ever made.” If only I had known back then that someday I would watch “2001: A Space Odyssey” I wouldn’t have been so liberal with my vocabulary.

I never thought I would watch a movie I disliked so much that it would actually make me hate the art form altogether, but “2001” damn near did just that. Immediately after watching that… thing, I literally had a phobia of watching another movie again. Even ones I already knew I liked. I think that film marked the first time I really took stock of my life and the limited amount of time I and everyone else has on this planet. Not for any existential reasons, but because I honestly felt as though I had been robbed of precious little time. I can’t wait to go through and watch several of these films again for a second time, but I will never watch this movie again under any circumstances. I wish I could joke that some of what I am saying is tongue-in-cheek hyperbole, but alas I mean every word I say.

The opening of the film is probably the most interesting of the 4 “acts,” depicting a prehistoric clan of apes in a desert whose actions are set to dramatic, symphonic classical music. To this movie’s credit, the costumes on the apes are fantastic- looking nothing like ridiculous “Planet of the Apes” creatures you would have typically seen at this time. Actually, the costumes and special effects in the whole movie are far ahead of their time and, while I don’t think those singular aspects alone warrant inclusion on the list of “Greatest Films” (maybe “Most Influential” or “Most Ahead of Its Time”) I sincerely hope that was the justification for this movie’s recognition on this list. Speaking of “ahead of its time” I should also mention that, out of nowhere there is a black door/portal-looking structure looming over the apes, which is the only hint of modernism in this scene. It’s inexplicable presence could imply that it was left by some sort of advanced being or that the potential for scientific advancement has always existed. Either way, it is clearly meant to intentionally stick out like a sore thumb.

The apes, while clearly being in some sort of organized tribe, still appear to be docile. When a more antagonistic gang of apes arrives and takes their precious water-source by force, the first band retreats and almost seems to take the defeat lying down. However, as time passes, they discover the bones of a nondescript creature and find that the blunt pieces can be used for practical purposes- first a crude hammer and eventually a violent weapon. The original group returns to their water hole and in a kind of early assassination, kill the rival leader and take back their turf. There is an underlying theme in this initial scene of technological advancement being a good and an evil, as the discovery of the bone-tools clearly serves as a benefit but at the same time, the brutality of their victory also borders on overkill, implying that the accomplishment has awakened a dark and villainous side in the once peaceful creatures.

The monkey-people act ends when one of the apes throws a bone fragment into the air victoriously and as it spins in slow motion a matching jump cut transitions from the mid-air bone to a similar-shaped space station, depicting an almost seamless transition that with today’s technology probably would have been executed with a morphing effect. I don’t think the visual aspect of this cut is as remarkable as the out-of-nowhere jump between two completely different acts and time periods. The way the theme music reaches a climax and the slow motion close-up lets the viewer know something important is about to happen is a little much though. I’m sure people crapped themselves when they saw it at the time though.

The second sequence takes place mostly aboard the space station. There are discussions among higher-ups about a secret discovery on the surface of the moon that needs to be kept quiet. What we have to assume are trusted officials discuss a cover up involving the discovery and the secrecy surrounding it. While this is a completely different setting than the one that was presented before, it still bears the theme of people having the ability to do good or bad things; be it bludgeoning another being to death or making up a story about an epidemic on a spaceship to divert attention from an important government discovery. As it turns out, the secret discovery is another of those funny black portals from before; more likely it is the same one since the scientists investigating the finding mentions that it was buried millions of years ago (presumably the same time as we saw before with the apes).

“I know that you and Frank were planning to disconnect me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen.” (HAL; “2001: A Space Odyssey”)

The core of the film, and the only major protagonist/antagonist scenario depicted in the film takes place shortly thereafter, during yet another space mission- this time to Jupiter. A small crew of astronauts led by David Bowman is introduced to an onboard supercomputer named HAL. The constant repeated assurances that HAL is completely intelligent and incapable of error make it painfully obvious that technology will eventually fail the crew. As it turns out, it isn’t really a technical glitch or a malfunction that causes HAL to jeopardize the mission, but rather a seemingly inexplicable malevolent emotional capacity. The menacing red lens (representative of an all-watching eye) reads the lips of Dave and fellow crew member Frank as they discuss deactivating HAL.

In retaliation, HAL knowingly kills Frank by cutting his oxygen supply and sending him off into space during an attempt to shut HAL down. After methodically killing the other crew members who are in some sort of suspended animation/cryogenic life support chamber, HAL sets his sights on killing Dave when he attempts to recover Frank’s body from floating off into space. Conveniently, Dave forgets his space helmet and gets locked out of the ship by HAL. In a completely absurd and impossible sequence Dave pries open some sort of emergency door on the ship and manages to reenter from his pod because he moved quickly enough to avoid being destroyed by pressurization while still exposing his non-helmeted body to unprotected space. From here on in, this film can’t be taken seriously- not even as a work of science fiction.

Dave deprograms HAL and safely completes the mission to Jupiter, thus ending any interesting conflict that can possibly develop. This final segment also represents the point where the film loses any and all artistic merit and simply becomes a piece of self-gratification committed to celluloid. An almost neverending landing sequence with impressive but ultimately repetitious and redundant revolving color effects drags on and on as the spacecraft strafes the surface of the planet. Mercifully, the film ends rather abruptly as Dave sees visions of himself in various stages of life, the obligatory shot of the portal once again in front of an old man version of Dave. He goes through it and suddenly becomes an entrapped fetus floating around in a womb rather than a space pod; and the “circle of life” message is complete.

The concept of technology and mankind having the potential of being good or evil, the implications of governmental conspiracies and basically having the concept of evolution being a given for the story advancement to work all speak to my liberal sensibilities so much that you would think I would love this movie. But entertainment is more important than politics and this movie totally failed to entertain me.

“2001” completely insists upon itself with the constant forcing of visual effects on the viewer. The open-endedness of the way the narrative can be interpreted completely robs it of its desire to be lofty by not having any definite message; in other words, you can only “get” a movie if there is something concrete to get. Also, I don’t think its too much to ask for there to be some kind of conflict between two or more complex characters. While I am all for bucking conventions, certain things like personalities in characters and some kind of emotion from characters, or for that matter, characters that are capable of emotion are pretty necessary in my book. Maybe I’m just old-school like that…

I am almost upset that I just spent so much time a few blogs back going on about the genius of Stanley Kubrick- and while I believe that genius is still evident I also believe that “2001” represents a complete artistic miss for him. Sometimes you make a “Saving Private Ryan” or a “Philadelphia” and sometimes you make a “Turner and Hooch.” All that is missing from “2001” is a dog and a badge.

#23. The Maltese Falcon (1941)

I love travel- but I certainly wouldn’t take the Wright Brothers’ plane on a cross-country flight. If for some oddball reason I ever need an amputation, I’m not going to let them use one of those Civil War saws on me, even though it probably does theoretically work.

What I’m saying is that, just because something is the “first” of something doesn’t necessarily make it the best. The same goes for film; I have really enjoyed the noir style films I have seen so far, in fact “The Third Man” has been one of the greatest discoveries of my movie-watching life. However, the earliest example of noir on this list (and the reason I am assuming the film was put on the list in the first place) “The Maltese Falcon” definitely feels like a movie that belongs to a genre that is still trying to find its legs. I know it is an iconic film, but I definitely think “overrated” is a fair term in this case.

The opening credits are superimposed over a statue of a falcon followed by a summary of what exactly The Maltese Falcon is; a bejeweled gold falcon that was created by the Knights Templar as a gift to the King of Spain. The simple paragraph also explains that it was stolen by pirates and never seen again. The significance of this prologue is two-fold; it creates an air of mystery and elusiveness around the falcon by not actually showing its physical history and it also does something very unique in establishing an inanimate object as, essentially, a primary character.

Several cityscape shots of San Francisco are smattered over the preliminary scenes; and they are among the best I have seen done before or since. Back in those days of cinema, city shots always felt primitive; they were either done aerially and the finished product was shaky and unsteady (“A King in New York” is a fantastic example of this) or they were obvious still photos (“Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”) which essentially make the scene look lifeless. With moving cars and ripples in the bay, these opening shots, while pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things, really make the early scenes come to life.

Unfortunately, what the scenery and filming style contribute to the film, the characters take away from it. The primary character is a Private Investigator named Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) and he is essentially the same as every other early 40’s detective and the same character we typically see Bogart play- cynical, wise-cracking and moody. He seems to have a somewhat forced cordial relationship with his partner Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan) who is much less tightly wound and generally seems to like Spade more than is reciprocated.

Almost right out of the gate there are just too many characters introduced to make the film seem organized or comprehensive. Starting with Spade’s secretary Effie (Lee Patrick) then a prospective client, Miss Wonderly (Mary Astor) who it turns out is using an alias and her real name is Brigid O'Shaughnessy- which compounds the frustrating number of characters even more. Brigid/Miss Wonderly wants the agents to locate her sister Corinne who she insists has run off with a bad man named Thursby. Of course the whole thing is a ruse and when Archer attempts to locate Thursby both men end up dead. Enter even more characters: two cops who suspect Spade committed the murders, Archer’s wife Iva who Spade has been having an affair with (which explains not only Spade’s cavalier behavior towards his partner but also establishes a motive for him to kill Archer).

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that all these characters were more pivotal in the original source novel and it would have just been blasphemous to not include them, I don’t know and I am not interested, all I know is that films before and since have learned to integrate bit characters in a far less confusing way without giving them proper introductions that make us feel like we need to be paying attention to who they are. Also, I feel like the Spade/Iva affair never really manifests itself as much as you would think it would since it kind of seems like a big deal. Especially considering Spade will eventually fall in love with Brigid basically overnight. One thing I will commend the film for is the fact that Brigid does not take on the role of the stereotypical blonde Hollywood seductress; instead she is a conservatively dressed prudish woman who wears her hair in a tight bun and looks like the kind of character you think will be the heroine by the end.

As if Spade wasn’t busy enough investigating the deaths of Archer and Thursby, cleaning up his own reputation and simultaneously trying to clear Brigid’s name too, in walks yet another shady character, this time a dandified, effeminate man named Cairo (Peter Lorre) who cuts right to the chase and tells Spade everything about the earlier-referenced Maltese Falcon and asks him to recover it. Though he is very silly on the surface, some of the smartest and most subtle attention is given to his scenes. He suggestively strokes and runs his mouth across a long, phallic looking walking stick and at one point after having been beaten up by Spade his only concern is with the condition of his shirt. Rather than openly mocking him, Spade and Effie exchange bemused glances at his demeanor, so much so that Lee Patrick’s mostly dialogue-less expressive acting in this scene is among the best in the movie.

“I couldn't be fonder of you if you were my own son. But, well, if you lose a son, it's possible to get another. There's only one Maltese Falcon.” (Gutman, “The Maltese Falcon”)

So, now that Sam sufficiently has his hands full with the mysterious murders as well as the search for the Maltese Falcon, we find out all the shady characters are connected- Brigid and Cairo are implied to be associates all working under the puppet-master, a ridiculously comic book-esque, overweight villain named Gutman (I’m seriously not making this up). Though this turns out to not be the case, they are all searching for the Falcon with their own selfish agendas and have encountered each other at one time or another in their hunt.

A package that makes its way to Spade supposedly contains the Maltese Falcon and, in as close as this slow-paced movie can come to a climax, a several-way standoff ensues resulting in Gutman getting his hands on the Falcon only to discover it is a fake. Spade rats everyone out, including Brigid who it turns out killed Archer in a setup gone wrong where only Thursby was supposed to be killed in their confrontation so that she wouldn’t have to split the Falcon Heist money.

The scene where Spade wrestles with his emotions before doing the right thing is pretty lame; especially when he cites a “Code Among Detectives” that obligates him to overlook his feelings for Brigid and punish her for killing his partner. I would like to know what kind of code dictates your loyalty to a fellow investigator but does not discourage banging his wife. Additionally, how strongly are we supposed to believe Spade feels for her? They’ve known each other like 2 days!

All that aside, I will say there is some brilliance in the closing scenes of the film; particularly where Brigid is being hauled off by the police. She is taken into an old-timey passenger elevator with the gated-doors, since the shot we see of her is a close-up all that is visible are the gate-bars symbolically closing in front of her like a prison door. Then of course there is the implied iconography of a small, inanimate object having so much control over the fate of so many people; to the point that people are willing to kill and be killed for it. It doesn’t get preachy with the message of consequences of overt greed; in fact it almost strangely justifies the worshipping of idols by referring to the fake Falcon as “the stuff that dreams are made of” though this line can also reflect Spade’s jaded world view- suggesting that dreams tend to end in disappointment.

Just like the title object itself, there is definitely a gem buried inside “The Maltese Falcon” but there is also an AWFUL lot of filler. While the noir STYLE is a new concept in this film that would later be perfected just a few years later, there are plenty of preexisting cinematic clichés that make this film less of a thrilling detective story and more like the “Family Guy” parody movie “Fast Talking High Trousers” where the characters say things like “Well isn’t this a fine song and dance?” and “Aren’t you a pocketful of firecrackers?”

#24. Raging Bull (1980)

My favorite genre of film is the biopic. My favorite sport is baseball. In combining these passions I have seen some really great films (“Cobb” and “Eight Men Out”) as well as some really terrible ones (“The Babe Ruth Story” and “A League of Their Own”).A long time ago I came to the conclusion that biopics, particularly about athletes, used to be really awful and just had to evolve into greatness. Even as young as 11 or 12, I can remember thinking that the biggest element missing from those older films were honesty and objectivity.

After all, why is it that, growing up in the late 80’s/early 90’s most people knew Babe Ruth as much for being a self-destructive boozer as much as they did for him being a baseball player? And why was this not mentioned in “The Babe Ruth Story?” Instead, they chose to focus on bedside visits to sick kids making promises of homeruns in their honor and one particularly corny scene where he hits a dog named Pee Wee with a line drive then leaves the game to take him to a human hospital and demand treatment. So negative was my reaction to this film when I saw it as a nine-year-old boy that my ass still hurts to this day. My point is, I always wondered when biopics, especially sports ones, stopped lying and started being honest, gritty and credible, but I have a feeling it may have started with “Raging Bull.” As if I didn’t have enough to thank Martin Scorsese for I can now add the fact that he seems to have perfected my favorite film genre to the list.

Even though the main character, Jake LaMotta (Robert De Niro) was a boxer, the film is mainly dialogue-driven and depicts very little (in ring) pugilism, though it does appropriately open with Jake in a boxing ring, presumably at his height. There is a strange mist surrounding him, sort of implying a possible dream-sequence, flashback or even an afterlife scenario; any of which are possibilities when you consider the shambles his life seems to be in when the actual narrative begins. LaMotta is a has-been doing a cheap vaudeville show, seems a little punchy and out of shape, and is reliving his glory days through monologue.

Flashback some 20 years earlier, Jake is shown in his prime, fighting a boxer named Jimmy Reeves in Cleveland. The announcers are very quick to point out that the fight is nearly over and that LaMotta is undefeated up to that point. Despite the fact that Jake is dominating the final round, the fight ends with Reeves being saved by the bell and winning by decision. Though we only have a passing comment from a commentator to indicate that Jake is behind on points to go off, the audience reaction to Reeves being announced the winner and LaMotta receiving his first career loss indicates a grave injustice.

The presentation of the fight scenes is incredibly unique in some aspects and downright silly in others. The amplification of the sound of the punches gives you a very “feeling every shot” sort of connection to the scenes, as well as the rhythmic pulsing sounds. However, there are some seemingly unnecessary approaches that are taken, such as a bizarre zoom shot of Jake in his corner as well as a lot of overly dramatic and clichéd flashbulb pops. The most redeeming characteristic of the in-match scenes though lies in the sort of over-the-shoulder camera angles that are used. Older films used a horrible point-of-view, 1st person perspective, while more recent movies have opted for a documentary style wide-shot approach. “Raging Bull” is completely unique in its depiction of boxing matches, largely because of the “both sides” approach of showing close-ups of the action on alternating characters.

The introductions to Jake’s family and home life indicate that, though he is a successful boxer, it was not in the same economic echelon as other professional middleweights of the time, or just not as good with his money. Rather than a legitimate manager, he is represented by his brother Joey (Joe Pesci) who does genuinely love his brother (despite Jake’s borderline abusive taunting) but may not necessarily be the most qualified person to guide his career. In case you are wondering, yes, Joe Pesci does play Joe Pesci; though there is a little more humanity in this role than we are used to seeing from him.

Jake’s relationship with his wife Irma is also a telling allegory for his life. They live in a cramped New York City apartment (the kind where you neighbors yell at you through the window because they are close enough to do that). Jake is the stereotypical epitome of a male brute; he wears the wife-beater, complains about how his steak isn’t bloody enough and smashes furniture to the point that we are to understand he is probably physically abusive. As if we need any more evidence that this marriage is a failure, we see Jake pursue (successfully) a trampy fifteen year old named Vickie (Cathy Moriarty) who ends up being his second wife. There is very little background given as to the fading out of Erma and the integration of Vickie, but I think the abrupt end to the apartment fight scene is meant to symbolically imply the demise of their marriage.

One of the most innovative sequences in the film we see a series of fights against the legendary Sugar Ray Robinson. In the first match Jake pounds Robinson unmercifully (including a really great tracking shot of Jake circling around Robinson like a predatory animal) and ends his undefeated streak. The very brief fight scene then cuts to a scene of Jake and Vickie almost having sex but stopping short because of the long-held belief that fighters in training need to conserve their strength, then cuts back to a rematch with Robinson which Jake loses under seemingly suspect circumstances (Joey blames it on a bias because Robinson is joining the Army amidst World War II, which would typically seem like an excuse but judging from the post fight discussions it seems Jake knocked Robinson down more often which would almost invariably make him the winner on points).

“I've done a lot of bad things, Joey. Maybe it's comin' back to me. Who knows? I'm a jinx maybe.” (Jake LaMotta, “Raging Bull”)

During this back-and-forth segment there is a very interesting artistic tool employed involving ice. Be it Jake pouring ice on his junk to make him unable to have sex with Vickie or using it to soak his swollen hand after his 2nd fight with Sugar Ray- the presence of ice is important because it is symbolically used strictly when Jake is outside the ring; which is seemingly representative of his personality when he is not boxing, as we see him as cold, abusive, jealous and harsh in most of his “real-world” interactions. Also, this transition between boxing and normal life is a clever way to avoid showing too much boxing all at once for people who may be watching for the biographical narrative and may not necessarily be interested in boxing as a sport.

The next few years are told through 8mm home movie footage (the only color in the film) documenting Jake and Vickie’s courtship interspersed with still black and white photos of Jake’s fights, all of which appear to be victories. This not only advances the narrative without showing us mundane details but also indicates that Jake’s clearer focus is his private life while his career is less important. However, as the film progresses his feelings for Vickie end up creating disturbing demons for Jake, as he becomes more and more obsessed with the notion that she is cheating on him, so much so that it ends up destroying his relationship with Joey, who he accuses of sleeping with Vickie; unwilling to believe either one of them he ends up savagely beating them both- Vickie takes him back, Joey does not.

It is no coincidence that Jake’s life spirals out of control without his obscenely devoted brother at his side. He wins his next fight (barely), eventually loses his Middleweight Title to his arch-rival Sugar Ray Robinson after being so physically dissected that his blood splatters the ringside reporters and flows down his legs like a waterfall. The next time we see Jake he is fat, miserable and doing a crass nightclub show where he embarrasses himself on a regular basis, Vickie leaves him and takes their children with her and in an ironic twist of fate, ends up in legal trouble involving underage girls (mirroring his initial pursuit of Vickie). Jake’s total downfall culminates in a complete breakdown in a jail cell that I can only describe as uncomfortable to watch.

In the final moments of the film, Jake has a half-assed reconciliation with Joey, lands what seems like a regular job on the vaudeville circuit and enjoys something short of redemption but slightly better than rock bottom-which again serves as a metaphor for his entire life with Joey. In the end it is clear that Jake’s level of happiness and success is completely paralleled by his relationship with his brother. The last shot is of Jake pep-talking himself in a dressing room mirror; which was used to great effect and to represent the same point in Dirk Diggler’s life in the final scene of “Boogie Nights,” though thankfully I didn’t have to see a prosthetic schlong in this movie.

The complaints I have about this film are minor; I don’t like the way Jake’s decline is abbreviated so harshly, there are certain plot elements that could have been explored to greater detail (particularly an incident where Jake is suspended from competing for throwing a fight) and I don’t necessarily get why some of the fights are filmed in slow motion, some in a double-time “Rambo IV” sort of style and some still not even shown at all, but I assume it has something to do with Jake’s mental state in each respective fight. Also, while I take no issue with it, I don’t understand the necessity for the film to be in black and white unless it is just to give it more of a documentary feel, but I think the film would have been equally powerful either way.

Do I really even need to talk about the pairing of Scorsese and De Niro? I think in many ways this is Scorsese’s most experimental film though it does still contain all the things I love about his movies; shady characters, heavy symbolism and New York. De Niro is clearly not wearing a fat suit as he is only half dressed in most of the latter-day scenes and was clearly in shape for the fight scenes- which shows a real commitment to immersing himself in the part. By the end of the movie he is literally unrecognizable. Though by far the element that sticks out with me the most is the not sad, not happy but just “as good as it is going to get” ending. I don’t like to be bullshitted or have my intelligence insulted with contrived or forced endings and this film does neither. I almost feel as if an underlying premise of the movie not pulling any punches is an intentionally silly pun. At least I hope that has crossed someone else's mind...