Powell and Pressburger’s classic film The Red Shoes though at first glance seems to be a run-of-the-mill plot from a melodrama (or a so-called “Can’t Handle The Truth” Thursday afternoon special on Lifetime), but it offers so much more. Aside from the obvious elegance and grace of Victoria (Vicki) Page (Jean Short); the brilliant score by Brian Easdale; and the technical brilliance of Powell and Pressburger’s cinematography, there is an overall conflict that extends further the aesthetic “death-match” between the cinema and the performing arts. This tragic conflict, in the fullest sense of the term, can be fully explained, but most of all, appreciated, through good old Friedrich (Freddie) Nietzsche’s theory of tragedy, that is, the conflict between the Apollonian and the Dionysian. The ultimate question is, of course, So what? For one thing, if all the critical theory holds true, then The Red Shoes is as well put together as any novel or any “heady” movie like Inception, Donnie Darko, The Matrix, etc. And, so it goes, I will prove the unthinkable: The Red Shoes, a story about a woman with a dream to be a dancer is much more “heady” than Inception…

The overall plot of The Red Shoes is about Victoria Page’s rise as a ballet dancer from relative obscurity to fame of astronomical proportions by the help of her Russian impresario, Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook). Not much is talked about Lermontov’s background, but one can safely assume that he was once a great dancer, and now finds pleasure and financial success in directing ballets and talent. There are a whole slew of ballet-folk that adds color to the film ranging from set designers to prima donna ballerinas, etc. But among them, the main person of interest is a young composer (and Vicki’s future husband) named Julian Craster (Marius Goring), who later falls in love with Vicki, and sets the dramatic wheels in motion for its tragic collision. The conflict of desires is, of course, the love of her husband and her love to dance. Narrative-wise, Vicki seems to be entire devoted to dance. There’s a short, terse dialogue between Lermontov and Vicki that cements her place as a potential Dionysian figure:

Lermontov (spoken with the German “W”): What do you want from life? To live?

Vicki: To dance.

The subjects of Vicki’s desires are represented via Lermontov and Craster to the theory of tragedy I mentioned earlier. Lermontov and Craster are exact stand-ins for Nietzsche’s notion of the Dionysian and the Apollonian. Nietzsche writes:

That the continuing development of art is tied to the duality of the Apollonian and the Dionysian: just as procreation depends on the duality of the sexes, which are engaged in a continual struggle interrupted only by temporary periods of reconciliation…the Apollonian art of the sculptor and the imageless Dionysian art of music: these…drives run in parallel with one another…continually stimulating each other to ever new and more powerful births…only apparently bridged by the shared name of “art.” (The Birth of Tragedy…)

In other words, the Apollonian arts/artist is completely embodied in Craster. He knows who he is, and what music he creates: Craster focuses on his compositions, his creative voice and individuality. He does not lose himself in the grandeur of art, but practices discipline both as an artist and as a person. Though music is supposed to be an inherent part of Dionysian art, I think Nietzsche, when he refers to music in general, is talking about the act of listening and experiencing music as opposed to its composition. It is akin to the club music that Snooki or “The Situation” from Jersey Shore fist pump to. The craft and skill to making the beats is more akin to sculpting than my Jersey Shore metaphor. And so, Craster is the embodiment of Apollonian art and sensibilities, which again, sets the wheels in motion for a collision, of which Nietzsche calls “attic tragedy.”

Lermontov is quite the opposite. The Dionysian sensibilities that he represents stem from intoxication, loss of identity, and sexual excess. To paraphrase Mr. B. Clinton, “I [Lermontov] did not have sexual relations with that woman [Vicki].” But, this is not to say that there wasn’t an intimacy between Lermontov and Vicki: The love, an all-consuming at that, of dance. There is a short scene in which Vicki mentions to Lermentov that her life’s purpose is to dance. Dance, as we know in our vulgar, uber-Dionysian times (just visit any nightclub or watch an episode of Jersey Shore) seems to be a stand-in, or a kind of foreplay, for sex and joviality. The ballet scenes, regardless it is Les Sylphe or Petrushka or The Red Shoes, all replicate these Dionysian ideals. This is her world, but of course with the cosmic meeting between the three, Lermontov, Craster, and Vicki, which connects the Dionysian to the Apollonian. The ambivalence is there, and has been territory writers and philosophers called home. (Sophocles’ Antigone and Romeo and Juliet are the classic example, and so is Fatal Attraction. Take your pick.) This is where the true tragedy comes out.

And so, faced between the two aesthetic forces, Vicki is forced to make a decision. Once Craster and Vicki become married, it seems that Vicki acquiesces to his career and wishes, which are the embodiment of Apollonian ways. But Vicki, pledging her allegiance to the cause of dance, tries to mediate between her two aesthetic lives each in the name of “art” as Nietzsche mentions; however at odds Craster and Lermontov are with each other. These drives make Vicki insane during the climactic final scene (which I won’t spoil here, but if you’ve read, or are going to read, James Joyce’s short story “A Painful Case” you’ll get the idea) where she takes her own life.

All the subtleties which play off of Nietzsche’s theory are short, but plentiful. Lermontov, when he is about to fire Craster, says about Vicki’s performance, “Because neither her mind or her heart were in her work. She was dreaming. And dreaming is a luxury I never permitted in my company.” This dialogue is perfectly Nietzschean in design, and further supports his position as anti-Apollonian and pro-Dionysian. These moments, though seemingly subtle in design, add to the complexity of the film. And so, good reader who have travelled this far, watch the movie and think about the conflict, it’ll be good for you.

Edgar Wright is my hero. Not so much in an iconic sense, but his career models one of a man who worked hard at a craft and succeeded in carving himself out of the normal mold with a show like Spaced. He’s created a career from his compendium fanboying and helped make fanboys cool; thus, creating more fanboys. And an odd surplus of meta-fanboys was created! I, myself, being counted as one of them.

I never get starstruck by meeting ‘celebrities’ (it’s a quiet mix of professionalism and apathy), but the strangeness of seeing the trailer for a film you’ve seen on television and anticipated seeing and looking over and seeing those people staring at you was (to put it lightly) a little less than ordinary. This seemed to have affected the two men little; as, they walked in and sat down without much question. Michael looks over at the TV screen blaring his image in flashing red. I looked over at the screen. I looked at him. I looked over at the screen. I looked a him. I threw up a little in my mind. It was a bit much to have that happen. It’s like the movie’s branding blocked my mind from comprehending it. This was my first time seeing him or interviewing him, but putting relevance to the individual on a larger scale so rapidly made me flinch for just a second.

I’d seen the film and it’s pretty damn through without noticing the originality. It bothered me how much of the originality was based on what could be a fad. Then, I remembered a past interview with Danny Perez where he talked about a new kind of cinema. We spoke about the changes that would arise in filmmaking as more and more people are exposed to several kinds of media, often at the same time. I asked Edgar Wright if his given has given to this notion by coincidence, “I think there’s definitely something [like that],” he went on to explain. “I even count myself among, this sort of like- well, I’m 36, but I grew up on video games as well. Certainly, there’s an idea that people, for better or worse can take in a lot of information at the same time. It’s amazing, now. I can’t [begin] to think about the people growing up who look at the internet and watch TV at the same time. Or even do something on a computer and have open another window to watch something else.”

It’s actually a bit startling to realize that that wasn’t normal; at least, not always. I didn’t realize it then, but there was already an abundance of distraction in the room. As he spoke, the TV played and the audio turned down slightly but still audible. It’s all the more evident at home. Even as I write this now I am watching television and listen to music.  The fact that my brain is going into meltdown and that this article doesn’t look like I wrote it in the dark (on a typewriter) is amazing. “You can take in a lot of information, ya know? There’s studies today that say that kids today are better driver because they’re used to, um-”

“-multitasking,” Michael jumps in to help Edgar Wright as he is finding the right words and somewhat multi-tasking himself. The TV in the room is still going and there are several reporters around him making eye contact. His eyes were dreamy. None of us could help it.

A general feeling of joy overcomes you when leaving the theater. It’s quiet. It doesn’t knock you over, but lightly lifts your feet so that you glide across the street. Part of the feeling comes from the sheer brilliance of what you just watched. The other part comes from the lagging your brain is likely to get over after having so much information stuffed into it so quickly. It damn sure isn’t complicated, but it takes a moment to process. “What did I just watch? How was it? I have a feeling it was pretty fucking awesome.”

Visually, the film offers something new. It’s far from the literal pane by pane framing of Sin City and even further from the literal translation of a film like Wanted. Dare I say it, but it does the graphic novel right. In fact, it does the graphic novel perfectly. The awkwardness, the incredulity, the imagery, all done with grace and ingenuity. It’s the closest thing you’ll ever get to feeling as though you’re watching a graphic novel in live action. And when the effects start to drone on, the different powers of the seven evil exes breaks the monotony by adding the different aesthetics of each character’s power.

The writing in the film is not too far off from the graphic novel in most respects. It’s the same degree of ‘hip’, only turned up a few notches. It’s rightly paced wit (by that I mean lighting fast) and frenzied movements. It’s little vignettes of humor and savvy. The same feeling can come about when reading a comic book while watching the latest meme on vimeo and texting your friend about their hilarious drunken night. That may seem a bit much, but Wright has eliminated much of the effort so that all the multi-tasking is streamlined into one convenient wave of information. Or so I think. But-

Then, there’s this:

It’s the inevitable backlash. It’s common knowledge that no film is perfect, but there will be plenty of people that will refuse to participate in the general elation that will follow Scott Pilgrim’s release. This film doesn’t have any direction toward a male audience as much as it has a film thats direction is told from a male’s perspective. If anything the film is catered directly towards a different demographic. A relatively easy one that people somehow continue to find allusive: hipsters. It’s use of self-deprecation against the ‘counter-culture’ whilst glorifying itself is literally (and figuratively) taken straight out of the book.

Much of the film is filled with gems hidden and abound, but the one thing that kept the pacing of the film going (outside of the editing) was the character portrayed by Kieran Culkin (Wallace Wells). Wallace is Scott’s mid-twenty-something, gay roommate who is extremely grounded and often stands outside of the bounds of incredulity surrounding most of the characters in the film; looking in with scrutinizing and hilarious commentary on those inside. Whenever Scott Pilgrim’s whining grows incessant, Kieran comes in with a scathingly bitter comment. Whenever the film becomes too self-indulgent, Wallace steps in to tell everyone how ridiculous they’re acting. As a character, he’s the perfect foil to Scott Pilgrim and his early adulthood angst.

Arguably, the best part of this film is the editing. For most well made films, editing is where the film breathes new life and it’s obvious when viewing this film that much of the comedic timing and the pacing was created in the post production room. At times rivaling the quick inter-cuts of Breathless, every cut seems to mirror the focus deprived, adhd mentality of the same generation that will put its money into this film (and the ones that stars in it).

Match that will stellar acting, a witty script, and capturing visuals, and you’ve got a good summer film that will make you forget about the economy and your student debts. Despite the claims from it’s marketing team, Scott Pilgrim isn’t going to change the world. It certainly didn’t seem like it was trying very hard to revolutionize anything. W  hat it did do is give a relatively original Summer film that is very refreshing, but quenching your thirst for the moment isn’t changing anything in the long run. We’ve still got plenty of time to exhaust ourselves with run-of-the-mill Hollywood drivel.

Outnumbered completely by sexually precocious adolescents  demanding  “Lick your lips! Lick your liiiips!”  followed by infinite OMGs, we were able to snag Tip “T.I.” Harris for a small chat at the Philly red carpet preview of Takers, T.I.’s latest addition to his acting, as well as executive producer, career.

He’s not as warm and fuzzy as his first role in ATL, yet still on the same baller level as his minor role in American Gangster, Takers is your garden variety all-star-cast story about several sexy men who just happen to have a knack for robbing banks (of course with a philosophical rationale behind it–usually explained in a dramatic monologue within the first ten minutes of the film, as well as a damsel-in-distress hottie to boot). In my most humble opinion, despite the fact that there is no actual mind-bender of a story to follow, I still suggest you see this movie–not just to forget the whole economic crisis that still is in existence, but for the pure escapism of sexy men robbing banks.

Here, T.I. briefly talks about his overall gratitude to be involved in producing this film and his awe for action movies. Whereas in this case, I spent most of the conversation marveling at his glowing white teeth. For the record, the lip-licking was enthralling.

Liz Roan: You were pretty amazing in ATL…

T.I. Why thank you…

LR: …after that you were in American Gangster, now this is a pretty big step. Do you see yourself doing more acting in the future?

T.I.: I mean if you guys would have me, i definitely would spend a lot more time on film. I like to go wherever opportunities take me, opportunity is where I’m in a hurry to go.

LR: Any particular directors you wish to work with?

T.I. Ooh, yea!  you know I’m big on action so I would love to work with Michael Mann, or Michael Bay as well. Of course I’m a fan of Gangster pictures, so I love Scorsese.

LR: Yesss! you’d be so pimp.

T.I. Haha! But you know what I’m saying, I think that right now I want to work with whoever’s interested in working with me.

Liz Roan: How’s the overall experience of producing, acting and promoting this film?

T.I. Well you know, its a great honor and such a great pleasure to be a part of such a great project as an actor as well as a producer. I’m enjoying every minute of it. I just hope everybody else is enjoying it as much as we enjoyed making it.

This movie is not about the struggle of Anglican nuns who settle in a remote area of the Himalayas. Black Narcissus is about sex. The film’s plot treads on a thin wire: A group of nuns lead by Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) inhabit a former “guesthouse,” intended to house an old general’s concubines, to establish a nunnery, school, and pharmacy. However, sexual tensions arises when Mr. Dean (David Farrar), who is the source of attraction for many of the nuns especially the troublemaker, Sister Ruth (Kathleen Ryan). There are a number of implied sexual, or at the very least, lustful relationships between each character. Though, this Lifetime-esque plot device has an effective problem which undercurrents the entire film, that is, colonization. Mr. Dean –who does act like a dean or a principal, of sorts– makes wry remarks about the nuns’ attempt to “civilize” the “happy native.” The racial stereotypes are many, and comparable to that of in Birth of a Nation. But why watch this film?

In a refined, British way, this film is similar (in all honesty) to American Pie or Porky’s. These films are all structured in which the main character(s) seek(s) for sexual fulfillment. The reasoning behind this, of course, is the idea that sex creates an “oneness” between two people. (You can basically insert any romantic cliché here). But, of course, the path to “oneness” is difficult, and if not, impossible. The French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan once posited, “There is no sexual relationship.” And, this is exactly what the Anglican nuns in Black Narcissus have to endure: No sexual relationship, in any respect.

The cinematography, albeit all shot on a sound-stage, elucidates this idea through the juxtaposition of the settings. At the top of town of Mopu is the convent –keep in mind it is a former brothel (with a client of one…)—which is seen as the literal version of an “ivory tower” or in Freudian terms, “phallus.” The life and vegetation of the valley below, which stands for life, procreation, sex, etc., is where pleasure rests. (Read Samuel Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan”) Whereas, as in any ivory tower, the substitution of pleasure to utility (or usefulness) leads to a bad case of sublimation, sterility, and jungle fever, as it were. Mr. Dean (who wears Daisy Dukes…) becomes the only sex object around for the nuns, and frankly, for mildly prejudiced reasons. Sister Ruth becomes enamored by Mr. Dean, one could argue, just because he was the only white male around: The young quasi-effeminate Young General (Sabu) is only attracted to young non-white females. But, oddly enough, Mr. Dean seems to have his pick of women in the town of Mopu. One can infer from his interactions with the young peasant girl, Kanchi, that Mr. Dean is “not that innocent” as B. Spears would say; so almost everyone is guilty for being tempted towards engaging in sex, or at the very least, entertaining the thought.

Staunch Sister Clodaugh herself feels guilty for reminiscing on living the good life of material possessions and sexual love. This is where the marriage between psychoanalysis and filmmaking meet into one sophisticated sandwich. The scene in which this phenomenon readily shows is when Sister Clodaugh is praying the chapel at Mopu. Wind is blowing through the sterile, cold nunnery. While this happens, Sister Clodaugh looks up at the window and notices some vegetation growing and penetrating the window-space like wild grass on a pavement. Then, the next scene is a flashback to Sister Clodaugh’s relationship days in Ireland. And so, the vegetation as I mentioned earlier represent growth for a person, intellectually, and physically. The Mother Superior, who is Sister Clodaugh, does not play the same frigid, stereotypical nun: We see her former decadence. But, unlike Sister Ruth, she can generally control herself. Sister Ruth on the other hand…

Sister Ruth is one of the more interesting characters in the film because she is almost depicted as a “real,” in the sense of the everyday, person. One must assume she chose to become a nun for a reason, at least, at first. But she realizes that physical, secular love for her is what gives her life balance and meaning. In a naïve way, she does pursue that physical, secular love, but literally (and literarily), is unable to handle the pressures of students and sexual longing. The scene in which Sister Ruth is gazing upon Mr. Dean through her classroom’s window is emblematic of this naïve sexual longing. The child teaching the village children how to speak English, specifically, the names of weapons (i.e., gun, cannon, etc.), makes Sister Ruth’s longing both comical and a bit sad.

The most iconic scene is where Sisters Clodaugh and Ruth are sitting next to each other, basically testing each other’s religious piety harking back to Jesus’ prayer vigil in the garden, with a twist: Sister Ruth has shed her white habit for a form-fitting red dress, a sign of her newly-found sexuality. But even more so, is when Sister Ruth puts on her red lipstick, slowly. This symbolically sexual gesture is the final nail, as it were, to the religious piety that Sister Clodaugh subscribes to. Watching this scene in Technicolor with her bright red lips, even without knowledge of Sister Ruth’s failed midnight rendezvous with Mr. Dean, can give one a shock.

My only problem is that Sister Ruth’s character is terribly one-sided: A repressed nun who flowers into a sex vixen. There is a bit of the deus ex machina at play throughout the entire film, but it’s only appropriate, I think.

And so, to watch this film and enjoy it thoroughly takes a bit of a dirty mind to enjoy. The cinematography, setting, and music you can see nods to from an Indiana Jones film to the latest Wes Anderson offering. Don’t watch the movie expecting gratuitous sex, or even a tittle of titillation. Rather, watch it filling in the blanks of every character, and the striking landscapes that Technicolor provides. Then watch American Pie or Porky’s, and you’ll see what I mean.

The Extra Man is the definition of what many people call ‘quirky’. It takes the formula of the films from a short lived era (the ‘indie’ era; it takes a unique person who is not only an outsider to society, but likely out of place in this time period) and exploits it in a varying sense. Think of it as a sweetener; if someone is used to a lot of it, then large doses are fine (i.e. any fan of Wes Anderson or Noah Baumbach). However, the ‘quirk’ of the characters for many people will play their sugar levels up and down with most of them often finding it just a bit too sweet for their taste.

The film starts off with the awkwardness of the main character, Louise (Played by Paul Dano) coming into full bloom. I won’t allude to the nature of the awkwardness, but I must give the filmmakers credit for the original take on it. Louis is already strange enough before the incident; he models his life after characters from the novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald and studies the works of modernist literature. The personality of the character is a bit distracting at first, but in contrast to later character that will come about in the film, he acts as a palette cleanser; allowing the viewer to reset their tastes to something regular. Louis loses his job as a teacher, Louis decides to embark on a journey to live in New York as a writer.

This is where the film goes from being quaint to being a character study. The story turns its focus toward an old, washed up playwright, and future roommate of Louis’. A staunch Catholic and philistine, Henry Harrison becomes more the focus of the picture. He tells Louis of his profession; what he calls an ‘Extra Man’. He’s not a prostitute; rather, a younger escort for 90 year old billionaires and climbing up the social ladder. From there, you meet a slew of characters that go from grossly unreal (Otto, the Swedish humpback), to the realest (Mary Powel, a vegan urbanite who works for an eco magazine), to a long-playing-and-ultimately-worthless gag (Gershon, the silent ((sort of)) handyman). It’s just not enough, however. The film dies about midway through as the character of H.H. gets repetitive and boring and the other players all seem to lack humor or dramatic arc. The quiet moments of humor have reached their trough and the sweet taste from before has left a lingering note of burned oak and disappointment. Not only that, but most of the characters seem very static and lack change. One of the best moments in the film features a character realizing their lifestyle may not be the right choice, but that moment comes fast and leaves just as quickly.

There’s little else to be said about the film and, sadly, there is absolutely nothing memorable about it either. I found myself enjoying the film as it went on, but ultimately left the theater feeling the same as when I came in. However, how much can be said of that after this past movie season is left to question. What the film did do was give me a rush of excitement for the ‘indie’ film. Remember the good old days when films were quaint and unusual? I’m sure the filmmakers did as well. It’s honestly too bad they’re no longer desired. I can’t recommend or deter you from seeing this film in theaters. It is my honest opinion, however, that The Extra Man is a good film to have in your collection and pull out on a quiet and rainy day.

[Update: When you search for 'Extra Man' on Google, you get nothing but pictures of Katie Holmes. She's in the film a whole of 20 minutes.]

Here’s a continuation of our Philly artist interview series with The National Rifle. We recorded two studio sessions with them in Clifton Heights.

The National Rifle – Jazz History of the World

The National Rifle – In The Weeds

I began watching this film the way I feel many of you will; not having the slightest idea what it was about. Although, rest assured, this is likely how you’ll feel mid-way through the film no matter if you knew what it was about or not. What ensued as I watched was a strange mix of poetry, imagery, gruesome violence, and absurdity. Valhalla pulls much of its influence fromgreat films before him and splicing pieces of each to create a strange poetry in motion in the film. He takes the beautiful silence of the films of Antonioni and the imagery and absurdity of Alejandro Jadorowsky and takes a bit from more recent films that give adage to those like Guy Maddin‘s Careful. Roeg stepped knee deep into a sandpit by making his film into the gin of genres; an acquired taste in shot in digital with a keen eye for landscape.

Valhalla Rising tells the story of One-Eye, a criminal and fighter enslaved by a Nordic tribe, tracelling through the Nordic hills with his companion, a small boy named Are. The tale is one of those parables of the ultra man and his ward. Mythical men, monoliths that neither speak nor swiftly move; communicating only in their very being.  He meets a band of Christians on their way to the Holy Land who are offering the promise of redemption and decides to follow suit; ward in tow. What follows is a story of redemption and doom. A simple enough story and one that doesn’t disappoint. Even if only through lack of effort.

Refn is an understated filmmaker that should get more credit, despite his short resume; much like Matthew Vaughn. These men will have some time before they can be considered ‘visionairies’, but are obvious contenders for the title. Now, when people say visionary to describe a filmmaker, they don’t just mean could mean many things. Some directors are cinematic (your Kubricks; your Bergmans), aesthetic (your Jeunets, your Singh’s), storytellers (your (not contrary to the popular belief that all filmmakers are storytellers, though some choose not to do it well), intellectual (your Tarantinos, etc). What Nicholas Windig Refn will likely be known for is shown less in this film than in a film like ‘Bronson’. He has an intimate relationship with the image and a ridiculously keen eye for framing. His direction lends his actors an intensity that is exuded as evenly in action as it does in complete silence (i.e. the character of Bronson v. that of One-Eye).

As far as aesthetic, Valhalla Rising is more of an Aguirre meets Holy Mountain in Scandanavia (alright, I’m done with the comparison I promise). The viewer will likely never finds themselves starving for imagery. The entire film is less about the words as it is about the literary aspect of the images surrounding the action. Basically, the subtext is the dialogue and it speaks loudly throughout most of the film. Still, much can be said about an image lacking context. Often times, the viewer is left wondering as to what is going on between the possibly 10-15 moments of dialogue. It is much like in the film when, after travelling across the sea for days, the men land only to find fresh water and little to no food. At times, just the beauty and somewhat visceral nature of the images is thirst quenching. Yet, we need a bit of spoken language to not go mad.

Valhalla Rising is not an entertaining film. It doesn’t want to be. By nature it cannot be. It won’t break any box office records. It probably won’t make too much money at all. But give it 15 years and they’ll be teaching it in college film theory courses.