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The Hurt Locker is a tough one to classify. It's a film about American
combat efforts in Iraq, directed by top notch action director Kathryn
Bigelow (Point Break, K19: The Widowmaker, Strange Days) that has very little in common with war films as we know them. There's far too
little glassy-eyed introspection or attention to military procedure to
be considered among the Serious War Film canon. Nor is there enough
camaraderie to be a buddy movie. And while accounts of the film being
totally apolitical are a bit of a stretch, the story has far too much
humanity to reasonably be considered a protest film. Written by Mark
Boal, an embedded journalist during the early days of the Iraq war,
Hurt Locker is a marked improvement over his last effort In the Valley
of Elah (not to mention, a case study in what a good director's contribution
is to a story when viewed side by side with the limp, sour work of Paul
Haggis), depicting a workplace with very high stakes that is the most
populist Iraq film to date.
Set a couple years into Operation Iraqi Freedom, it's immediately made clear that no one up or down the chain of command is expecting victory or any kind of resolution to the conflict at hand. Some of the soldiers arrive with varying degrees ideology and enthusiasm but optimism is no longer on the table and everyone there is watching the clock (no pun intended).
Sergeant Sanborn (Anthony Mackie) and Staff Sergeant James (Jeremy Renner) are matched up to lead an elite bomb squad after Sanborn's partner dies in an IED explosion. Sanborn is a career-track officer who plays things by the book and James is a hotdogger who's personally defused over 800 bombs in his short tenure with the Army. In a different film their odd couple pairing would be played for more laughs or life lessons but Sanborn, devastated by the loss of his buddy and riddled with survivor's guilt retreats emotionally. For the duration of the film he only engages with others to relay orders and count down the days until he can go home. The perspective then shifts to James, an adrenaline junkie who when not being afforded the opportunity to defuse hastily scrapped together explosives (shucking off his protective spacesuit in some instances) listens to heavy metal, chain smokes and drinks whiskey. It's understood these are not two people who will be meeting up in twenty years to reflect upon their times together with cautious nostalgia, not only because they barely get along, but because they are barely experiencing their surroundings on a conscious level.
The editing choices in Hurt Locker are extremely fascinating. Most of the cuts are done in the middle of beats, where traditionally there would be more action, exposition or a moment for the characters (and audience) to reflect upon what's happening. In one scene, Sanborn and James chase two thugs who have snatched an injured soldier through an alley. They recover their comrade and in the celebratory moment that would normally be there to give an audience room to exhale the film cuts to James -- alone in the washroom trying desperately to defer processing the danger he just evaded. And even that moment provides neither the character nor the viewer a moment of respite, with the next (purposely) awkward cut going to the next day, back at work. This cutting style, along with Bigelow's choice to provide no context for the process, tools or acronyms the bomb squad uses, creates a constant sense of being off-kilter, overly-energized and depleted of rest.
The Hurt Locker could easily match any summer blockbuster with ten times the budget in terms of the number and velocity of on-screen explosions and moments of extreme tension. But by keeping the focus fairly trim the film always maintains the feel a far more intimate, affecting story.
Behold! The triumphant return of the Steady Diet of Film podcast. This week I discuss the Sandra Bullock film The Proposal with HR professional Nancy Dickison.
After we determine an appropriate prison sentence for acts committed by Bullock's character, we hash out why professional women depicted in film dress like S&M mistresses, the potential for female-centered R-rated comedies and possible civil war with Canada. Enjoy!
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Rating (out of 5): ****
Note: This review contains spoilers for Skins, Series 1.
Series 1 of the BBC teen dramedy Skins [reviewed here] ended with the shocking cliffhanger in which its charming scoundrel protagonist Tony (Nicholas Hoult)
was hit by a speeding bus. The event was shocking mostly because the
first season of the show was structured and executed like a prim
character study. The doggedly plotless pacing would have been agonizing
had it not been inhabited by characters that were the most depraved,
drug-addled set of teenagers ever depicted on television.
At the start of series two, Tony, is partially disabled and has total memory loss. His leadership style was dysfuntional (and occasionally despotic), but the void created by his absence has left the booze-y group splintered and listless. Max, Jal and Chris have dutifully stepped up and spend their days with the ailing Tony, desperate to rehabilitate him and reestablish the group's equilibrium. Michelle has checked out completely, getting drunk in pubs and pretending her longtime relationship with him was never very serious. Cassie, having attempted suicide one too many times, has been shipped off to Scotland and appears to be flourishing: taking up with a team of homosexual bagpipers and learning the ancient dances of white people. And Sid, once one of Tony's closest confidants and greatest admirers, is so distraught with Cassie's deportation he barely leaves his room, counting the minutes until they can webchat again.
Read the rest of my review at Greencine.
Scott Walker: 30 Century Man provides intimate insight into the world that surrounds a charismatic but elusive artist. Even to people who don't quite understand the appeal of Walker's music, it's quite fascinating that he can compel people to follow him despite having an overall vision that is never abundantly clear -- sometimes even in the final product.
Noel Scott Engel began his storied musical career as a crooner in the boy band Walker Brothers.
Engel’s broody, melancholic vocals mixed well with the baroque, orchestral pop stylings of the day and quickly made him a massive teen heartthrob. (Even now the Walker Brothers music plays like the Jonas Brothers mixed with pre-Jesus Johnny Cash.) In these heady days, the band headlined bills that also featured the likes of nobodies like Jimi Hendrix, Cat Stevens and even Engelbert Humperdinck. After the bandmates parted ways, Scott Walker retained the stage name and went on to make a series of challenging, psychedelic opuses (titled Scott 1, Scott 2, Scott 3 and so forth). Each was heralded as a masterpiece by a rapidly dwindling audience.
Read the rest of my review at Greencine.
I was recently profiled for the Film in Focus series Behind the Blog. I discuss blogging (duh), why reviewing Hannah Montana alongside Andrzej Wajda is the greatest thing ever as well as my deep abiding love for specialized RSS feeds.
In addition, I was also recently a guest on Crizzle's Critical Condition, Craig D. Lindsey's podcast for the Raleigh News-Observer. We discuss documentaries, Armond White and the different rewards and tribulations for print vs. online film reviewers.
Enjoy!
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