Three very '70s movies up to bat this time. Enjoy the cynicism and auteurism.
I have to tread cautiously here, because if I'm not careful, it's going to sound like I don't like Taxi Driver, and that would mean this blog would document me rejecting yet another of Scorsese's nearly undisputed masterworks (though I would like to say that I've warmed a little to Raging Bull since I first wrote about it). But I do. I might even go so far to say that I really like the film. It's a stupendously acted and directed movie, and for that it's probably worth seeing. It's also a movie that aims to stare deep into the dark, seedy heart of America and make a statement about why that heart kind of fails the rest of the body, so to speak, which is a purpose that usually endears me to a work of art. The thing is, though, for as much as I admire the intent and raw craft of Taxi Driver, I also have to admit that, for me at least, it's a hard movie to out-and-out love. On a visceral level, I've never been all that happy with how icy a film it is. If there's a humanity at the heart of Taxi Driver, I haven't found it, and golly, that's saying something for a movie that features not only a romance but a character's vigilante rage at child prostitution as major plot points. Everything about the cinematography and direction, as aesthetically interesting at they are, is just so darn removed from everything. On a more intellectual level, though, I also think the movie severely botches its ending and as a result compromises any critique of American society that the filmmakers intended to make. Travis Bickle is a monster, a racist, a fascist, someone who is not only aware of society's flaws but also fabricates several other nonexistent ones in his twisted mind. And that's a fascinating character to ground a film's perspective in, provided the movie is willing to interrogate just who this character is. The problem is that the ending does not interrogate Travis Bickle. What should be the cinematic equivalent of a biting and honest New York Times interview turns into a kind of Good Morning America featurette. I'm almost certain this was not the intent, but the effect of that climactic shootout when I see it play out on the screen is one of uncompromised heroism. It's a catharsis of Bickle's rage, and cinematographically, the film justifies that. This is his "real rain" to "wash all the scum off the street," and let's not forget that this scum includes not only pimps and child pornographers but also the black people Bickle stares down on the sidewalk throughout the film. I'm not saying the movie is complicit in Bickle's racism or militarism or whatever, but in its ending, the movie allows its viewers to be complicit in it if they choose. Call it Fight Club Syndrome, in which the cinematic depiction of something can often be so alluring that it undercuts whatever social point the filmmakers intend. That those newspaper headlines at the end are supposed to be ironic is not lost on me. The film just doesn't entirely earn that irony, though. At least, I don't think so, and as a result, I can't help but find Taxi Driver philosophically troubling once everything is said and done.
I have weird feelings about this movie, the bulk of which stem from my trying to reconcile two facts: first, that I found The Deer Hunter to be an indulgent, tedious slog, and second, that the film somehow manages to be sort of powerful anyway—at least, in parts. Good merciful heavens[1], is the bulk of The Deer Hunter tedious. I know I've been vocally opposed to long movies elsewhere on this blog, but I don't think there's a single movie on the rest of the AFI list that justifies its runtime less than The Deer Hunter. Scenes stumble on and on in meandering directions that do nothing to expand the scope of the movie, and yes, I realize that a big part of this movie's project is to capture with verisimilitude the ambling chaos of both everyday life and war scenarios, but come on, at least have a screenplay that's more than just intermittently interesting. It's not exclusively the script's problem, though; the editing throughout is slack, too. Case in point: in the funeral scene at the movie's end, we're treated to a wide-angle shot of all the main characters grieving at the graveside, followed by completely redundant closeup shots of each character sporting the exact same pose as in the wide shot. It only adds like thirty seconds to the movie, but these things add up. And yet I said up there at the beginning that this movie is powerful anyway. A good chunk of that power comes from the acting, which is stunning across the board and imbues even the more lethargic moments with life. There's sweetness to comradery in the film's opening third and weight to the tragedy of the final third that are totally not found in the screenplay itself, and I can only attribute it to the vibrancy with which these actors inhabit their characters. I'm even tempted to call Robert De Niro's role in this movie his career best, though there's still Raging Bull out there to contend with. Even if it isn't his absolute best, it's still immensely satisfying to see him play against type as a more sensitive kind of guy (though he does get his macho moments in there, too). The cinematography, too, has a great eye for images, and if nothing else, it's a beautiful film to look at. It's the darnedest thing, too: together with the acting, the visual beauty helps to give The Deer Hunter a depth in its handling of Vietnam and its aftermath that is pretty striking, despite my being restless the entire movie. There's a feeling of truth to everything that happens onscreen that feels big. So my question is: if a movie is a complete chore to watch but still manages to make striking statements, is it good? My second question: should that question even matter?
M*A*S*H might be another one to chock up to the "you had to be there" class of movies, right alongside The Best Years of Our Lives. Mind you, I like this movie a great deal more than The Best Years of Our Lives, but it's still not one that I'd profess an undying love for or anything. And like that earlier film, it's a movie so rooted in not just a specific historical moment (this time, the experiences of army surgeons in the middle of a Korean War that looks a heck of a lot like Vietnam) but also a specific cinematic moment (when the film's rag-tag plotting and overlapping dialogue tracks were regarded as major innovations) that I can't help but feel that I missed a bus on this one by at least a couple decades [2]. That's not to say that I missed all the movie's buses, though, because there's still plenty here that I enjoy, despite not "being there." The juxtaposition of snark and wartime is still quite effective. As much as it's been imitated since, there's still a lot of power in the scenes of wise-cracking surgeons being playful in the face of ER intensity, especially when that intensity features war violence. And the film as a whole has a fun hangout vibe to it, with an endearing lack of pretension or heavy social commentary to "ground" the film in easily processed morals. It's entertaining simply to watch life unfold at the hospital, and for as much as I might complain about the relative slackness of the film's pacing (and I do complain about that, by the way), tightening the plot would have definitely sacrificed some of the comedic naturalism and easy-going attitude that I enjoy in the current version. Then again, it's also an astoundingly bitter movie, entirely cynical about the systems that dictate the lives of the characters at the hospital, so maybe I'm overemphasizing the hangoutness of M*A*S*H. It's a weird balance this film walks.
As always, let me know what you think. I of course welcome both dissenting and consenting opinions, so bring 'em on. Until next time!
You can go back to the previous post in the series, #s 49-51, here.
Update: The next post, #s 55-57, is up here.
1] Or, considering the director we're dealing with here, should I say, "Good merciful heaven's gate"?
2] Another bus I missed: I have only a passing familiarity with the TV series that this movie birthed, which means that I don't have all the "Hey look, it's the character who inspired that guy on the show!" moments that I assume the film is full of. Also, I've never seen another Robert Altman film (though that's going to change in a few posts), so maybe I'll gain a deeper appreciation for M*A*S*H once I've gotten a little further into his filmography. That being said, as I understand it, this film isn't generally regarded as one of his best by Altman enthusiasts, so maybe not.
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