My favorites of 2011.

2011 was an amazing year for film, both foreign and domestic, particularly independent. Films made both here and abroad seem to focus on feelings of doom and apocalypse, and the unease of the times in which we live. It was quite astonishing, and a hugely ambitious year.
With the exception of my top 5 films, I'm not going to rank anything else.


1)The Turin Horse
What can I say that I haven't said? By far the most important film going experience of my year. To experience Bela Tarr's final film as part of NYFF with Tarr himself there was wonderful. It was inspiring and provoking. It posed questions I was too afraid to ask myself.
And, of course, the film itself is an incredible event. A swansong of melancholy from a master filmmaker, film doesn't get more challenging and fulfilling than this. Though too close to call now, this could end up Tarr's masterwork. Time will tell.

2)A Separation
The less you know about this film the better, but rest assured it's a intellectual and emotional masterwork, examining a changing society in ways that are profound while telling a simple, engaging story whose layers of meaning build and build until a mesmerizing last shot. I hope this film is embraced beyond the art house, because it's deserving of such attention. A masterwork.

3)Meek's Cutoff
In a year without A Separation or Bela Tarr, Kelly Reichardt's Meek's Cutoff would have topped my list. Reichardt takes huge risks with her third feature, taking a story she has explored before, but adding austerity and distance through the use of history and elegant camera work. An allegorical film with a ballsy, ambiguous ending that made me sit up in my seat.

4)Shame
Walking into Shame, I hoped Steve McQueen could live up to his debut Hunger, a near perfect film. He didn't disappoint. In fact, he may have exceeded. Shame is extraordinary, containing all of the aesthetic rigor and discipline of Hunger, but McQueen gets even more out of Fassbender (quickly becoming the most exciting actor working today) and his cast, resulting in a film that is
devastating, cathartic, and deeply challenging.

5)Once Upon a Time in Anatolia
Anatolia excited me from the moment I heard about it at Cannes, and I was lucky enough to catch it at NYFF. On the surface a police procedural, Turkish filmmaker Nuri Bilge Ceylan has made a film of subtlety and beauty. It's exploration of a people, place, and time is magnificent.

Martha Marcy May Marlene
By now MMMM has become the indie darling of the year, a fact which may cause some backlash, but that would be a mistake: this is an incredibly accomplished debut film. Loaded with foreboding, atmosphere, and magnificently fractured storytelling, MMMM was my favorite horror film of the year. (Except Possession, which is a special case and will be explained a bit later).

Hugo
The best studio film of the year of course came from Mr. Scorsese. A love letter to the cinema, and dark kid's movie at that. A wonderful experience. I walked into this expecting to walk out furious, and instead I was delighted.

A Dangerous Method
The other 'sex movie' starring Michael Fassbender, Cronenberg's newest is a real piece of work. Through composition and mannered performances, the director gives a sense of psychological revolution at work, and a nuanced exploration of Carl Jung. The way the film finally melds sex, politics, the mind, and personal responsibility is spell-binding.

Tuesday, After Christmas
The Romanian film of the year, with incredible performances and cinematography complementing a simple story of infidelity. A great, great work.

Note: Though a difficult to sit through, Aurora, another Romanian film from Cristi Puiu, is certainly worth seeing. Highly recommended.

Take Shelter
An excellent film that just got eclipsed by other works, Take Shelter is an on the money examination of the anxieties of modern America. Jeff Nichols has incredible control over his story and gets great work from an already great actor (Michael Shannon, who deserves far more attention than he has received).

Tree Of Life
If a film's success were built entirely on ambition, Terrence Malick's heartland epic about grief and existence would probably be at the top of my list. Tree is a massive work that's quintessentially American in the way it deals with our peculiar contradictions, naive optimism, and unique way of life. An idealized portrait for sure, but deeply moving nonetheless.

Le Quattro Volte
Michelangelo Frammartino's half doc/half narrative film has disappeared from the radar, but be reminded: it's a great film. Beautiful and touching, it details a few lives (not all human, and not all lives) in the Italian country side.

Certified Copy
Certified Copy is Kiarostami's love letter to European masters like Antonioni and Alain Resnais. An exploration of two strangers who seem to be inventing a past (or maybe the opposite), Juliette Binoche and opera singer William Shimell do great, mesmerizing work up to the film's incredible ending.

ADDITION 2/11/12
I somehow managed to forget Wim Wenders Pina, which was certainly one of the best of the year. A magnificent reflection on the Pina Bausch and her work, it also ranks with Hugo and Cave of Forgotten Dreams as an attempt to bring 3-D to a new level. I recommend this film wholeheartedly.

RETRO FILM OF THE YEAR:
Possession
I caught 1981's Possession at Film Forum earlier this month, and was blown away by this totally absurd horror film made by Polish genius Andrej Zulawski. A study of a deteriorating marriage, Zulawski has wrapped a gore-fest, psychological thiller, farce, and political statement into one two hour nightmare. At times laughable, but totally disturbing and intense, Possession is unique and admirable. See this film, if you can find it anywhere.

DISAPPOINTMENT:
Although Carnage was a train wreck, I was more let down by Von Trier's Melancholia. I managed to catch my favorite filmmaker's film twice in Prague last May, and while disappointed, I still very much liked the film. In the months that followed, I eagerly awaited it's U.S. release. When it finally arrived, I found myself still let down. Von Trier has made his least intellectually engaging, interesting film in many years. While ambitious and effective, Von Trier's manipulative methods are starting to wear thin, especially in a year with wide-open and unique films like Shame, The Turin Horse, and A Separation. While still a solid film, Von Trier has delivered something I never thought he would: a watered-down movie.


Not seen (but want to see): The Skin I Live In, Moneyball, Margaret.

Werckmeister Harmonies

In lieu of a totally new post, I've decided to post a short piece I wrote for a film theory class. Enjoy!

Werckmeister Harmonies: A thrilling antidote to the Hollywood thriller

It can safely be said that Béla Tarr does not make films for the average filmgoer. In fact, one could argue that’s an understatement. A visual stylist of epic proportions, Mr. Tarr shoots his films on black and white film, edits in camera, and, most uniquely, his shots traditionally last an average of 3 minutes.

Mr. Tarr reached a high point with his stylistic choices in Werckmeister Harmonies, his 1999 film about the chaos and violence that erupts in a small Hungarian village when two sinister forces rear their ugly heads. While the description makes the film sound like a classic thriller, it is anything but a traditionally driven film. Beyond the structural differences discussed in our previous paper, Werckmeister Harmonies deviates from the Hollywood model in three important ways: it’s shot length, elliptical storytelling, and, most importantly, it’s largely passive protagonist.

The opening shot of Werckmeister Harmonies, which lasts a mesmerizing 9 minutes, defines a people and a character with astonishing clarity. As the camera pans away from a freshly distinguished fire, a group of drunken peasants come into frame. Mr. Tarr has opened in a bar on a late night somewhere on the Hungarian plain. What is being shown is largely pedestrian (a common theme for much of the film’s first act): drunks falling over, people chatting, and an irritated bartender trying to escort the men out.

But suddenly Mr. Tarr shows us something unexpected: a young (and sober) gentleman named Janos. Janos is being asked to explain something to the men, and so, by using the man as puppets, Janos illustrates a solar eclipse, highlighting the moment of absolute eclipse before moving onto the beautiful moment of the sun’s re-appearance. As this occurs, a piano piece begins to play which highlights the beauty Janos seems to find in the world. It’s a refreshing moment, a deviation from what is expected, and highlights the way that Janos, optimist and believer in the omnipotent, views the world.

Mr. Tarr follows up this wonderfully long scene with two more extended takes: a long shot of Janos walking down the street, and then a scene of Janos putting Gyorgi to bed. It is a scene that highlights two important aspects of the film:

1.It reinforces Janos role as the favorite son of the town, by showing his care and consideration for Gyorgi.

2.It highlights Mr. Tarr’s use of the long take, which deviates strongly from the usual use of the long take and from Hollywood filmmaking

Probably the most famous modern example of the long take in narrative filmmaking is Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielmann, which uses the long take to highlight the soul crushing monotony and eventual derangement of a Belgian widow. Ms. Akerman’s long takes create an astonishing sense of anxiety and tension. Likewise, the current films coming out of Romania, dubbed by critics as ‘The Romanian New Wave’, use long shots to highlight the performances and tension, but mostly as a metaphor for the laborious process of change going on in the country that faced the most violent Eastern European revolution and is slowly finding it’s footing in the modern world.

I highlight to clarify Mr. Tarr’s use of long shot, which deviates from the Hollywood model in that the average Hollywood shot length is no more than a few seconds, but also because Mr. Tarr doesn’t use his long take in this case to create a palpable sense of anxiety or fear, but to highlight the pace of life on the Hungarian plain where the film takes place. Mr. Tarr doesn’t want us to simply feel or understand the process of time, but instead wants us to have experienced it by allowing the events which occur to his characters occur to us, without the use of visceral editing or image manipulation. A drastic difference from the Hollywood model, in which films such as The Bourne Ultimatum or Transformers has an ASL of 1.9 seconds.

Additionally, Werckmeister Harmonies features extremely elliptical, even oblique, storytelling. This is true from the very first frame: who is Janos Valuska? Why does everyone in the town love him so much? Why is he so well trusted? Mr. Tarr never spells this out for his audience. Additionally, he never exactly clarifies why everyone seems to begin to distrust Janos later in the film. The implication is that the insidious nature of the circus and its dangerous Prince has somehow worked their influence over the community, and a clear example of this is seen in the chilling hospital attack later in the film.

This leads to the film’s most prominent example of oblique storytelling, namely: what is the connection between Aunt Tunde’s political campaign and the arrival of the Prince? In a more traditional film, there would be a scene in which some kind of deal was made between the two entities, or a scene in which their opposition to one another would be shown, but neither of these occurs in the film. Certainly most audience members would crave closure on this point, but Mr. Tarr doesn’t seem eager to provide such answers. While trying to avoid conjecture, I think it has something to do with the nature of Hungarian and, indeed, Eastern European history, with it’s many conquerors and many agendas.

The prime illustration of Mr. Tarr’s elliptical and oblique storytelling, which comes directly from the shadowy nature of Aunt Tunde’s political campaign, occurs in the final few moments of the film. Janos, having been told to run away from the town by one of his relations, is running along the railroad tracks when a helicopter passes overhead. Janos’ eyes fill with fear and he freezes as the helicopter lands before him.

Cut to a hospital bed. Janos sits on it, unable to speak except to make short whimpering sounds, as his uncle Gyorgi explains that his home has been overtaken by Aunt Tunde and the police chief. In a frighteningly sad moment, Gyorgi whispers ‘nothing counts…nothing counts.’

Janos has indeed witnessed some horrible sights throughout the film, but the exact nature of his apparent madness is never explained. What has happened to him? Why was a helicopter dispatched to retrieve him? Moreover, is the helicopter connected with the military and Aunt Tunde’s politics? The implication is, of course, that it is, but it’s never made clear to us as an audience. The result? A much more unconventional, but also much more terrifying, example of storytelling.

Perhaps the most unconventional aspect of Werckmeister Harmonies is the character of Janos. Janos violates one of the most basic rules of a conventional Hollywood narrative film: the idea of the active character. Hollywood films demand a character that takes action, who saves the day. Collateral is a classic example of a film where a generally passive protagonist decides to take a risk and change something about their situation. They act.

This is not the case with Janos, who is constantly led around by his uncle Gyorgi and Aunt Tunde. He is manipulated and controlled, and not aware of it. Occasionally there is some degree of hesitation, particularly when Aunt Tunde convinces Janos to force his uncle to help with their political campaign, but Janos never takes a stand. Janos does appear to be taking action at one point, running away from the town, but only under the influence of his aunt Harrar, who tells him the military is looking for him and he must flee. Part of this inaction comes from Janos’ optimistic disposition, but it is also clear that Mr. Tarr is trying to highlight the roles of people who don’t fully understand the situation in which they are caught. By ignoring the traditional rules of character, Mr. Tarr creates an even more tragic story of someone in a world beyond their control.

Through his use of long takes, elliptical storytelling, and finally a non-traditional protagonist, Mr. Tarr creates powerful portrait of life on the Hungarian plain, but also what happens when sinister forces try to control it. His powerful use of these techniques takes a story that could have been a routine thriller and turns it into a more interesting study of humanity as a whole. Had this been a Hollywood film, it would have tried to build tension through cuts rather than building long takes, a clear relationship between the various forces at work in the town, and a protagonist who takes action against them. Instead, the film focuses on the human moments, and thus what happens when humanity is tested. It is a powerful idea made strong by its lack of adherence to traditional storytelling choices.

Thoughts on Béla Tarr and The Turin Horse.

'Don't be influenced by anybody.'
-Béla Tarr

It isn't very often a living legend stands in front of you.

Today, The New York Film Festival premiered (in the US, at least) The Turin Horse, the final film from Hungarian filmmaker Béla Tarr. Mr. Tarr, who began his career in Communist-era Hungary making social realism and slowly transitioned to films of a more allegorical and metaphorical nature, is a unique individual in the ranks of world cinema: a self-described 'autocrat', he makes film in black and white, uses endlessly long takes (his film Werckmeister Harmonies runs 145 minutes and contains 39 cuts) and hasn't gone near a digital camera in his storied career. In the eyes of a less discerning public, his work almost feels like a joke, a goofy representation of European artsy-fartsy miserablism, what with the austere camera work, hopelessness, and focus on the poor, uneducated, and marginalized of our world. It would be nearly impossible to take Béla Tarr seriously if he didn't take his work so seriously.

I mean this as the highest praise possible. Mr. Tarr is fully committed to film as art form. In today's discussion, he called it 'the seventh art.' He has created a body of work that no other filmmaker could ever make, and every frame is his own.

I've only encountered Mr. Tarr’s work in the past few years, and I fully admit to not having seen all his films. It took me three tries to finish Werckmeister Harmonies (indeed, I didn't get past the FIRST shot initially). Once I did, I was hooked. Fairly recently, on a hot Friday in July, a cinephilic friend and I committed to Sátántangó, Mr. Tarr’s 7.5 hour film about the disintegration (and manipulation) of a collective farming community. It was a mesmerizing, provocative, and sometimes boring experience, but unlike any other I’ve had watching a movie in my home. I’m sure I didn’t understand everything, and I know the film isn’t for everyone, but I’m certain it is a worthwhile experience.

That’s how I felt at today’s screening of The Turin Horse. A portrait of six days in the life of a horse driver (an infamous one, based on the title) and his daughter, it’s not an easy film. At times it’s downright trying, but as I felt the film coming to its conclusion, I felt a deep sense of loss. Despite occasional restlessness, and a desire to escape that theater, I didn’t want the film to end. I didn’t want to leave the world Mr. Tarr created for me. I wanted to sit and watch the family of two eat their potatoes, drink their palinka (Hungarian brandy), and struggle with the wind.

Part of this could have been because Mr. Tarr has publicly declared The Turin Horse would be his last film. When asked why at the film’s pre-talk, Mr. Tarr said we would all understand when we had seen the film. When the same question was asked at the post film talk, Mr. Tarr just pointed at the screen and smiled.

I think I understood. Mr. Tarr has made a film of incredible simplicity. It is an articulation of everything that has come before it. This is a film of beautiful images and painful truths expressed by a man whose artfulness and directness is astounding. I have now had the opportunity to hear Mr. Tarr speak, and it wasn’t at all what I expected. I expected someone harder, someone less articulate and certainly someone with a smaller sense of humor. Mr. Tarr is funny (he asked why we were indoors on such a beautiful day), and he seems ultimately hopeful. As the screening began, he said he hoped we would love the characters as he loved them. I walked out loving them.

And him, in a way. Mr. Tarr may be one of the last of the true filmmakers. He shoots in black and white 35mm, utilizes long takes, edits in camera, and seems deadly serious about what he wants to say. But, finally, what I have in my mind after a day of memorable images is a smiling man dressed entirely in black, pointing his thumb at the screen.

If that isn’t someone who lets their work speak for itself, I don’t know who is.

5 Reasons why you should see The Seven Samurai this weekend rather than another summer action blockbuster (particularly the one about robots fighting)

Summer is upon us, and as the heat goes up, so does the size of the movies playing at multiplexes across the country. Superheroes will defeat evil, cowboys will battle aliens, and of course, robots will collide with robots in massive (and probably largely incomprehensible) battles. Summer is the time of the action film, and what better time of year to sit in air-conditioned, dark theaters and watch spectacle upon spectacle occurring right before your eyes, at 24 glorious (and now 3D) frames per second.
Except something isn't right, is it? There's something missing. Those characters are pretty thinly sketched, aren't they? You're not really clear who is running away from the Decepticon, are you? Most egregiously, the action doesn't have much tension, does it?
In an age of bigger is better, we've lost a sense of what makes action films great. There's no consequence anymore, no sense of stakes. It's elementary story-telling, one would argue, and action offers us the rare opportunity to offer that stuff in it's purest, most unpretentious form. Maybe it wouldn't hurt for some of us to take a step back, and see what a real action movie looks like.
We're in luck. For the next three days, IFC Center, that glorious New York City institution, is offering a chance to see Akira Kurosawa's classic The Seven Samurai. Kurosawa's action epic, about a group of Samurai hired to protect a village under assault from marauding bandits, is the touchstone film for most of the great action films that followed, yet manages to outshine them in every way. Even if you don't live in an area where Kurosawa's masterwork is playing, it's easily available (on Blu-Ray, no less) through Netflix or your local video store.
Here are 5 reasons why your movie this holiday weekend shouldn't be the one about robots fighting.

1.The Seven Samurai has stakes.
So often in action films these days we're given ludicrous reasons to care. They usually, and most lazily, consist of a mystical item which will bring power to whoever possesses it, or some kind of loosely plotted time travel situation that threatens to unravel the time-space continuum. These 'plots' are thrown at us with such speed and indifference that before we know it we're knee deep in action without much reason to care.
However, Mr Kurosawa took his time. He was a believer in human drama, and it shows from the opening frames of Samurai, as a group of bandits descend on the hills above a small peasant village to plot their attack once the harvest comes. As they disappear into the hills, a peasant is revealed, having been hidden throughout the entire scene. The look on his face is one of the many looks that will be burned into your mind once the film ends: it is one of abject terror, and absolute hopelessness. These weren't easy times in Japan (the film takes place in the late 1580's - the Warring States Period - one of great social and political upheaval in Japanese history), and the idea of losing an entire harvest to bandits meant disaster for these peasants. Eventually a decision is made to hire Samurai in order to protect the village, but not before we understand the desperation of these peasants' situation, and thus are far more invested in what happens to them, which makes the film's climatic battle all the more suspenseful and thrilling. This does, of course, result in a long running time: 3 hours, 27 minutes. Before you scoff, however, keep in mind: the latest Transformers movie clocks in at just an hour shorter.

2.The Seven Samurai invented the modern day action hero, seven different ways.
It's disheartening at how little charisma there is among action heroes these days. Does anyone think that Shia Lebouf's teenage spaz has any depth? Is a Ryan Reynold's bland take on Hal Jordan really the best we can do?
The cast of characters in The Seven Samurai are the basis for nearly every modern action hero we have. Like Jack Sparrow's drunken heroics or Tony Stark's arrogant, yet intense vulnerability? Watch Toshiro Mifune's tormented and hilarious work as Kikuchiyo, the Seventh Samurai, and you'll see an almost uncanny resemblance. One of Optimus Prime's ridiculous moments of philosophy sticking with you (I seriously hope not)? It can be traced back to Takashi Shimura's wonderful, meaningful performance as Kanbe Shimada, the leader of the Samurai.
Every modern action hero, from the wise ass side kick (Minoru Chiaki's good-hearted Heihachi) to the stone cold bad ass warrior (Seiji Miyaguchi's Kyuzo), can be found in this film, and, amazingly, they feel as fresh as ever. They're specifically defined, given moments to stand out, and their fate actually means something to you. It isn't giving much away to say that the film doesn't end with all seven Samurai still among the living. What may surprise is how moved you are when they meet their fates. Action movies don't work without characters. This film invented those characters.

3.The Seven Samurai may be the most influential action film ever made.
Going beyond the richly created characters, it's apparent from almost frame one that The Seven Samurai is a film that has shaped the way modern action films are made. Everything from the introduction of the central conflict to the film's final moment feels iconic.
Perhaps the most clear example of this comes in the first hour, as the rag-tag team of Samurai are brought together. One is seen haphazardly chopping wood, a clear indication of his strengths as a fighter. Another is seen resisting armed conflict before being forced to take his opponent down, a task he performs with the minimum of fuss and maximum precision, establishing him as the film's silent warrior. Another is seen dancing over the body of a thief dispatched by a far more skilled Samurai. Another is...
You get the point. With a great deal of economy and skill, Kurosawa establishes who these men are in several tightly constructed scenes and exchanges. Michael Bay would do the same years later when he gave us an introduction to his team of roughneck oil drillers in Armageddon; Christopher Nolan did it when he introduced us to his dream thieves in last year's Inception. Not to mention Soderberg's Ocean's films.
Likewise, nearly every modern filmmaker will give Kurosawa his due when it comes to influence. Freeze frame certain shots of Samurai against the climatic battle of Saving Private Ryan, and you'll be hard pressed to tell the difference. Do those wipe-cuts look familiar? Lucas did the same with Star Wars (in fact, without Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress, another less celebrated Samurai film, there wouldn't be a Star Wars to speak of). I could keep going, but I won't. This film has been remade time and time again whether officially (the seminal western The Magnificent Seven; Pixar's A Bug's Life), or unofficially.

4.The Seven Samurai has action that makes sense.
Yesterday, I tried to watch the trailer for Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol. I could barely keep up with the action. There wasn't a shot that lasted more than two or three seconds, and the poorly-chosen Eminem track playing over the endless shots of explosions and gun fights did little to add clarity.
This is the sad state of many action films these days. It's becoming much easier to edit a film to within an inch of it's life, thereby making the film more frenetic, more 'edgy', and, as a consequence, less comprehensible. Occasionally, this works (the new 007 films serve as an example). Mostly, it doesn't, as Michael Bay's nearly avant-garde cutting and shooting in his Transformers films demonstrates. What the hell is happening in these films?
This is not the case with Kurosawa, whose action sequences in Samurai are absolutely top-notch. We feel the weight, drama, and consequence in every scene, even in those with relatively little action.
Take an early scene when Shimada disguises himself as a monk to save a child being held captive by a crazed and terrified thief. Shimada approaches the thief's hideout with food. He throws the food into the room, waits a split second (presumably for the thief to pick the food up), and dashes in. A few absolutely hair-rising seconds pass as the audience stares at an empty frame, and suddenly the thief dashes out. He freezes, and, in a slow-motion shot that has been copied time and time again, falls into a heap, the victim of an unknown blow from Shimada. Cut to the villagers gathered around the hideout. As they exhale, so do we.
All of this is accomplished with approximately 15 cuts, spread over a minute and a half. A majority of the cuts are to the villagers watching helplessly, which heightens the tension. The actual action occurs in 7 or 8 shots, with a minimum of fuss, but producing great tension and excitement.
Imagine the modern equivalent, with a series of cuts as Shimada enters the hideout, the music blaring as he saves the child (undoubtedly in slow-motion), and the blood pouring out of the thief as he falls to a heap. Gratuitous, to say the least. Once again, the best action is about suggestion. Kurosawa is a master.
That isn't to say the film lacks action or battle. The last 40 minutes are packed with exciting action that builds as it progresses, with each minor defeat and victory raising your blood pressure. By this point, the characters are so well defined that their loss is yours. It's an incredible testament to the necessity of action being about character and drama over spectacle.

5. The Seven Samurai has resonance, reality, and consequence.
Rarely do robots, particularly robots that are almost invulnerable, justify any real concern about their fate in action films. Do the robots in Transformers mean anything?
Michael Bay has made one great action film: The Rock. Have you seen it? In it, disgruntled general Francis Hummel (Ed Harris, bringing real pathos), upset over the way the deaths of his men in Desert Storm was handled, storms Alcatraz and takes 81 tourists hostage. He demands reparations be made to their families. He means it. He cares. This isn't only about money. It's about the memory of real men. What follows is fairly preposterous when compared to the gravity and reality of Hummel's stated intent, but the film also leaves the fate of one of it's central protagonists up in the air. Former British spy John Mason (Sean Connery) , who was supposed to be freed from prison for agreeing to lead the rescue team into Alcatraz, is betrayed by the FBI. He is warned by nerdy scientist turned warrior Stanley Goodspeed (Nicolas Cage, in one of his first action roles), and escapes. It isn't exactly a down ending for Mason, but it isn't the tidy wrap-up we have come to expect from our action films.
The same can be said for Seven Samurai, though much more so. As I said before, this film doesn't end without death, without loss and without lives being irrevocably changed. These men knew there would be consequence. Their duty is to save and preserve the village; to preserve life. Preservation of life doesn't happen without some loss of life. Surely a simple lesson, but one with a kind of resonance most action films can't even think of having these days, much less the downbeat note that this film ends on. It ultimately makes the film more rewarding, as it realizes the consequences of action.
Ultimately, consequences are what action movies great. Without them, action films resemble empty spectacle: a series of images cut together that may resemble a film, but beyond the sound and fury, signify nothing.
Sound familiar?


Additionally, IFC's screening of Seven Samurai this weekend is part of a longer KUROSAWA series whose ticket sales benefit the Japan Society's Earthquake Relief Fund. You're not only seeing a great film, but helping those in serious need.