Making an unbreakable promise

THE PLEDGE (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Originally reviewed in Jan. 2001

After seeing Sean Penn's latest directorial effort, "The Pledge," I am convinced that Penn can work equally well on both sides of the camera. He is an exceptionally superb actor but his first two films as a director, "The Indian Runner" and "The Crossing Guard," showcased his stunning ability to write sharply defined characters and to know how to get the most out of his actors. He has had the macho ethic of actors like Dennis Hopper, Charles Bronson, David Morse and, yes, Jack Nicholson diminished in favor of showing men grappling with the sins of their past. Nicholson is the star of "The Pledge," and it is his most gripping portrayal yet in what remains Penn's best film by far.

Nicholson is the retired Nevada cop Jerry Black, a man torn by the latest savage murder of a little girl. The night of his retirement party is the night he chooses to investigate the case, despite the averse reactions of the hotshot detective Stan Krolak (Aaron Eckhart) and his former boss (Sam Shepard). A mentally challenged Indian (Benicio Del Toro) is seen at the scene of the crime and is forced to confess to the murder but Jerry doesn't buy it - he feels the real killer is still on the loose. And to temporarily relieve his retirement, Jerry makes a pledge to the dead girl's mother (a devastatingly fierce Patricia Clarkson) to find the killer.

I know what you are all going to say - the same old story about a cop resting on his gut instincts to solve one last case. "The Pledge" stars off as a routine cop story but what unfolds afterwards is stimulating, haunting and unpredictable. This is no ordinary movie-of-the-week and it is no action thriller - it is, my goodness, an existential character study of one man's pledge and obsession leading to madness and despair. Sounds too depressing? Well, yes, but who says all movies need to end in happy endings?

As the film progresses, Jerry buys a gas station following a hunch that the killer resides in a nearby county. There is also the suspected car model deduced from the dead girl's drawing of a tall man who gave her porcupine chocolates. I will not say much more except that Jerry meets the local town waitress (Robin Wright-Penn) and his intentions with her and her own daughter are not what they seem.

"The Pledge" is full of symbolic montages, beautifully lush scenery, and Penn's typical slow-motion scenes punctuated by moments of silence. One terrific moment is likely to be missed where a long shot of Jerry fishing on a lake with a rainbow in the distance mirrors one of the dead girl's drawings. I also love the scene where Jerry breaks the news to the girl's parents in a turkey farm - a typical scene, powerfully executed.

Nicholson uses admirable restraint as Jerry Black, in lieu of his trademark persona, for a complex portrait of a man who may be losing his marbles investigating a seemingly no-win case. He shares some great scenes with actors like Vanessa Redgrave as the dead girl's teacher, Helen Mirren as a child psychologist, Tom Noonan as the local Reverend, Harry Dean Stanton as the owner of a gas station, and Mickey Rourke in a heartfelt performance as the dad of one of the murdered girls in town.

"The Pledge" begins with Nicholson scratching his legs and muttering to himself, and the frustration the character feels slaving away at this murder case is felt by the audience. "The Pledge" is a pessimistic, tough-minded film that stays on course through its existential journey. For the last year or so, I've been saying that in this postmodern world of cinema, irony has replaced existentialism and that stories are now bereft of the risks they used to take, particularly with characters as unsentimental as Jerry. "The Pledge" is proof that some directors are willing to take the plunge into the sea of despair without making compromises. Bravo Sean Penn!

Worn-out tequila sunrise

THE BORDER (1982)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Tony Richardson's "The Border" is two movies in one - a scathing criticism of the border patrol agents in El Paso, Texas and a human story of salvation. The criticism works in spades, the salvation story just barely.

Jack Nicholson plays Charlie Smith, an exasperated border patrol cop from L.A.,who has just accepted a new job in El Paso, TX after living in a trailer with his money-hungry wife (Valerie Perrine). Of course, her idea of money-hungry is living in shared quarters with another border cop and his wife, and revitalizing their rather cramped quarters into a dream house by buying a new plastic-sealed couch on credit. The fellow border cop is Cat (Harvey Keitel), a man involved in shady dealings with the illegal immigrants. There is no real dilemma on immigration presented here - it merely states the corruption of these cops with dollar signs when it comes to smuggling people and buying newborn babies for wealthy families. Cat and his superiors are involved (including a far too brief performance by Warren Oates) and it pays their way, including allowing some illegals do work as day laborers, but it is all a front - money is the motive and murder is occasionally a necessary evil. The Rio Grande is the dividing line.

Charlie wants nothing to do with it - his conscience is put to the test. Should he turn a blind eye and allow such injustice, including the selling of a baby from one unfortunate, caring mother (Elpidia Carrillo, who says more with a look than a line of dialogue)? Or will Charlie kowtow to their efforts and keep doing a job that is useless and uncertain so as to keep his wife happy? Unfortunately, the symptomatic problem of this illegal operation is barely given much depth. The illegals, with the exception of Carrillo, become background fodder and the movie never illuminates the issues. It is all in the service of a suspense thriller by the end with two unsatisfactory freeze-frames that seemingly resolve the salvation of a character, yet further dim the narrative.

Nicholson works up a fever pitch of a performance, especially scenes with Perrine where he begins to wonder about the status of his life. Mostly Nicholson is watchable but rather forgettable in the role - had he switched parts with Harvey Keitel, I would have had more sympathy with Keitel as Charlie. Still, for a film that touches on the immigration problem at all (and let us not forget that it is still an issue today), it is passable entertainment but it just misses the mark of making the most of a pressing issue.

Money trumps art in 1930's Hollywood

THE LAST TYCOON (1976)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Elia Kazan's last film is not a full-bodied portrait of a film producer losing his way in the 1930's Hollywood. Based on F. Scott Fitzgerald's last incomplete novel, "The Last Tycoon" is a largely a series of pauses, silences and whispers in isolated room interiors - there is a claustrophobic feeling to the film even at the site of an unfinished construction of a beach house.

Monroe Stahr (Robert De Niro) is the Irving Thalberg-like movie studio chief who has a penchant for trimming and reshooting certain films to achieve something passable - he takes these projects as his personal vision, sometimes hiring and firing writers and directors at will. The movie revels in the pitch meetings and studio screenings where everyone waits to hear Monroe's word - can a film sink or swim depending on Monroe's mood that day? He does face an uphill battle - the union, the movie executives and such are concerned about ballooning budgets and last-minute revisions and reshoots. The name of the game is money and Monroe Stahr is too concerned with the writers' process and making personal statements, all of which is slowly seeping away in a New Hollywood.

Monroe is a workaholic but he does notice a lovely presence on the set one day - a young starlet in
the making perhaps named Kathleen Moore (Ingrid Boulting). She is a ravishing presence who is soft-spoken and has no phone number. Monroe is taken by her and, in some of the most romantic scenes I've seen from director Elia Kazan in ages, he tries to seduce her in that unfinished beach house. There is a certain artificiality to these scenes and that is what makes them leap from the screen - a "dream" romance that could be Monroe's imagination at work.

Written by Harold Pinter, "The Last Tycoon" is not on the same list of other monumental Kazan films but I did appreciate its understated, low-keyed qualities. De Niro also proves his worth as an elegant romantic leading man (certainly a 180 from his Travis Bickle role the same year) and it is marvelous to watch him play such an emotionally restrained character. Added to Kazan's gallery of extraordinary cast members are Robert Mitchum as an executive who sees Monroe losing his grasp of reality; Jeanne Moreau as a Joan-Crawford type (or maybe Bette Davis) actress who demands retakes; an exquisite Jack Nicholson as a union organizer; the wonderful debut of Theresa Russell as Mitchum's flirty daughter; Tony Curtis as an impotent movie star, and lastly Donald Pleasence as the drunk screenwriter who is convinced by Monroe, albeit briefly, that movies can sing when it is all about the images.

There is a profound sadness to "The Last Tycoon" and, in its own muted palette of earth tone colors, you get the impression that the excitement of making movies is withering away - it is becoming a business where personality is trumped by economics. 

Kemo sabe has uneven spirit

THE LONE RANGER (2013)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"The Lone Ranger" is hardly a total washout but it has tonal shifts the size of bulldozers trying to operate during a rampaging tornado season. Within the first hour, the film works wonders, appropriating the right tone and spirit of that Masked Man. The middle section has too much padding and unnecessary twists and too many villains, and then the finale works up its old-fashioned spirit again.

We are back in Colby, Texas with John Reid (Armie Hammer), a John Locke admirer, as the attorney who is deputized as a Texas Ranger by his brother, Dan (James Badge Dale). Before you know it, the next reel sets in with the escape of the nasty, murderous Butch Cavendish (William Fichtner), a cannibal of all things. The Rangers approach the Cavendish gang's hideout and guns are ablazin', and I imagine most Lone Ranger fans know what happens next. John Reid is the only surviving Ranger, saved by Tonto (Johnny Depp), a smart Comanche warrior who senses the Ranger is just another dumb white man. A mask is adorned by John, the white horse Silver appears, a silver bullet is created by Tonto, need I say more? Apparently so, because the story segues into a plot involving a fearless railroad tycoon (Tom Wilkinson), the Cavalry killing a bunch of Comanches, and the separation of Tonto from Lone Ranger for far too long. When they reunite, there is a lot of humorous bickering between them but not much in the way of chemistry. Still, how can a Ranger compete with Johnny Depp's inspired performance.

Directed by Gore Verbinski ("Pirates of the Caribbean"), "The Lone Ranger" is moderately entertaining though there are a couple of lulls before the story gets revved up again. The main issue is the tone which is everywhere except where it needs to be. Part of the charm of "The Lone Ranger" is that it was always meant to be old-fashioned escapism where the Masked Man followed a certain moral code (never kill anyone) and Tonto was always his second banana. This version has Tonto in fierce defiance of his white friend, and I appreciate that they took it in that direction. Aside from that difference, the movie is practically a Warner Bros. cartoon, especially in the endless train collisions and derring do of the final act. But the movie also features a Butch Cavendish who eats the heart of his murdered victims, and there are rabbits with canine teeth who must have run away from the set of "Night of the Lepus"! There is also the slaughter of a whole tribe that doesn't mesh with the cartoonish violence we see throughout. All this told from the point-of-view of a Tonto posing as a mannequin at a 1930's San Francisco Fair! Huh?

If nothing else, this bastardized yet colorful version is ten times better than the dull 1981 remake. But there is no comparing to the real Lone Ranger - the one and only Clayton Moore who made him iconic. Armie Hammer is no Clayton Moore, yet Johnny Depp stands up to the task in his revisionist update of that most noble savage, Tonto. I enjoyed about 6/10 of this bizarre popcorn movie but its infrequent and brutally violent elements and severely uneven tone almost ruin what could have been a far livelier adventure movie. 

Teaching 10,000 stars how not to dance

LIFE ITSELF (2014)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I had been toying with the idea of whether I should review "Life Itself" or not. My memories of growing up with Siskel and Ebert during the 1980's made such a review almost too emotional. Out of respect to the film critic of the stars, I had to do it - review the film, not my nostalgic memory. Viewers familiar/unfamiliar with the late film critic Roger Ebert will find "Life Itself" a fascinating, almost voyeuristic and deeply penetrating documentary from acclaimed director Steve James ("Hoop Dreams," Ebert's pick for best film of 1994). An expose of the Chicago Sun-Times film critic who was the other half of the Siskel and Ebert at the Movies show, it is unforgettable, sad and explicitly honest. Another plus - it does not judge the critic himself.

Much has been written about Ebert, especially his prolific essays on politics, book bans and much more in the latter years before his death. He was also an avid film viewer who loved movies with a passion, and loved his wife Chaz just as much. Ebert is also the screenwriter who worked on the infamous "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls" by Russ Meyer (a film Siskel hated). It is interesting to note that Ebert had also been active as a writer of hot-button political issues long before film criticism became his mainstay, specifically writing for his college newspaper on civil rights and the unfortunate church bombing that included the deaths of four young black girls. Doubly interesting are Ebert's bouts of alcoholism, far worse than even I had ever heard before, and his dates with women that were a far cry from what his saloon pals expected.

The documentary also manages to capture the rivalry between Ebert and his co-partner and Chicago Sun-Times film critic in their popular TV show, Gene Siskel, yet it was not a bitter rivalry (Siskel was present at Ebert's wedding). Still, acrimony to some degree existed, as in Siskel's amazing attempts to get certain celebrities' interviews before Ebert did. Yet Ebert was also the first film critic to ever win the Pulitzer Prize and he was an expected and strong presence at the Cannes Film Festival for many years. There is no shying away from the fact that Ebert considered himself the best at what he did (I do recall Premiere Magazine once quoting Ebert as saying he was the best film critic in the world) - his arrogance was paramount. Ebert also championed smaller, independent filmmakers and, thus, was not nearly as populist as many had thought. Though he did not change his mind on his pans of "Blue Velvet," "Full Metal Jacket" and "A Clockwork Orange" (Chaz Ebert's favorite film by the way) through the years, he remained committed to his opinions and justified them.

Viewing "Life Itself" can be an overwhelmingly emotional experience, especially for myself. To watch Ebert struggle with his thyroid cancer and lose his most useful tool - his voice - can be especially tough on the average fainthearted viewer who cannot stand to watch people suffer (something that Ebert knew all too well). His writing got stronger though - he was never at a loss for words - and that is the most welcoming and appreciative element of the film. Had it not been for Roger Ebert during the 1980's, I would never have considered writing film reviews. I owe much to him and I am sorry I never expressed to that him, via email or in person. "Life Itself" appreciates the man himself and the critic who expressed his disgust for bad cinema and his love for passionate labors of love. I can only hope that Ebert is having a passionate discourse with Stanley Kubrick up above on how to teach 10,000 stars not to dance. Siskel might find that discussion boring and give it a thumbs down.

Friedkin's Beautifully Ugly Mess

CRUISING (1980)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Cruising" may have been unfairly maligned upon its 1980 release to some, and particularly during its production shoot. Gay groups protested, regular moviegoers maybe not so much. We are talking about a pre-AIDS era where homosexuality was seen as a deviant act by the deviants of society, and today it still is regarded by some, albeit in smaller conservative groups. William Friedkin's "Cruising" is about the search for a serial killer who is targeting only gays in the underworld of gay leather clubs. My issue is that there is no single purpose in the film beyond being a gay slasher flick, and no real character exploration either to give it a lift.

A few murders in NYC result in body parts found along the Hudson River. Since there is no way of knowing who these body parts belong to, the murders cannot be identified as homicides. Meanwhile, there is pressure on exhausted Captain Edelson (played by Paul Sorvino, who walks with a limp for no discernible reason) from above (a Democratic Convention is coming to town) to solve these murders, pronto. Edelson asks a patrolman, Steve Burns (Al Pacino), to go undercover and find the gay killer in the homosexual underworld of quickies and S&M - bars, nightclubs and underground lairs mostly. The trouble is that the killer always wears sunglasses, participates in sex yet no DNA is found (for reasons that you can discover for yourself), and slaughters his victims with a kitchen knife and dismembers them but with no obvious blood trail. What is the motivation behind the killer's handiwork is not clear nor do I need to know - how this affects Steve is the real question.

That is a good question and it seems such questions were never really asked. Friedkin spends more time showing how unhealthy, filthy and downright deviant the lifestyle of this particular group of homosexuals is. He expresses no empathy towards them; they are merely a sideshow attraction that mainstream America can look at with disgust and nod in agreement that all homosexuals are like this and are, therefore, deviant. The cops respond to them as if they were a sickness, a pestilence which must be remedied (some cops ask for sexual favors from them). Though one line of dialogue makes it clear that this underworld is not mainstream gay America, it might have helped if there was one gay character we could actually like (Steve's accommodating next-door neighbor is given short-shrift). As for Steven, here is a detective who seems to like this world, or hates it, or sees himself as one of them. It is difficult to say which but the film and Pacino make no attempt to be subtle - one troubling sequence has Pacino's Steve attacking a next-door neighbor for no real reason. It is a volatile, violent scene and there is an aftermath and coda that suggests Steve is not quite what he seems. Any clues or foreshadowing is largely absent for a rather perplexing final scene.

There are virtues to "Cruising." It is certainly watchable and Friedkin's atmospheric eye and the use of sound (love the footsteps on the city streets, the crinkling of the leather jackets) definitely catches your attention. I also adore Karen Allen as Steve's girlfriend, though her purpose beyond being a girl who is not getting enough sex from Steve wastes the magnetic talent of this stellar actress. But "Cruising" is ultimately nothing more than an average slasher flick with above-average production values and excellent actors. Pacino remains doe-eyed from the beginning to the end - no nuance whatsoever so it was a waste to cast him. The movie is a beautifully ugly mess (a green tint figures throughout) but it is never boring. In retrospect, "Cruising" is also a little too morally reprehensible. 

Snowden's Clear and Present Danger

CITIZENFOUR (2014)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

A clear and present danger is displayed in "Citizenfour" with such unbridled urgency that anyone jaded over the malfeasance running our government is likely to suffer a twinge of disbelief after watching it. The U.S. government may have Big Brothered our society before but none of us may be prepared to know the extent of it. This is not an Orwellian nightmare in our landscape but also abroad, with help from Verizon! And the NSA used 9/11 to justify all this? This highly critical, exploratory and damning documentary details the roots and aftermath of Edward Snowden's leakage of top secret documents.

Edward Snowden

What is especially telling about "Citizenfour" is that anyone can be on a watchlist - not just any known celebrities or political figures. Top secret documents stipulate that the government looks for catchphrases on google search, facebook, texting - everything is inextricably linked together. Your IPad, IPod and cell phone all have a GPS signal - linked together like a connective web that reveals the depth of the web threads to any single person. Directed by Laura Poitras, herself the subject of consistent surveillance at airports and border crossings with no reason given as to why, the film slowly but surely gets under your skin. Part of the reason she may identify with Snowden is because some of the documentaries she has made, such as her Iraq documentary "My Country, My Country" which was told from the point of view of a Sunni Arab doctor, offer an alternative to the national dialogue on political matters.

Laura received encrypted emails over the period of five months, thanks to her notoriety of being on a watchlist, by an individual known only by the username, Citizenfour. Initially, Poitras was set on a documentary about The War on Terror (which would have culminated in the completion of her post-9/11 trilogy), where she was set to interview investigative journalist for the Guardian, Glenn Greenwald. Later we see Laura (armed with a digital video camera) and Glenn meeting their unknown source (Citizenfour) in a Hong Kong hotel room, along with Ewen MacAskill, a defence and intelligence correspondent for the Guardian. Citizenfour is Edward Snowden, a former CIA analyst and NSA employee who outlines the intricate, massive surveillance on American citizens who speak out and criticize the government in addition to foreign officials and other dignitaries, and how this information is shared with various intelligence factions. Fire alarms are heard in the hotel in one eerie scene of questionable coincidence just before he spills the beans. And after unveiling the damaging evidence, Snowden decides that he has to reveal himself as the source with the hope that the information should take precedence over who the source is. 1.7 million secret documents are discussed, not all are published. Naturally, those who thought Snowden was a traitor were only concerned with the source and bringing him to justice.

Filmmaker Laura Poitras and Guardian journalist Glenn Greenwald

"Citizenfour" is a hallucinatory view of surveillance in general, funneling our worst fears that our privacy is at the behest of analysts in their twenties (Snowden himself was 29 years old at the time) who, we are told by Snowden, watch screens where our privacy is torpedoed and sometimes without full knowledge of the real context. There is also focus on William Binney, a former 30-year NSA analyst who quit his job after 9/11 and blew the whistle because Homeland Security and the NSA were conducting illegal surveillance on citizens who had nothing to do with terrorism.  Privacy is not the central issue in "Citizenfour" - in fact, it is almost of tertiary concern (how often are pictures hacked and shared on a daily basis by anyone who is not affiliated with the government?) Snowden correctly claims that we are afraid as American citizens and residents to speak out on issues for fear of being on a watchlist. The government has 1.5 million people on their watchlist and not just exclusively those who spout rhetoric about our government - who are the rest? Why aren't these people told they are on a watchlist? And that latest statistic comes from another unnamed whistleblower - information that makes even Snowden incredulous.

"Citizenfour" is shot and edited like a 70's thriller, complete with a cryptic voiceover by Laura over shots of an endless tunnel and beautifully composed shots of Glenn Greenwald sitting in a chair in Rio de Janeiro - this is the opening of the film and I thought for a second I was watching something other than a documentary. Once we get to the footage of Snowden in a hotel room, which makes up the bulk of the film, it is riveting, sweat-inducing and unsettling to watch. At one point, Snowden looks out the window and we get the sense that snipers could be targeting him, or maybe he is being watched by someone with binoculars. In fact, he may be asking himself, "where do I go from here?"