Have you ever seen it? It’s about a little girl (Eliza Dushku!) who idolizes her teenage neighbor Sherry (Juliette Lewis!) and becomes infatuated with Sherry and her boyfriend Rick (C. Thomas Howell!). It’s based on an Alice McDermott novel – I read the book a very long time ago and I remember it being wonderful too, albeit far less sweet and dreamy than the movie. That Night the movie’s kinda like a pop song, and there’s great pop songs in it, like “Dream Baby” by Roy Orbison. I think about the movie a lot when I’m working on the story I’m writing for my UCLA class with my amazing teacher, and will probably end up hugely ripping it off (in a loving and righteous sort of way).
It’s David Lynch’s birthday! The director of Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive, and of course “Twin Peaks” turns 66 today! Of course, I could tell you to watch his movies and stuff — they all generally deserve multiple viewings because of their haunting beauty and sheer audacious crazy — but surely there’s a more NOGOODFORME kind of way to honor such a beautiful genius, no? Anyway: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAVID LYNCH! Thank you for making such transcendent movies! Here’s how I’m gonna celebrate your birthday!
DANCE DREAMILY AT YOUR FAVORITE DINER
David Lynch’s films generally have fantastic uses of music — he’s a real genius with film sound (I wrote a whole paper on it, ages ago!) Film sound often functions as a movie’s subconscious, and his films are a particularly riveting combination of ethereal darkness and oddly buoyant pop charm. (I even dug the heavy industrial vibe of Lost Highway! Nine Inch Nails!) What would “Twin Peaks” be without the spooky sounds of Julee Cruise and Angelo Badalamenti?
This is Julee Cruise singing “Rockin’ Back Inside My Heart” on the BBC in 1989! Oh my god, the back-up singers’ dresses!
HAVE A HARROWING MOMENT OR TWO
The juxtaposition of surfaces of innocence with a teaming underbelly of moral corruption and surreal nightmares is really the crux of what makes Lynch such a genius as a filmmaker. That scary moment of the thing behind the diner in Mulholland Drive, the frighteningly debasing of nightclub singer Dorothy Vallens in Blue Velvet or BOB (he still scares me!) — those are the most memorable moments of a Lynch movie, whether you like them or not. You can’t have light without dark, so do a little dance with your inner demon. Otherwise it will lurk in the back of your proverbial diner or at the food of your bed, waiting to SCARE YOU TO DEATH. BOB!!!
GET A HOLD OF THE SECRET DIARY OF LAURA PALMER
Did anyone else read this when it came out? I remember reading it, passing it around with friends, all of us going, “OH MY GOD THIS BOOK IS SO DIRTY!” It was great fun. It actually works really well as a standalone work, and pulls you into the whole “Twin Peaks” mystery so beautifully. I wish I could find my copy for it somewhere!
WEAR SADDLE SHOES AND PLAID SKIRTS, OR PINK LYCRA AND HEAVY EYEBROWS, OR A SNAKESKIN JACKET
I truly never appreciated the genius costuming of “Twin Peaks” until I worked in film as a wardrobe designer — the combination of 50s-esque schoolgirl silhouettes with Northwest fabrics, colors and textures was truly inspired. My favorite was always Audrey, who had a way with plaid tweed skirts, tight sweaters and dark lipstick:
But I actually think the best fashion film in terms of Lynch’s canon is Wild at Heart. Sailor and Lulu! Proto-True Romance, no? Pink lycra! Snakeskin jacket! Isabella Rossellini’s eyebrows! Wowza!
FOLLOW AGENT DALE COOPER’S ADVICE FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE
“Every day, once a day, give yourself a present.”
So said TV’s most perfect man ever. Follow his advice: it’s guaranteed to make your life happy and amazing!
Ever since I wrote about Nicki Minaj here, I’ve been slightly obsessed with the whole idea of “public eating” in actress/model/glamour girl profiles in women’s magazines. Maybe “obsessed” isn’t quite the right word, but deeply fascinated, slightly horrified and intrigued on a feminist-crit level, definitely. (If there is one word to encapsulate all that, please let me know.)
Strangely, I get excited when I read something about someone and there’s no mention of body size, eating, “she looks smaller than she seems onscreen/she’s curvier in real life” type of discourse, because so much of that is more about perception and public relations, and often creating a fallacy of “effortless thinness,” which is so specious and wrong. And I get really, really “all antennas up” when I read something that is very “public eating”-oriented, because while sometimes it’s a relief that someone’s admitting it’s fucking hard work to have the requisite physique that fashion and Hollywood demand, so often there’s a weird “how to” aspect attached to these conversations that feels squicky.
Of course, Vogue is like the end-all, be-all of “public performance eating,” because practically EVERY SINGLE CELEB PROFILE in that magazine has some mention of physicality, whether it’s how that body occupies clothes, or “how she got that figure.” (Done in this very covert way, of course, because Vogue is too “classy” to outright publish an article emblazoned with a semi-tacky headline like “Five Different Ways to Torture Yourself So You Have Birdlike, Slender Upper Arms.”) But sometimes you get an article that complicates the whole “public eating” issue, like this month’s Rooney Mara profile, written by Jonathan Van Meter, which you can read here.
Of all of Jim Jarmusch’s films, I have the most affection for Mystery Train because it’s probably his most affectionate sweetheart of a movie. (Affection begets affection, right?) The man’s clearly crushed out on so much in the film that you can’t help but get wrapped up in all the crushiness, too: he pays boundless, loving attention to Elvis, train rides, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, the color red, the mythic idea of the American West, Memphis, Joe Strummer, and so much more, and you can’t help but fall a bit in love with it all, too.
The film follows a few intersecting stories, but “stories” is kind of a loose term, and honestly, it almost doesn’t matter: all you need to know is there’s a young, uber-hip Japanese couple making a kind of pilgrimage to Graceland and other landmarks of early American rock ‘n roll, an Italian widow who’s come to bury her husband in the U.S. and meets all kind of louche, nutso characters, and Joe Strummer is running around heartbroken and drunk with Steve Buscemi, who is awesomely his brother-in-law. All of them converge in a hotel run by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, of all people. It already all sounds kind of wonderful, right?
Jim Jarmusch didn’t do any director’s commentary on the Criterion DVD releases of his films, but he did do extensive Q&A sessions as extras and answers ton of questions on stuff like his favorite books, Winona Ryder, trains and generally being awesome. Listening to them, you realize that he is about the coolest mofo on the planet. He just is! He hangs out with the Wu-Tang Clan, rides Triumph motorcycles, cares about social justice, loves his girlfriend and is incredibly well-read in this excited, down-to-earth way. He’s so awesome, you kind of just want to hang out with him and talk about books and getting stoned and working with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. WHY DOES HE NOT HAVE A BLOG? Maybe that would make him less cool, and dilute his coolness instead of storing it up for his films. You really just want to hear more from him. Hour-long Q&As are not enough!
He also has lots of cool things to say about making art in general:
Also, completely unrelated, here is a picture of him and Courtney Love, obviously pre-shipwreck Courtney. Or, you know, pre-rich Cobain widow shipwreck Courtney. Oh, Courtney! Maybe they can hang out again and Jim can help sort her out somehow. I believe in them both still, after all these years.
When I rewatched Down By Law as part of my Incredibly Slow-Moving, Leisurely Personal Jim Jarmusch Film Festival*, I actually was puzzled at first, because my first memories of it, having seen it quite awhile back, were more posi-core. This time around, I was sort of drifting in and out of it at various points, and Not Really Feeling It at first. (This was after the fantastic opening tracking shots of New Orleans, set to Tom Waits’ “Jockey Full of Bourbon.” How can you NOT like that part?) Why did I like this so much the first time around? I wondered to myself. Roberto Benigni is so annoying! Tom Waits’ character is kind of a jerk! Why must all the ladies be scantily clad?! And then I realized what it was that I had liked so much the first time around: it’s just such an incredibly beautiful movie. Robby Müller’s cinematography elevates this simple prison break movie about three dudes who can’t get a break into something that goes way beyond its threadbare narrative — it’s a stunning landscape of New Orleans, shot with the kind of fastidious, moody stateliness more associated with the work of Antonioni or even Bresson. I kind of got into it more once I began appreciating its visual beauty and elegant camerawork, and soon Tom Waits’ Converse sneakers in prison and John Lurie’s profile worked their way onto my appreciation radar. Sorry, Roberto, though — I still can’t bring myself to appreciate you more onscreen for some reason. Some things continue to elude me.
Feast your eyes! Here is what I call the “album cover” shot:
Tom Waits being such a pud to Ellen Barkin. Dig the plaid pants, though:
One of those quasi-Antonioni moments. Beautiful, right?!
Continuing on my Incredibly Slow-Moving Mini Jim Jarmusch Film Festival that began with Night on Earth, I decided to tackle yet another not-as-iconic Jarmusch film, his most recent release The Limits of Control. I daresay this might be the least loved of Jarmusch’s whole oeuvre (but oh, to have an oeuvre of one’s own!) It’s a remarkably strange movie, about a weirdly inactive hitman slowly finding his way to his target — it’s really kind of atonal and lacking a bit of that deadpan affability that you usually like in one of Jimbo’s movies. If Jim’s output could be compared to Neil Young’s discography, this would be like Trans, in which a usually “warm” artist experiments with a “colder” emotional modality and style, an oddly cerebral take on the thriller genre. There’s a lot of admire about it, but I still found it odd and perplexing, in a way that made me want to figure out why he made the film in the first place. Here’s what I came up with. It makes no sense, but then again, the movie doesn’t much, either!
THEORY I: LET’S MAKE A MOVIE IN SPAIN!
Maybe Jim was talking to his buddy Woody Allen, who just got to make Vicky Cristina Barcelona in Spain, and Woody was all, “Hey man, Spain just gave me a shitload of money to make a movie in their country ‘cause they’re trying to class up their world cinema reputation! Why don’t you get in on that? You’ll just have to shoot some scenes of their museums and architecture, but it’ll be cool!” And Jim was probably like, “Yeah, Woody, I should get in on that ‘cause it’s not like the U.S. of fucking A. is going to give me money to make a movie where people sit around and smoke and drink coffee.”
Okay, I’m pretty sure this is untrue to the nth degree. I somehow doubt that Jim and Woody hang out, even though they’re based in NYC and all that. Isn’t it wonderfully odd that you can’t really imagine these two archetypal New Yorkers hanging out together? NYC is such a strange, vast place! But the part about Spain encouraging film investment is pretty true, so there you go, and Limits does have quite a few scenes where the hitman goes into museums and looks at often Spanish art. Interestingly, Jarmusch hasn’t had much American investment in his films in years. You know why? Because the American film industry SUCKS ASS!
THEORY II: HE REALLY JUST WANTS TO WORK WITH COOL PEOPLE
Jim is like actor catnip; he always has such rad casts in his work, and fancy stars go out of their way to work with him. He probably thought to himself, “Damn, man, I got all these awesome actors — Tilda Swinton, Gael Garcia Bernal, Bill Murray, Rinko Kinkuchi, blah blah blah — who want to work with me. How do I make this work in a story? Okay, let’s just have them all be contacts for a mysterious hit man played by the stoically bad-ass Isaach de Bankole. Oh, and hey, let’s get Paz de la Huerta, i.e. the Courtney Love of young film actresses, to be stark bonkers naked for the entire film, just for kicks!”
I think this is actually very viable, although perhaps not as linear as I put it. It’s funny that his past few films (Limits, Broken Flowers) have a kind of “let’s go seek out a series of people” storylines, a kind of narrative that allows for tons of actors to participate within. I’d find it hard to turn down working with all this amazing film acting talent, so you better believe I’d find a story that could somehow accommodate them. I’d actually love to see Jim do something with Keanu Reeves, i.e., my Most Beloved Actor. Keanu does great work in smaller roles in so many indie films (hello, Thumbsucker!) that I’d love to see him find a place in a Jarmusch movie in some way, even if he’s like a hot dog salesman or something.
THEORY III: SOMETIMES A FILM IS JUST A GOOD SOUNDTRACK OPPORTUNITY
Maybe Jim made a kick-ass doom/metal mixtape of Boris, Sunn 0))) and some Black Angels thrown in, got wicked stoned and listened to it. Then suddenly (‘cause you know what it’s like) he’s like, “Man, have I got the BEST idea for a movie!”
The soundtrack for Limits of Control is admittedly, truly incredible. It does have Sunn 0))) and Boris and Black Angels, which gives this weird, disembodied edginess to the whole film. There’s so much sunny Spanish light, but then this dark, odd drone underneath it all, and it creates this strange tension throughout the film. But the soundtrack is not as doom-y or heavy as you’d think, though it’s pretty ominous; the best parts do sound like My Bloody Valentine on Halloween.
THEORY IV: SOMETIMES A FILM IS JUST A GOOD CINEMATOGRAPHY OPPORTUNITY
Jim got wasted with genius cinematographer Christopher Doyle (who supposedly is a massive lush, so perhaps it’s not so far out to speculate this) and together they schemed up a way to approach making this movie. “I know, dude!” said Jarmusch! “Let’s marry Jean-Pierre Melville-like formal rigor and slow pacing with absolutely the most slender thread of narrative we can get away with! You’ll photograph it in the most beautiful bright Spanish light we can muster with the most stately, restrained camera movement I’ve ever done and let’s see what the fuck happens!”
OK, no — because who talks like that when they’re drunk?
Visually, the strangest thing about Limits is this intensely structured, restrained camera movement and precise composition, but it’s married to a total narrative stasis. It gives you this feeling that what is happening on screen IS SO INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT — but nothing is going on, really, except maybe Paz de la Huerta cavorting in see-through raincoat! Films that do this are fascinating to me, because they strangely become intensely psychological, forcing you to locate nuance and meaning in the smallest gestures and details. (Fellow film nerds, Bertolucci’s The Spider’s Strategem also does this brilliantly.) On that level, the movie is formally admirable and the cinematography is really clear, elegant and so stunning in parts. It’s one of those films where nearly every frame could be a photograph on its own. And Paz is my eyewear icon in this movie:
THEORY V: IT’S AN EXERCISE IN GENRE
Maybe Jim was watching Die Hard one day, and was like, “You know, something? I can do this shit. I can blow up shit. I can shoot a gunfight. I can kick some motherfucking ass.” And so he set out to make an action film. Only, because he’s Jim Jarmusch, he kind of got caught up with having people sit around and talk and philosophize: his usual cool steez. And so he ended up making an action movie, but without action. The last act of the film is the only true concession to the taut narrative conventions of action movies, and even then it retains its deliberate pace and visual style.
There’s a case to be made that The Limits of Control is like some deconstructed action movie, and if I was more of a proper film scholar, I’d go and make it. It’s extremely languid, but there’s no doubt that a lot of thought went into it. One big thing you ultimately take away from Limits is what a cinephile Jarmusch is. There are filmmakers who you can tell watch everything, and Jarmusch definitely does: the movie is dense with references to Hitchcock, to Aki Kaurismaki, to Ozu, to Godard (the intro of naked Paz is such a riff on Brigitte Bardot in Contempt). It’s really a filmmaker’s film, I think, a cinephile’s meditation on film itself.
CONCLUSION
If you are new to Jim Jarmusch, do not start with this movie. You will be very confused and wonder what the fuss about Jarmusch is all about, and then get pissed you spent two hours with it. However, if you like formally challenging films that make you think, lots of ponderous dialogue. or naked Paz de la Huerta, this is your movie! I have higher hopes for Jim’s next project, a vampire film starring Mia Wasikowska, Michael Fassbender and Tilda Swinton!
Also: he just put out an album of lute jams entitled The Joy That Never Ends. You can’t put Jarmusch into neat little boxes!
You tell me: is this going to work, or is this going to be a freaking mess? I guess they were also considering James Franco and Robert Pattinson as well for the part. The weird thing is that I’m not even a massive Jeff Buckley fan; I’m just bizarrely fascinated with this casting choice. The interesting thing about actors is when they get reveal aspects of their talent that audiences haven’t seen before (it worked for Mila Kunis in Black Swan, for instance.) This could be one of those cases, and a good way for Penn Badgley to leave the “Gossip Girl” nest on a high note, especially since that show is seemingly getting worse and worse by the episode.
Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah.” I have to admit that my memories of this record were clouded by overzealous fans in my college years playing this way too loud at 4 in the morning (though this is not a bad record for 4 in the morning). But time and distance has softened that somewhat.
Here is Penn Badgley singing a song by Green Day in a movie. (Love the headband at 1:38.) I admit, now I really want to see this movie, in kind of a “so bad it could be good” way. But maybe it’s just “so bad it’s just really, really bad” instead.
This was one of the loveliest, most tender, quiet films I’ve seen in ages: poetically shot and beautifully acted by such incredibly gorgeous people. I’m so used to director Claire Denis making such intense, disquieting films about stuff like post-colonialism, cannibalism, sex and desire that it’s almost like, “Whoa! She can make such sweetheart-like ones, too!”
The movie is a gentle slice-of-life, a calmly observed portrait of Lionel, a middle-aged African immigrant widower, and his relationship with his daughter Josephine. Both live together in a quiet, tidy apartment in a Parisian suburb, and live quiet, tidy lives, he as a train driver on the Paris commuter trail and she as a university student. They don’t say much, but they’re extremely devoted to one another, so much that it’s hard to penetrate into their circle, as their crushed-out neighbors come to learn. And did I mention they are both completely, nonchalantly stunning-looking? I’m not one to quote New York Times reviews, but they got it right when they said their indifference to their own beauty makes them even more attractive.
(And speaking of attractive, I think Gregoire Colin, who plays the neighbor carrying a torch for Jo, is maybe the only man who can make a shiny red button-down shirt remotely hot. [I have a theory he's like the Keanu of French film, but he's such a good actor I know this isn't true.] The scene when he’s trying to make out with Jo to the Commodores “Night Shift” = MON DIEU. And while her dad looks on? Even more MON DIEU.)
I can’t help but compare 35 Shots of Rum to Sofia Coppola’s Somewhere, which I watched last week. Both cover the same territory — the emotional weather between a father and a daughter — and both share the same artistic vocabulary of long, stretched out takes, very little dialogue, beautifully shot images, superb uses of music, little interest in traditional narrative and a very restrained sense of action and behavior. I really liked both films, but there’s no denying that Denis is a true master, a genuine poet of the medium, with the intellectual engagement to hint at how the complexities of race in post-colonial Europe shape their experiences without at all hitting you over the head with didacticism. She’s also able to render delicate emotions in such amazing images (thanks to superb cinematographer Agnes Godard) that they linger with you for days afterwards. For film nerds, there’s a strong Ozu connection here, both in subject matter and in style, but for me the impact of the film is mostly emotional. The way the film traces the father’s and daughter’s separate realizations that they eventually must part from one another is so unsentimental, elegant and yet tender — it feels so much like you’ve lived it with them.
It’s just such a good, lovely, heartful kind of movie. If you’re kicking back on a lovely, lazy afternoon or early evening and just want to chill out with some of the most beautiful people you’ll ever see on film while knitting, or sorting through receipts, or other such mundane activity, please do watch 35 Shots of Rum on Netflix Instant. It’s really like getting to know such lovely people; even though I know it was acted and all that, I still think about the movie, and wonder how my friends Lionel and Josephine are doing, hoping they’re both okay wherever they are.
And then you wake up and Elle Fanning makes you Eggs Benedict. (I love this scene so much, especially when Johnny suggests that Cleo sneak snacks into her camp suitcase. What a sweet little snack-sneaker.)
NOGOODFORME.COM is Kat and Liz. We write about style, fashion, music, film, art, photography, pop culture, celebrities, and more: all the good stuff of life. Subscribe to our RSS newsfeed and our comments feed to keep up with our latest stuff!
your louis vuitton look-alike things additionally , the low price louis vuitton hand baggage merely just as precious by means of folk http://www.openthaidemocracy.com/node/10177 ,s that can not afford actual intercourse. Substantial Louis Vuitto […]
pulpo congelado... [...]We Love to Karaoke Songs by Complicated Women « NOGOODFORME.COM >> your ultimate fashion mixtape: style + pop culture + more[...]... […]
I have the biggest crush on him! I'm glad I'm not alone. He's a phenomenal actor and I think he's so handsome. I didn't even know about the Prada ads until today as I was looking him up on Google but wow! […]
Maybe a follow-up to this frikkin awesome article is in order now that DD is back in the Van Halen fold and, apparently, in Grade-A form, along with Eddie and gang. Fron cassettes to CD's to Walkman's to MP3 playes to CD-Changers to in-home media-servers, the 6-pack has never left the rotation. It may go on hiatus now and again, but like all of us […]
I do love that yellow skirt. And even though animals in clothes seems a bit odd to me, something about the shape and expression of that cat is seriously adorable :)Ugh, what can one say about Japan. Tough times. […]
yellow light of death ps3... [...]Heavy Rotation: Widowspeak, Lana Del Rey, St. Vincent « NOGOODFORME.COM >> your ultimate fashion mixtape: style + pop culture + more[...]... […]
