The American Motion Picture

This summer I’m teaching a film class here at Delta called The American Motion Picture. It’s one of my all-time favorite classes to teach - partly just because of the subject matter. Yes, the world is filled with fascinating branches of national cinema, but I love American movies. They are so intimately tied to our national identity both at home and abroad and to the intellectual, economic, religious, racial, and technological developments of our country. The stories American movies tell and how those stories are told say a lot about how we view ourselves as individuals, as fellow citizens, and as members of a larger global community. Talking about what movies say about the United States is one of my favorite subjects.

The class meets twice a week for seven weeks, and each week, we focus on a different genre of film. On Tuesdays, we watch a classic, traditional western, horror, sci fi, or comedy. Then on Thursday, we watch a more contemporary, often revisionist version of that same genre. So we might watch the 1931 version of Dracula on Tuesday and then watch 1999’s The Blair Witch Project on Thursday. The Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup from 1933 on Tuesday, Will Ferrell’s Step Brothers on Thursday. 

What’s interesting about genre is how their variations often reveal the country’s mood and outlook. Comparing and contrasting movies from the same genre but from different time periods often leads to really interesting conversations.

Genre, of course, is a French word for “type” or “kind” and it’s one way we categorize film. We know that a western is different than a horror movie because there are certain expectations of each kind of film. Those expectations are called conventions. For instance, Westerns usually take place in the American west, often during the 19^th century. There are cowboy hats and horses, six shooters, and saloons. They often address the conflict between wilderness and civilization, the needs of the lone hero individual versus the needs of the community.

There’s no more American genre than the Western. They are our national origin stories, the myths we tell that help explain who we are and how we got here. Because of that, they are often really productive movies to compare and talk about.

In John Ford’s Stagecoach from 1939, a group of disparate strangers travels together across dangerous territory in hopes of reaching safe haven at the end of the road. In Kelly Reichardt’s 2010 film, Meek’s Cutoff, there’s also a group of varied individuals trying to make their way across western wilderness in hopes of safety in their destination. But the two films couldn’t be more different.  

Stagecoach, while wonderful, is simpler and more direct. The macho male hero conquers the Indians, kills the bad guys, and gets the girl. A white, masculine point of view prevails. I mean, it was made in 1939 after all. Meek’s Cutoff, on the other hand, practically wallows in its ambiguity. A group of pioneers headed for Oregon gets lost and wanders for weeks as food and water grow scarce. The film subtly examines the power dynamics between the sexes as the women in the group begin to question whether or not the men know where they’re going. Instead of encountering a horde of stampeding Apache, the group captures a lone Cayuse Indian who doesn’t speak English and isn’t particularly interested in helping his captors. Thematically, it’s a much more complicated film than Stagecoach and suggests that the point of view of the white, male conqueror isn’t the only one worth considering.

If talking about differences like that interests you, you should sign up for the class. There’s still room. I can think of a lot worse ways to spend part of your summer than watching great movies and talking about them.

Captain America: Civil War

The makers of Captain America: Civil War understand an important component of storytelling, and it’s something that not every filmmaker gets – especially when it comes to superhero movies. The thing they understand is this: audiences only care about what happens if they care about who it’s happening to.

The size of the explosion, the intricacies of the special effects, the A-list talent in front of or behind the camera – none of it matters to audiences if they don’t care about the characters involved. It’s this component that makes Captain America: Civil War not just a very good superhero movie, but a very good movie period.

On a large scale, the movie is about the clash between those who want security and those who want liberty. Tony Stark/Iron Man played by Robert Downey Jr. is haunted by the collateral damage left in the wake of all the catastrophic super battles that have taken place since super heroes came on the scene. He wants his super team, the Avengers, to become a managed government entity. He doesn’t trust himself or his pals without some oversight. Steve Rogers/Captain America played by Chris Evans believes the Avengers need the flexibility and liberty to act independently so they don’t become mired in politics and bureaucracy. It is basically a riff on post-911 security issues but with capes.

The film takes its questions about freedom and government oversight seriously, but it doesn’t overdo it or allow its seriousness to drag the movie into gloominess and faux grittiness as has happened with other major tentpole superhero movies recently. Instead, it leavens its heaviness by making characters and relationships that actually matter.

The Russo brothers, who deftly took Captain America from the 1940s into the 21^st century in Winter Soldier, return here directing a large ensemble of characters, giving each one his or her own organic moments of affection, loss, fear, and joy. In other words, they allow these superhumans to be human before they are super. Amid all the action, there are small moments of great warmth and humor. The Winter Soldier and the Falcon fight over legroom in a crowded VW bug. The super powerful android The Vision attempts to cook a meal in order to impress a girl he has a crush on. Captain America loses someone he has loved for decades simply because she kept aging when he didn’t. When Captain America and Agent 13 finally kiss after two movie’s worth of tension, the camera cuts to Falcon and Winter Solider looking on, each one with a “yeah, you go, pal” look on his face. Each of these moments carries an emotional heft and a humanity that makes it matter when these people begin splitting apart on two sides of an ethical issue. 

Now don’t get me wrong. Civil War is not some light hearted rom com. It’s an exciting action picture with visceral fights and exhilarating chases. The special effects are elaborate and impressive. No comic book movie fan is going to go away from this movie unimpressed. But what sets it apart from Batman Vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice and some other big budget spectacles is that you may find yourself actually caring about the characters and how they relate to each other. Thanks to the Russo brothers and the screenwriters, Captain America: Civil War is more than just a movie – it’s a good story.

The Jungle Book

The new live action version of Disney’s The Jungle Book reminds me of a lot of things. First of all, it reminds me of live action Cinderella and live action Sleeping Beauty (also known as Malefecent) and the other stories Disney is using from its own history and mythology like Saving Mr. Banks and Tomorrowland. Disney is now in a phase where it is trying to bring a hipper, faster, 21^st century edge to stories that have been around for over half a century. 

 

Certain sequences of The Jungle Book also remind me of other films. The director Jon Favreau isn’t afraid to wink at the audience and recreate shots and sequences from other movies. There are moments from the King Louie sequence that reference Marlon Brando’s performance in Apocalypse Now as well as Luke Skywalker hiding from Darth Vader in Return of the Jedi. They’re brief references but obvious just the same.

The film as a whole reminds me of work done by a pre-Schindler’s List Steven Spielberg. Before he turned to more serious and “important” work, Spielberg was the master of the big budget adventure blockbuster. He was known for his exciting action set pieces, stories about parentless or lost children, and his mastery over the very latest special effects. Following Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan, Spielberg lost much of his light and playfulness even in his more commercial work. But apparently Jon Favreau wants to step up and take his place. His version of The Jungle Book features exhilarating chase and fight sequences, the story of a fatherless boy raised by an adoptive family of wolves and his quest for a home and belonging, as well as a menagerie of utterly realistic CGI animals.

 What the film does not remind me of, however, is the original 1967 animated movie on which it is based. Of course, it shares most of the same major characters, setting, and plot, but the resemblances are superficial at best. This is a problem.

The live action version is darker and more frightening than the cartoon. For example, Shere Khan, the villainous, man-eating tiger is so realistic and intimidating, younger audience members are likely to be too scared at times to keep enjoying the movie. Instead of being a raucous, fun centerpiece of the movie, King Louie and the temple of monkeys becomes sinister and threatening. It would seem that Favreau was aiming for older audiences with this new version, but at the same time, he keeps a few of the more iconic musical numbers from the cartoon which seem silly and out of place considering the rest of the movie. So one problem is tone and audience – the film wants to have it both ways – silly and serious, 20^th and 21^st century – but doesn’t effectively pull off either. 

 The other problem is just one of charm. The live action version is a sleek Hollywood machine with A-list talent, but it’s a revved up engine that leads to nowhere. The film is much more about the technical accomplishments of the computer generated imagery and the stunt voice casting. Scarlett Johansen as Kaa the boa constrictor? Why not? Bill Murray as Baloo the bear? Ironic teens will line up for that. It all seems very calculated and engineered, and therefore, lacks the charm, fun, and looseness of the original.

If your remake doesn’t add anything new of value to the original, why remake it? If you’re going to make something that is less fun, less joyful, and less accessible, why do it? I hope as Disney soldiers on with remaking its animated classics that filmmakers remember than a movie needs to be more than pretty to be worth our time – it needs to be good.