1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die

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8 1/2 (1963 ) **

Most critics refer to 8 1/2 (1963) as legendary Italian director Federico Fellini’s masterpiece. Upon release it was lauded as a brilliant film and received several prestigious awards, most notably an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.  I suppose I’m in the minority when it comes to adoring it.  You see, I don’t really do avant garde, and that’s what Fellini’s 8 1/2 is. I much prefer his La Strada (1954) and The Nights of Cabiria (1957) to his later work because I think his earlier films say something about humanity.  That’s not to say that I found 8 1/2 to be horrible and lacking a message—there are many things that I liked, but there were a few elements I found, at times, tiresome.
This is Fellini’s most personal work—a self-reflection of his status as a director and as a man.  The protagonist (and antagonist—can you be both?) is Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni), an obvious alter-ego of Fellini. Guido has come to an impasse in his directing career, where he doesn’t know if he has anything else left to say.  He finds himself overcome with doubt as he struggles to finish a new and costly production.  Lacking inspiration, he escapes into past memories of his past to find something to pull him out of his self-doubt.  At times it is difficult to know if Guido is in the past or the present, as the dream world and reality converge (this is where the surreal Felliniesque world comes into being).  I am not the biggest fan of jumbled narrative, but it isn’t too overwhelming here if you pay attention—if you don’t, then things can go off the rails.  There’s a scene where Guido shoots himself—it took me a minute to realize he only dreamt it, at least I think that’s what happened.
The movie’s look is sleek and stylish.  Shot in black and white 35-millimeter film by cinematographer Gianni Di Venanzo, who employed the spherical cinematographic technique, the overall look is unique and visually stunning.  In addition, I found the costume design outstanding.  Each strange character has a wardrobe perfectly matched to their personality.  In particular, the women’s clothing is the most defining.  The purer the character’s motivations the more simple but still chic the clothing is, as is the case with Anouk Aimee’s Luisa (Guido’s wife).  The more vexing and morally corrupt characters find themselves clothed in almost ostentatious couture, such as Sandra Milo’s Carla (Guido’s mistress).
Piero Gherardi won an Oscar for his costume design, but he was also responsible for the set designs—all of which are striking and perfectly Felliniesque. In particular, the scenes at the health spa are eye-catching and memorable. The bathroom scene, with the three vanities and mirrors symbolizes that Guido doesn’t know who he is anymore. And, the sauna scene symbolizes his clouded state of mind and, perhaps, his insignificance.
I never know how to judge the acting in older Italian films—especially Fellini’s—because the sound was dubbed in after filming was completed.  It’s one of those strange nitpicks I have: how can you emote when you don’t know exactly what you’re saying (Fellini had a habit of writing a lot of dialogue after filming was done)?  Still, Mastroianni plays his Guido as a world-weary complex man well. I also enjoyed watching Aimee’s portrayal of a fed up but somewhat apathetic wife.  Claudia Cardinale, who plays Guido’s muse, floats in and out of the picture, but doesn’t really make her presence known until the film is almost over.  She has the best, and most insightful, line of the film (which she repeats more than once): “Because he doesn’t know how to love.” Now, I could have done without Milo and her grating character Carla.  Of the two versions of this film (I’m speaking of the Rob Marshall quasi-remake Nine (2009)), I’ll take Penelope Cruz’s Carla every time.
Yet another thing that stands out about the picture is the music. Composer Nino Rota was Fellini’s favorite composer, and he does a wonderful job of choosing and crafting music for every scene. His circus-inspired composition “La Passerella” is a perfect way to start off (and end) a film about a ringmaster (Guido the director) who is constantly juggling his many responsibilities (and women). I also thought using Wagner’s “The Ride of the Valkyries” was an inspired choice-what better music is there about overindulgence and psychological distress? Rossini’s overture to “The Barber of Seville” and Tchaikovsky’s “Danse des Mirlitons” from the “Nutcracker” are also used.
Overall, 8 1/2 is not my favorite Fellini endeavor.  I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it, either

The Social Network (2010) ****

Rarely does a megalomaniac get their comeuppance at such an early age as does Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) in The Social Network (2010). Adapted from Ben Mezrich’s book The Accidental Billionaires, the film focuses on how Facebook was created and the lawsuits that followed.  It is a lacerating and ironic examination of the world in which we live today—Zuckerberg just serves as the unlikable whipping boy of an entire generation.
The Internet has developed into an alternate reality for many people.  It is the place where anyone can seem interesting—especially those people who are socially awkward and personality-deprived.  It is the place where you can write on your blog that your now ex-girlfriend is a bitch and that she has small breasts.  It is the place where you can rate your fellow students and co-workers as “hot” or “not hot”.  It allows you to say whatever you want about someone without having to say it to their face.  It helps you make “friends” that you could never make in person. Quite simply, you could have the social skills of a paper bag and the personality of a megalomaniac and still found a billion dollar website about connecting with people.  Could anything be more ironic than this?
Yet, there is another, often overlooked, theme in this movie that screenwriter Aaron Sorkin focuses on: intellectual property theft. While Sorkin doesn’t delve into this as fully as he might have, it is still there.  While the whole debate about how much Zuckerberg appropriated from the Winklevoss twins (Armie Hammer) and Divya Narendra (Max Minghella) is examined in both Mezrich’s book and Sorkin’s screenplay, I believe there is an underlying critique of what the Internet has done to the integrity of intellectual property.  In cases like that of the Winklevoss twins you might have the original idea for something, but then someone can come along polish it up and then pass it off as their own and have no qualms about doing so because they believe they made it better.  It is sort of like this blog (and countless others) about the 1001 book.  Steven Jay Schneider and his fellow editors came up with the original idea, but other people have piggybacked off of it. Are we a society that lacks originality, or have we become a world comprised of adapters—as Sorkin himself is, by adapting a screenplay (an Oscar winning one by the way) from Mezrich’s book?  I often ponder this question—perhaps you should, too.
The reason I like The Social Network so much is because I think it is a brutal analysis of  what the Internet Age has done to society.  Still, a film like this would be nothing without a superb cast and production team.  While I think Eisenberg does a tremendous job of not turning Zuckerberg into a caricature, I found both Justin Timberlake and Andrew Garfield’s performances to be more compelling.  Timberlake plays Sean Parker with just the right amount of smarminess and manic-ness (the OED hasn’t made this a word yet, but they should).  I hated his character (I think that’s what Sorkin was going for), but loved how Timberlake made be loathe him.
Garfield’s Eduardo is the most sympathetic character in the entire picture—of course, this could have had something to do with his serving as an adviser on Mezrich’s book.  Still, I thought Garfield played Eduardo as a young man caught in a bad situation quite well. He plays an often confounded grown-up in a quiet, somewhat restricted way, while Eisenberg gets free reign to turn Zuckerberg into one of the biggest asses ever. Garfield is often unjustly overlooked, but without him the film would have lost its moral compass.  I suppose the fact that my favorite scene in the entire movie is when Eduardo tells Zuckerberg and Parker that he won’t be pushed out willingly might make me biased towards him.  When he says to Zuckerberg: “You better lawyer up asshole, because I'm not coming back for 30%, I'm coming back for everything!” I felt that righteous indignation nudge that makes me identify with someone who has been wronged.  Plus, I absolutely loved how he made Sean Parker cower in fear when he pretended like he was going to hit him.  The best line in the entire film is when he says, “I like standing next to you, Sean. It makes me look so tough.” What a way to be thrown out of your own company!
Overall, The Social Network is a film that expertly represents the time period in which it was made.  It says something rather profound about the Internet Age and about the social network that has evolved from it.

Sexuality & Wild Reeds (1994) **

André Téchiné is a highly regarded and respected French director, who has helmed some of the best films to come out of France in the last thirty years.  Many critics consider his 1994 Les Roseaux Sauvages (Wild Reeds) a masterpiece.  It won Césars (a French Oscar) for Best Film, Best Director, Best Screenplay (Olivier Massart, Gilles Taurand, and Téchiné) and Most Promising Actress (Élodie Bouchez). Yet, while Téchiné holds a special place in my heart for still giving Catherine Deneuve good roles when other directors overlook her, I can’t bring myself to agree that Les Roseaux Sauvages is as grand as some claim it to be.  To me, it’s an average film about young people discovering themselves (primarily sexually) in a pastoral setting.
The story takes place in Southwest France just as the Algerian War is coming to an end in 1962. Four students from different backgrounds are studying for their baccalaureate exams while dealing with their own personal problems. Bouchez plays Maïté Alvarez, the daughter of one of the school’s teachers (Michèle Moretti). Both mother and daughter are strident communists and oppose the French occupation of Algeria. Madame Alvarez actually has a nervous breakdown when one of her former students is killed in the war, which leaves Maïté alone to cope with both her exams and her odd relationship with François (Gaël Morel).
Why is the relationship odd, you ask? Well, for starters François is gay and lusts after both Serge (Stéphane Rideau) and Henri (Frédéric Gorny), two young men at his boarding school. For some reason, Maïté is perfectly fine with the situation and seems to welcome the idea of being with someone who’s not interested in her sexually. She actually says to him, “I don't care what you do with others. What's between us counts much more.” I watch a lot of French movies, so this doesn’t seem as bizarre to me as it might to someone unfamiliar with what film scholars refer to as ‘French queer cinema’.  Still, even I was a bit perplexed when Maïté first made an emotional connection and then later a sexual connection with Henri—an Algerian-born French exile who stands for everything she is against and whom she only met because he thought about burning down a building she was in. And then, taking Gallic romanticism to its brink, she pushes away the man she obviously desires (and could possibly love) to remain the companion of her gay boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve seen the end of this and asked yourself the same question as me: did she really end up in a sexless marriage with François?  Oh, how depressing a thought!
The other sexually complicated relationship is between Serge and François. There is absolutely no question that François is gay—even if he does go on dates with Maïté to see films like Bergman’s Through a Glass Darkly and Demy’s Lola—but it’s not so clear whether Serge is gay or bi-curious.  It is Serge who first initiates François into the sexual world, but it’s a one-time thing.  For the rest of the film Serge talks about sleeping with girls and his brother’s widow, while François pines after him.  At one point, François considers becoming involved with Henri and says to Maïté, “I admit it. I want to sleep with Serge. I want to sleep with Henri. What if another one comes along next week? It's awful. What will become of me?” I don’t think Téchiné ever makes it clear who or what Serge is—he’s a sexually ambivalent being.  Does Serge tell François to forget about their encounter because he’s not interested or is it because he isn’t willing to share with 1960s French society who he is?
For (then) relative screen newcomers, all four actors give steady performances.  Not surprisingly, Bouchez’s career has turned out to be the more highly regarded of the group. Her portrayal of Maïté is melancholic and simple.  The underlying self-resignation that her character is forced to carry clearly shows on her face.  Of the three men, I most enjoyed Gorny’s Henri. In someone else’s hands Henri’s brooding and recalcitrance personality could have descended into a caricature of the angry young man myth. Gorny provides an even and steady depiction of a character who you find yourself both disliking and rooting for.  In reality, Henri is the only character who shows his true self, and I suppose that’s why I liked him so much.
Overall, Wild Reeds is an interesting coming-of-age story that focuses on its characters’ sexual awakenings.  It makes you reflect on how difficult the transition from adolescence to adulthood truly is.  Yet, to me, it is far from a masterpiece.