Paul Boyne (gotham27)

Put simply, this is one of the absolute best ensemble films I've ever seen. It is astonishing to see how well the cast members rise to the occasion, every one of them. Anderson puts them into a web of relationships, but essentially what the major characters have in common is intense pressure from multiple sources that finally causes them to snap. Piecing together all of the connections and little details is a trivial matter compared to the enormously powerful emotions explored here. And as far as the filmmaking, Anderson has done a tremendous job without calling attention to himself at all. There is terrific editing throughout, balancing the storylines perfectly and playing them off of each other; there are also one or two fantastic, complex tracking shots taking us from one character to the next, and back again. Despite some of the subject matter, Anderson communicates an infectious optimism about his characters that makes it all worthwhile. At three hours, this movie demands a good deal of attention for a good length of time, and there are times when it asks a bit too much. But this is certainly preferable to the countless films that demand precisely nothing of the audience.

As bleak as they come--but for an adaptation of "King Lear," that's absolutely correct. The understated sorrow with which Kurosawa treats both the devastating battles and the slow disintegration of the family is almost entirely overwhelming. Transplanting Shakespeare's story to his native land, he also managed to translate the meat of the story into glorious, colorful, and brutal visual terms. Because of this, "Ran" is one of the few Shakespearean film adaptations that truly understands the difference between a play and a movie. The visceral editing, along with Kurosawa's typical brilliance with staging and composition, not to mention the heartrending score--it's all superb, what else can I say? The performances are larger-than-life. That fact takes something away from some of the smaller scenes, but as a whole the film is a cohesive, daring, and remarkably beautiful vision of final hopelessness at the end of a life, a kingdom, and the world in general.

"'Garcon' means boy." "Ah man, I shot Marvin in the face." "It's not a motorcycle, baby, it's a chopper." "How would you like that cooked, burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell?" "Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. We're gonna be like three little Fonzies here." "She's getting the shot, I'm gonna get my little black medical book." "Oh, I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?" "Now I wanna dance, I wanna win, I want that trophy--so dance good." "That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten." "They call it a 'Royale with Cheese.'" "Nobody ever robs restaurants. Why not?" "This was divine intervention." "Dorks. They look like a couple of dorks." "I think we should be leaving now." The film opens silently with the dictionary definition of "pulp," tipping off the audience from the beginning, without apologies, that what follows will be "lurid." The first shot places us in the middle of a conversation, the very first words being an answer to a question we'll never hear. There is no effort to establish a context; we must simply listen to find out who these people are and what they're doing. They are a man and a woman who refer to each other with the cutest nicknames imaginable, engaged in a colorful discussion on the safest way to continue their larcenous lifestyle. The debate reaches a conclusion agreeable to both parties, and they proceed to rob the very diner in which they sit. The shot freezes, Dick Dale's "Misirlou" suddenly bursts into our ears, and we are treated to the opening credits of Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction." The definition, the conversation, and the explosion of music all somehow work together to send the same message: what we are about to watch is a very unusual (feel free to say "strange") movie. Indeed, the plot(s) of the film involve some of the strangest situations ever conceived. Tarantino ventures freely into the bizarre and the disgusting, but for me at least, he does so in a way that is consistently fun and upbeat. This is raucous entertainment, a complex structure of tangentially related stories told with enough skill and daring that we have no choice but to come along for the ride. Here is one movie, among the countless told by Hollywood over the years, where one can only guess what will happen next. It's a movie that, after many viewings, I still feel has secrets for me to discover, besides the secrets that it playfully keeps unexplained. The first thing to mention, as anyone who's seen this film will know, is the chronology. Tarantino tells his stories out of order, placing each scene where it will best serve his tempo and the mood he creates. All of the major characters are introduced in successive scenes near the beginning, and we assume that these events are happening at roughly the same time, one after the other. By the end of the movie, we know better. Tarantino inserts clues that will be explained much later, two of which I remember off the top of my head. The first is the clothing worn by Jules and Vincent the second time we see them. The second, which no one is likely to notice on the first viewing, or possibly any viewing without the audio commentary, is a shot of Vincent, seen from the back, walking in the diner where Pumpkin and Honey Bunny are talking. It's little details like this that keep me watching this film. There are a few more during the "OD" scene, for example. Tarantino has Lance, the drug dealer, watching the Three Stooges when Vincent calls him. The reference is funny in itself, but Tarantino times it perfectly, for just a single line, to coincide with the situation in the movie. Later, at a pertinent moment, we see the board games "Life" and "Operation" in the room. And there are so many more of these details throughout the film. Tarantino fills his movie with references to films, television, and other forms of culture. As had become his trademark, the dialogue among his characters covers a range of topics above and beyond what the plot requires. It is all delivered with such perfect rhythm, such speed and energy, that I never once feel the conversations are a waste of time. The fact of the matter is, they are anything but a waste of time. If nothing else, they help us get to know the characters, which is the most rewarding thing this film has to offer. The inhabitants of these stories may be an odd group of miscreants, but they are also people, capable of making stunningly insightful comments now and then. The method of storytelling is exciting and liberating. We are pretty much forced to be in the moment; piecing together how and when everything happens should be done later. As a result, one can be honestly confused about the overall plot and have no less enjoyment of the movie. Some films require a struggle to keep up with everything that's happening; this one makes it clear very early that it's practically impossible, and really unnecessary, to try that here. A person can adore this movie and keep the assumption that the dialogue and the events have been picked at random. Repeated viewings reveal an immense structure of which every turn of events is a part. Even some of the seemingly throwaway lines of dialogue come back later with new meaning. From the smallest prop or reference to the overall arc, this film shows incredible care and enjoyment in its making. Beneath the awesome style, one can detect a beating heart to this film, one that's personified by Jules (played by Samuel L. Jackson with one of the greatest performances I've ever seen, the standout performance in the most amazing ensemble cast ever) and Butch (played by Bruce Willis with his signature tough-and-funny-at-the-same-time manner). They express the spiritual and social morals of the story, respectively. But this film doesn't pound any discernible message into our heads. I've thought a lot about the final scene, and I think what happens is, more than anything, a stab at the pretensions of popular entertainment to say something profound in the midst of all the action, jokes, sex, and violence. Jules makes the decision to turn his life around, but his epiphany is merely that being a hired killer is wrong. Whatever "Pulp Fiction" has to say, it says through satire--through humor. It is first and foremost a comedy, and an absolutely hilarious one at that. Tarantino turns tragic, violent, ugly situations into absurdly funny moments. The "OD" scene and the scene in the pawn shop are the most famous examples. Tarantino lifts society's veil every chance he gets, but he keeps us laughing the whole way. "Pulp Fiction" is a collection of thousands of my all-time favorite film moments and quotes. It's so great, that I love a deleted scene more than most scenes in other movies (I'm referring to the one where Mia asks Vincent about Elvis and "The Partridge Family" before their date. This scene mysteriously ended up in the televised version where I first saw the movie). This is the best example I've seen of how much fun making and experiencing a movie can be. Despite its casual, just-for-fun exterior, it still deserves comparisons to movies like "Intolerance" and "Citizen Kane." It's not the greatest movie ever made, but it's the defining film of my lifetime so far, and at least until I know better, it's my favorite.

"No. He is not ready." "Yoda? I am ready, I--Ben, I can be a Jedi. Ben, tell him I'm..." "Ready are you? What know you, ready? For 800 years have I trained Jedi. My own counsel will I keep on who is to be trained. A Jedi must have the deepest commitment. The most serious mind. This one, a long time have I watched. All his life has he looked away, to the future, to the horizon. Never his mind on where he was. What he was doing. Adventure--heh! Excitement--heh! A Jedi craves not these things ... He is too old. Yes, too old to begin the training." "But I've learned so much." "Will he finish what he begins?" "I won't fail you. I'm not afraid." "You will be." I've never seen another action movie that is so densely packed with meaning as this one. The characters are each significant parts of a tapestry of conflict and loyalty the likes of which we, the audience, could not have guessed existed in the first movie. It's astonishing how completely this film surpasses the accomplishments of the original, in terms of acting, effects, scope, locations, and drama in general. "The Empire Strikes Back" is the best of the Star Wars trilogy. The first movie got things going, the third one wrapped them up, but this one does almost all the hard work. Characters on both sides of the Force are given more complicated motivations; they're not just convenient to the plot, as in the first movie. In fact, the developments of this film are what drive the plot to its conclusion in "Return of the Jedi," as well as providing the impetus for the entire prequel trilogy. For its importance and for the brilliance of its execution, this film has always been near the top of my list of all-time favorites. First, the characters. Our hero, Luke Skywalker, has suddenly become an important figure in the rebellion. Blowing up the Death Star will do that for you. Unfortunately, he is plagued by ghostly visions of his mentor, who advises him that in order to become a Jedi, he must abandon the rebels for awhile. In his training under Yoda, he learns some uncomfortable truths about the dual nature of the Force. The film offers subtle and frightening hints that Luke might not be as pure as we'd thought. Near the end of the movie, we find out why. Yoda, of course, is a marvelous creation, probably the single most memorable character on the good side of the Force. Like the Muppets, he is an inanimate object miraculously given as much life and personality as the people around him. The puppeteer's techniques are so perfect that Yoda becomes a real person in our minds. It is his job to inform us about the intricacies of Lucas's hodgepodge philosophy, and in so doing he sets the rules for how this whole thing must play out. Meanwhile, Han and Leia slowly begin to overcome their horrible first impressions of each other. Their romance is one of the many surprisingly mature aspects of this installment. But, although they fall in love, there is something unique about Leia's relationship with Luke, a psychic link that sets up an intriguing mystery and a love triangle, both of which are satisfactorily dealt with in the next movie. As interesting as those developments are, they pale in comparison with what we learn about the Dark Side and he who is enthralled by it. Early in the film, we are offered a brief glimpse at Darth Vader without his helmet on. We might have guessed, from his odd breathing, that he wears his suit because of some deformity, but this is our first real clue. Within a second, the film presents a reason for Vader's appearance, a reason going beyond just an overkill version of putting a black hat on the villain in a Western. There might just be some vulnerability beneath his awesomely formidable exterior, we reason. Later in the movie, we find out just how much. I can't remember a time before I knew about the game-changing revelation at the climax of this movie. That's unfortunate, but it doesn't take anything away from my enjoyment of the story. Suffice it to say that Vader's motivations get a whole lot more complicated than we could have imagined. I refuse to put in a spoiler. I know, the two people left alive who haven't seen these movies have almost definitely heard the spoiler by now, but I'm adamant. The moment I'm thinking of, and the moments that follow it, tell us more about Vader and Luke than the rest of the series put together. It is a moral victory in the midst of the most devastating defeat. I love the ending of this movie. It resists the urge of tacking on a resolution. Yes, the film feels incomplete, but each individual film in the series does to some extent. With this ending, the film offers the unique message that sometimes the best victory we can hope for is just survival. Concepts this strong require good acting to give them life. We can probably thank the director, Irvin Kershner, for the improvements in assuredness and energy by the actors. This time around, everybody seems to be having just as much fun as Harrison Ford. Remarkably, they betray no signs of the unbelievable pressure to make a movie that's at least as good as the first one. It is an immeasurable help to the movie that the actors create believable people right in the middle of these places and creatures that are so removed from our experience. It is also helpful that those places are so vivid and fascinating. The first film had Tatooine, but this one has the blinding snow of Hoth, the deliciously boggy Dagobah planet, and the beautiful orange sky of Cloud City. Just three years later, the improvements in special effects technology are plain to see. I find it easy to take for granted how much better this film looks. The attention to detail is wonderful. Hoth, like Tatooine, is pretty much blank, but it's a lot of fun to observe that there is a life form hiding in just about every frame of the Dagobah scenes. The Imperial Walker sequence on Hoth has always been my favorite battle scene in the whole series. I love the sense of slowly approaching doom. To conclude, I should say some things about the trilogy as a whole, because there are certain aspects of the entire series that contribute to making this film currently my second favorite. One is the music. With this particular film, of course, John Williams accomplished the impossible, creating a second immortal theme. But I adore the way, in all three films, the original theme explodes into being at the opening and closing. It is an incredibly invigorating feeling, listening to this music. The sounds symbolize the ecstatic joy of the entire production, an enjoyment of the art of movies unlike anything else I've seen. It certainly contrasts with the often more lugubrious "Lord of the Rings." Another thing I appreciate about the series is just the array of diverse, iconic characters. They create an impression in the mind of watching people you know well, making me a willing participant in the films' journey. Plus, they get to blow up spaceships and fight each other with laser swords. This is incredibly fun modern mythology, and "The Empire Strikes Back" is as good as it gets.