MY MOVIE SHELF: Raising Arizona

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 23 Days to go: 19

Movie #417:  Raising Arizona

Is there any movie theme more earworm-y than Raising Arizona‘s high-pitched, keening tune? I hum along, I feel it in my bones. It gets under your skin. It infects you. It hangs around for hours, days even. It’s haunting and hypnotizing and great. And somehow it seems to fit with the special brand of absurdity that flows through the film.

Raising Arizona was only the second feature by the soon-after illustrious Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan, but it firmly established their particular sensibility. Mournful shot through with silliness, optimistic despite being filled to the brim with calamity, the movie is like a joke you’re not quite sure you get (resulting in it being somewhat unsuccessful upon its release, but achieving cult status in the nearly thirty years since). Sometimes it’s surreal, sometimes it’s just weird, but through everything that happens, it’s mesmerizing and fascinating. As goofy and extreme as are the habits and reactions of H.I. “Hi” McDunnough (Nicolas Cage) and Ed (Holly Hunter), you can’t help but be invested in them nonetheless.

There are a whole cast of oddball characters, in fact, throughout the film, but everything centers on the relationship of Hi and Ed and their attempts to have a baby. Hi is a petty criminal, in and out of prison for robbing convenience stores, and Ed is a decorated police officer, yet the first moment Hi sees her, he’s smitten, and before long Ed is won over by his romantic declarations. They get married, and it’s hot and heavy for a while, until Ed decides she wants a baby and is unable to have one. Enter the offspring of one Nathan Arizona (Trey Wilson).

Nathan Arizona is an Arizona businessman (selling unpainted furniture) whose wife took fertility treatments and wound up giving birth to quintuplets. As Nathan joked, they now had more than they could handle, so Ed gets it in her head to ask Hi to steal her one. And what follows is an amusing take on the overwhelming undertaking of becoming a parent. (“You gotta get their DIP-TET!”)

Not that the movie is about parenthood any more than it’s about law and order. It’s a farce. It’s full of symbolism of the ideas of good versus evil, and it’s full of visual gags, and it’s full of angles and shots that compare characters and situations to other characters and situations, but it doesn’t have a message really. And that’s just fine. It doesn’t need a message for it to be compelling and impactful.  Hi is able, in the end, to come to the realization that he’s not been living a responsible life like he meant to, even if he did have the best of intentions. And when he’s not living right, nothing around him is going right either. But when he finally does right in the end, everything else falls into place as well. Including the dreamt of far-off future, in which he and Ed have a long and happy life together, filled with children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren of their own. Which is all they ever really wanted.

I love Raising Arizona. I love the outrageousness of it and the absurdity of it and the silliness of it. I love the accents and the goofy manners of speech everyone has and pretty much everything else about it. And my name isn’t even Nathan Arizona.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Moonstruck

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 193  Days to go: 199

Movie #184:  Moonstruck

So, I could say a lot about Moonstruck and how it is a pretty solid representation of the kind of people I grew up around — my stepfather is half Greek, half Italian, so if you combined Moonstruck and My Big Fat Greek Wedding, you’d get a fair estimation of what his entire extended family is like. I was not at all like these people. I was a fair-skinned, blonde, introspective and relatively quiet child. Non-confrontational. Used to being alone. These people were never alone, and neither is anyone in Moonstruck.

I could also talk about the central romance between Loretta (Cher) and Ronny (Nicolas Cage), the engagement of Loretta and Johnny (Danny Aiello), the marriage of Rose (Olympia Dukakis) and Cosmo (Vincent Gardenia), and the expectations, similarities and differences of these three relationships. I could talk about the brothers, or Loretta’s relationship with her parents, or even Loretta’s parents’ relationship with her grandfather (Feodor Chaliapin Jr.) and how family is represented as both combative and enveloping, how the yelling and the sarcasm take nothing away from the ultimate supportiveness and importance of the family.

I could talk about how for years I planned (and, actually, still plan, maybe) to attend the funerals of my adversaries in a red dress.

I could talk about how the idea of luck Loretta puts forward deeply influences my own superstitions.

I could talk about all the representations of food in this movie (including the opening and closing credits song “That’s Amore”) and how they’ve stuck with me and influenced me over the years. (“Don’t get the greasy fish.” “You’ll eat this one bloody, it’ll feed you blood.” “Old man, you give those dogs another plate of my food, I’m gonna kick you ’til you’re dead.”)

And I could talk about Rose’s quest to discover why men chase women, even though she simply wants to be told what she already believes — that men fear death. Her dinner with Perry (John Mahoney), though, is a fascinating side trip in that endeavor. It’s electrically charged, and Perry responds to it. Rose does too, but she knows who she is. She’s comfortable with who she is. It’s not that she’s not drawn to him, because she is. She finds him amusing and intriguing. But she doesn’t have to act on her attraction, like others in the film, because she’s not in the same emotional place as the others.

What I need to talk about, however, is my first marriage.

I was really unhappy that last year of my first marriage, although I didn’t know it. Not exactly. I just felt off. I felt miserable. I wanted solitude. I wanted to be left alone to lie motionless on the couch watching TV. I didn’t even realize that was such textbook depression until much later, though I did at some point beg my husband to let me see a therapist. (He was very much against the idea, but eventually relented after who knows how many hours of me in tears on my knees, pleading with him.) By that point, though, I was aggressively withdrawing into a fantasy world, wanting less and less to do with my real one. I kept pushing further and further away and eventually I pushed him too far. This is not to say that he wasn’t a part of the problem as well; we both became incredibly petty and demanding in various ways, and we never really connected again on what we wanted or how we wanted to go about it. There was a time when I saw a very clear fork in the road, a way to salvage our marriage and a way to completely forsake it, but there was too much against us at that point and we couldn’t get on the same page. That wasn’t the end of things — there ended up being another eight months of heartbreak and anger and betrayal before I moved out, and another year after that before our divorce was finalized — but it was the beginning of the end, for sure. And all I could think about was Moonstruck and how terrified I was that I was the wolf Loretta accuses Ronny of being.

Ronny lost his hand to a bread slicer five years before and blames his brother for it because it cost him his fiancée and, in his mind, his life. “I lost my hand! I lost my bride! Johnny has his hand! Johnny has his bride!” Loretta tells him he’s a wolf, caught in the trap of the wrong love. To escape that trap, he “chewed” off his own hand. “And now you’re afraid, because you found out the big part of you is a wolf that has the courage to bite off its own hand to save itself from the trap of the wrong love.” I was terrified that this is what I did. That I’d deliberately sabotaged my marriage to get out of a relationship that was suffocating me. It didn’t occur to me at the time how much of myself had been lost through those years with him, or how I know longer knew who I was, but as it became clear how unhappy I’d been, I’d become more and more convinced I was that same wolf, maiming myself in order to be free. And if I could do it once, what’s to say I wouldn’t find myself in that situation again? What’s to say I wouldn’t cut out my own heart again? And have to start all over again? It was quite honestly the most frightened I have ever been.

However, as I gained more space and distance from that relationship, I gradually found myself again, and in finding myself, I found a relationship that complemented who I really was. I feel more confident now, because not only am I infinitely happier, I also know what’s at stake. I know the work and the commitment required to make a marriage work, and I know that it’s worth it. I’ve found my family, and family, as Moonstruck demonstrates, is everything.

Alla famiglia!

MY MOVIE SHELF: Face/Off

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 274  Days to go: 266

Movie #103: Face/Off

If anyone ever asks what the late ’90s were like, show them the movie Face/Off and explain that in 1997 when it came out, lots of people thought it was great. Myself included. It has a 7.3 rating on IMDb (out of 10), so lots of people STILL think it’s pretty great (or haven’t seen it this millennium, maybe).

Directed by John Woo — who has a bit of a reputation himself for making over-the-top gunfights look like operatic climaxes — Face/Off is, frankly, insane. In case you’re unaware of how on point the title is, the movie is about two warring enemies — a super-serious FBI agent with a martyr complex named Sean Archer (John Travolta) and a manic, egomaniacal uber-terrorist for hire named Castor Troy (Nicolas Cage) — facing off against each other after having literally switched faces. I’m not kidding.

Castor and Sean have a longstanding animosity, stretching back more than six years when for some reason Castor thought it would be a great idea to kill Sean with a sniper shot at a public carousel because what could go wrong. Oh right, Sean’s at the carousel with his five-year-old son, who gets killed by the bullet that goes straight through Sean’s chest so Sean can feel victimized and self-righteous and guilty and vengeful all at once. No reason why Castor wanted to kill this one FBI guy back then, but whatever. Since that moment, Sean has been on the rampage, only he maybe sucks at his job? It’s six years later when he finally catches up with Castor — seemingly unexpectedly because they’re racing to catch him before he flies off, but they already have an undercover agent on the plane? I don’t know. Anyway, there’s a big shootout and Castor supposedly dies. However, Castor and his brother Pollux (Alessandro Nivola) — of course these are their names, in case you thought Mockingjay thought it up first — have planted a bomb somewhere in L.A. A huge one that will flatten a square mile, so you know it’s a big deal. Pollux isn’t talking without his brother (who I guess he doesn’t know is dead?), so secret FBI people offer Sean the opportunity to be put in prison with Pollux as Castor — they’re keeping Castor alive, see, and plan to put his face on Sean. WHAT COULD GO WRONG??

So, okay, fine, Sean has Castor’s face and a little microchip in his throat to give him Castor’s voice and he’s put into this insanely anti-ACLU prison and he finds out where the bomb is. Ta-da! Only the real Castor wakes up from his coma or whatever — despite being earlier described as a “turnip,” which to me means brain-dead, and having a lit cigarette put out on his arm — calls up some of his criminal buddies, and somehow manages to secretly kidnap the surgeon and, like, the only two cops who knew about this super secret undercover mission (including a completely wasted CCH Pounder). He makes them put Sean’s face on him, with the body modifications and the voice chip and everything, like how would that even be possible, before he kills them all and slips on Sean’s wedding band.

It’s all kinds of messed up from there, with Castor pretending to be Sean and sleeping with Sean’s wife Eve (Joan Allen) and flirting with Sean’s daughter Jamie (Dominique Swain, who, awesomely, has eighteen IMDb credits in various stages of production, one of which is called Sharkansas Women’s Prison Massacre) and getting off on a major FBI power trip around town, while Sean is stuck in prison as Castor until he stages an elaborate escape only to find that this prison is on an oil rig in the middle of the ocean, and still jumps into the water and swims to shore. DUH. Sean visits all Castor’s old buddies, getting crazy high and drunkenly swearing to take Archer’s “face … off.” Pollux tips Castor, off, though, so there’s a massive FBI swat mission that ends in a hail of bullets in which Sean tips his hand by not killing the FBI agent played by that guy who was Mike Delfino on Desperate Housewives, and Pollux ends up dead. Now, suddenly (??) Castor is out for revenge against Sean as well!! It’s so ridiculous, I’m kind of in awe after watching it tonight. But it’s still kind of worth it for the absolute brilliance that is John Travolta acting like Crazy Nic Cage and Nic Cage acting like Crazy John Travolta. It’s a parlor trick, sure, and I’m honestly surprised there’s scenery left with all the devouring of it going on, but sometimes a parlor trick is a thing of beauty.

This all has the potential to end very badly, of course, but luckily their blood types are different and Sean convinces Eve to look at that instead of at their faces. She does and discovers he’s telling the truth, and during the climactic ending — the John Woo-iest scene ever filmed — with the Mexican standoff and the doves flying everywhere and the slow-motion bullets and explosions, Eve manages to call Margaret Cho, who somehow got cast as an FBI agent in this preposterous film, and tells her the whole story over the five or so minutes Sean and Castor are fighting over Jamie and screwing with her head. She shoots Sean in the shoulder, thinking he’s Castor, but when Castor, looking like her father, holds a gun to her head, she gets clued in and opens his femoral artery with the knife he gave her. Despite likely bleeding out in a matter of minutes, he and Sean have an explode-y speedboat chase that includes physical fighting, ski-less water skiing while holding onto a chain, anchor attacks, being thrown fifty feet into the air and onto a beach by a giant explosion, and a harpooning facilitated by a kick in the nuts.

Then Sean gets his face back, adopts Castor’s son and lives happily ever after. The End.

There are also other awful/hilarious things in the movie beyond Travolta and Cage being certifiable. Joan Allen is way too good for this, you can see it on her face, but she bravely fights the urge to run in every one of her scenes. Also, her character Eve, a poised and intelligent doctor, has a journal that reads like it could belong to Taylor Swift. “Date night fizzled again.” Aw, shucks. And Jamie is the height of scary teenage rebellion because she draws eyelashes on her face and has a nose ring. That kind of wanton disrespect for proper makeup application was terrifying in the ’90s, I kid you not. There’s also Gina Gershon as Sasha, who should just be in all movies somewhere, like the Psych pineapple. And the bomb that Castor and Pollux plant in L.A. has some sort of 32-bit porn animation (correction: more like 8 or maybe 16-bit. I don’t know my animations.) for both its specs and its disarming feature. The best, though, is that when Castor places said bomb at the beginning of the film, he’s dressed like a priest and proceeds to rock out to a choir singing “The Messiah” before grabbing the ass of one of the young sopranos. He and Pollux are like the Charlie’s Angels of crime.

You know what? I think I’ve come all the way around to loving Face/Off again. It’s an extravaganza of camp. A Campstravaganza! Also, possibly the best serious acting work of Margaret Cho’s career.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Con Air

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 301  Days to go: 290

Movie #72: Con Air

Con Air was actually the first movie I saw with my previous husband — we bonded over “Sweet Home Alabama.” Some people might call those two items “clues,” but we’ve already established I was completely fucking stupid at 22. It all worked out in the end, anyway, though, because we have a great son together, my ex is a good dad, and even though he’s not my favorite person, I wish him mostly well. And, to be clear, I neither bought nor kept Con Air out of some sort of sentimental attachment to that first viewing.

I’ve held onto Con Air all these years because, frankly (obviously), I hold on to all my movies. Sometimes I look up on my shelf and don’t see one I know I used to own, but I have no idea how it got lost, since it’s really rare for me to part with them under any circumstances. (I suspect it might be one of those breath-stealing gremlin-trolls from Cat’s Eye. Those things were creepy as hell.) As to how I wound up buying Con Air in the first place, I don’t know. I suspect it has a lot to do with John Cusack and Steve Buscemi.

1997 was a bit of a resurgence year for John Cusack, and a much-appreciated one at that. He managed to transition in that time from his former cute, crushworthy teen/twenty-something roles into full-fledged adulthood. And something like Con Air is not anything one would’ve expected to see him in — brandishing weapons, being a smart yet kickass U.S. Marshall, going on honest-to-god action movie car chases against criminals. It’s a fun diversion from a lot of the more hyper-intellectual things he usually does. And it winks at maybe his goofy sense of humor, because I find it hard to believe anyone took this movie seriously, except maybe Nicolas Cage.

Steve Buscemi, on the other hand, has always done offbeat stuff, and his portrayal of Garland Greene in Con Air is definitely that. It’s this ridiculous parody of Hannibal Lecter, with the crazy restraints and the face mask and the eerie, intelligent calm. He didn’t eat a census taker’s liver, but he wore some woman’s head as a hat. He makes biting observations about those around him. He doesn’t kill the little girl (which, the entire scene with the little girl is easily my favorite of the film), despite the early implication that he might. And he manages to slip away into the casinos of Vegas without a trace, a lucky shooter indeed.

The rest of the movie is absolutely absurd. I mean, right from the start. What veteran in Alabama is going to get jail time for defending himself against a drunk maniac with a knife and his two friends? I feel like even the worst lawyer in the state would manage to get Cameron Poe (Cage) off for that. Secondly, the DEA agent they sneak onto the plane is supposed to gain a criminal’s trust and manage to get some sort of taped confession in the span of a single flight? It seems like they really could’ve come up with a better plan than that. Poe’s friendship with Baby-O (Mykelti Williamson), meanwhile, is based in Sno-Balls (not a euphemism), but he risks his life for it with the worst plans ever, one after another. Good thing, then, he’s able to divert attention from his clear convict-subverting motives with some cheeky quips directed at black militant Diamond Dog (Ving Rhames).  And while I appreciate that the lady guard wasn’t brutally raped by Danny Trejo’s Johnny-23 (clearly, they didn’t want the movie to get too dark, as that tends to undercut the jokes), it’s pretty funny that murderous psychopath Cyrus the Virus (John Malkovich) is morally opposed to it to the extent that he is. Honestly, there’s just nothing in the movie that holds up to any sort of rational examination, so it’s best if you just laugh at it and leave it there. I recommend the part where Cameron SuperPoe charges the cockpit while getting jumped and shot at — he barely flinches and doesn’t alter course at all — and the one when Cyrus takes a giant wooden stake through the ankle, pulls it out, and doesn’t even limp while continuing to fight Poe on the top of a fire engine — despite shattered bones and almost certainly bleeding out, it takes crashing through a raised walkway and landing on live power lines to kill him.

I suppose I would be remiss not to also mention the very funny Dave Chappelle as Pinball, but honestly everything he does in this movie grosses me right the hell out. Or maybe it’s just the whole gross mouth thing he does, but that one thing is disgusting enough to dampen my appreciation for him. Sue me.

At the end of the day, of course, Cameron Poe has, in fact, “saved the fucking day,” as promised, but it’s still pretty ridiculous. The only thing I can’t decide, though, is if Cage knows it’s preposterous and likes to play camp, or if he considers himself a serious action star and sees his character as an honest-to-god hero. It’s a mystery of our times.