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Film Clips
JULY 20, 1998:
 DON'T LOOK BACK. One of the best documentaries ever made,
D.A. Pennebaker's Don't Look Back follows 23-year-old Bob
Dylan on his 1965 tour of England. Pennebaker helped invent the
unobtrusive, cinema verité style that's become the common
visual grammar of documentaries, but when this film was released
in 1967 it was daring and new. Toting a 16mm black-and-white news
camera, Pennebaker trails Dylan backstage, at concerts, through
parties. Dylan eyes the camera with a suspicion the MTV generation
can only regard with overwhelming nostalgia. The famous opening
sequence alone is a study in self-conscious cool, as Dylan stands
in an alley, flipping through a stack of cards printed with (some
of) the lyrics to Subterranean Homesick Blues, blatantly
looking off camera for instructions, with an expression on his
face that says when is this going to be over? (A rabbinical
Allen Ginsberg lurks in the background.) This is the only part
of the film that's staged; the rest has a spontaneous feel, though
Dylan continues to be a bit of a cipher, alternately generous
and mean-spirited as he enthusiastically plays bits of songs he
loves for friends, then enthusiastically makes fun of people less
smart or less cool than he is. Pennebaker takes it all in without
being overwhelmed by judgment or reverence. The result is an astonishing,
potent portrait of the artist as a young man. --Richter
HANGING GARDEN. The word "haunting" seems to
have been invented to describe this film about a deeply unhappy
family who live on a hill in a lovely house surrounded by a wonderful
garden. But surely this is a post-fall garden, as nothing really
good seems to grow between any of the family members. There's
William, the prodigal (and gay) son returning for the first time
in 10 years to attend his sister's wedding; his mother Iris, who
has decorated the house all in purple and named her tomboy daughter
Violet; and Poppy, the alcoholic patriarch who has made damn sure
that no one in his family is any less unhappy than he is. During
a long weekend, family secrets are revealed, new alliances are
forged, etc., but somehow this film manages not to be clichéd,
probably because of the unsentimental, quiet portrait of just
how unhappy an unhappy family can be. We haven't seen a childhood
this bad on film since Welcome to the Dollhouse. But unlike
Welcome to the Dollhouse, Hanging Garden allows its characters
to escape their horrible past, or at least try to. --Richter
LETHAL WEAPON 4. The idealized masculinity initially presented
in the first Lethal Weapon is finally called into question
in the fourth installment in the series. This makes for an overall
engaging action film, especially as the genre tends most often
to present clichéd, unsympathetic, hypermasculine fighting
machines. The former polarization of the nihilistic Martin Riggs
(Mel Gibson) and Roger Murtaugh (Danny Glover) collapses into
the middle, resulting in numerous references to the aging bodies
of the characters (and, by extension, the actors) and their inability
to live up to former expectations of themselves. This reconfiguration
of masculinity is perhaps an attempt to update a series which
began over a decade ago, though it still offers a rather narrow
definition of manhood. The story itself is standard cop-chase-villain
fare, largely an excuse to showcase the fine-tuned banter of Riggs
and Murtaugh. Rene Russo and Joe Pesci return in supporting roles;
and though the addition of Chris Rock is an obvious attempt to
attract younger viewers, he's nevertheless enjoyable as Murtaugh's
son-in-law. The generic convention of foreign adversaries is forced
and outright offensive at times, as the jokes often poke fun at
the ethnicity of the Chinese bad guys (to wit, the tired "flied
lice" dig). Though we can expect to find such stereotypes
in other incarnations of the genre, it appears that this film
closes the book on the series as the lethal weapon of the title,
Riggs, concludes his inner struggle by becoming a family man. --Higgins
SMALL SOLDIERS. Director Joe Dante and a team of five writers
have given the Child's Play concept a military spin: Now
instead of an evil spirit inside a plastic moppet, a super-destructive
munitions chip has been mistakenly installed in the latest line
of military action figures. The result is a bunch of wisecracking,
pop-culture-quoting commandos who proceed to tear up part of a
suburban neighborhood. Their mission: to destroy a similarly intelligent
set of pacifist dolls, the leader of whose whiskered face literally
implies "underdog." The movie contains loads of talent,
including the late Phil Hartman and vocalizations by the primary
leads from both The Dirty Dozen and This Is Spinal Tap.
Copious special effects blend seamlessly with the live action,
and the ideas are overflowing--the creators have even thrown in
the kitchen sink (complete with garbage disposal). But unlike
Dante's similar Gremlins movies, the anarchy becomes too
chaotic for its own good. The satiric sensibility has no focus,
and the human characters have less personality than the dolls.
Though there are clever minds behind the screenplay, the hypocrisy
is overwhelming: a mind-numbingly violent criticism of military
figures? Which, by the way, are for sale at your local toy store?
Talk about self-contradiction. Twelve-year-old boys will love
it; everyone else can expect a headache. --Woodruff
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