One of the parents of arguably the greatest comic book story in history (Watchmen), Dave Gibbons, poses infront of Dollar Bill's costume. Note the blood and bullet holes from that poor schmuck's demise, his cape getting caught in a revolving door while trying to foil a robbery, opening him up to a hail of gunfire. I can't believe the level of fidelity involved in this production. Litte or no modernisation or hippification; it looks exactly like it does in the book, corny, but all the better for it.
Check out the pic below and click here for the first part of Mr Gibbons, exuberant set report.
I'm slowly slipping up my own ass. Apologies, but sometimes when you get passionate about something, you get a bit verbose. Anyway, here's the review, unedited, and unspellchecked, as I'm too lazy install my old copy of Word onto my laptop:
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Assassination is no mere killing. It takes such tawdry events and elevates them to something with real significance, be it ideology or politic. Andrew Dominik’s melancholic epic The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, takes this a stage further, playing with our understanding of this unwieldy and seemingly explanatory title over some two hours plus of slow moving, yet transfixing filmmaking.
At the centre of this is the strange relationship between Jesse James (Brad Pitt) and the much younger, Robert Ford (Casey Affleck), who had become entranced by the mythology built up around this man by the dimestore novels and newspaper articles of the time. There is an immediate sense of unease as Ford seeks him out, wheedling his way into the celebrated outlaw’s gang, against the wishes of the more perceptive, elder James brother, Frank (Sam Shepard).
And yet Dominik concentrates on this attraction between these two men, sidelining those closest to him. Jesse's wife Zee (Mary-Louise Parker) is almost invisible while Frank disappears soon after the train robbery, a shared look between the brothers telling a perceptive audience all they need to know. Times have changed for Jesse. The ties are cut with the better days of his past in Frank and the potential of a better future in Zee. Jesse's gang, a once proud, and loyal group of ex-guerilla fighters are gone, replaced by the whoring, the dull-witted and the conspriatorial.
There is almost a sense that this is really Ford's fantasy. The early train robbery seemingly a construct of a potent imagination, transformed into an encounter between black knight and dragon, its presence, initially a slow, low throb, growing into a howling ember spitting monster that cuts the night in two. It’s a riveting scene. even more so for what follows. For just as we are initially taken by the charisma of Jesse, his foul, unnecessarily violent treatment of the bank guard knocks us back a step. In fact Jesse seems almost addicted to his felonies, rejeuvenated by the excitement and violence, and deathly bored by the periods of fallow.
Instead of this being a simple tale of early media obsession in Western form, the film posits Ford and Jesse as mythologically entwined, almost biblically. Affleck, startling, as this sickly angelic bundle of dichotomies; bold, yet timid, emfeebled yet strong. Pitt's Jesse is distanced as the figure of worship, shot through antiquated lenses as a foggy figure in history, almost a God, and a primal one at that, draped in furs and prone to explosive anger. It's a commanding performance, and though charismatic as most leads, he is also able to articulate the the mystic in Jesse, seemingly existing outside this reality, playing with the wonderful language of the script, his eyes fixed on the endless stars or the spaces behind the ice on a frozen lake.
Certainly charges of artistic extravagance could be made against Dominik, with the supreme talents of cinematographer Roger Deakins articulated in the grey and sepia of the landscape and the seemingly countless shots of lonely rocking chairs and whispering corn during the film's languid second act, but it is the same shorthand used by such luminaries as Malick and it serves to capture the elusiveness of Jesse, as if he were more spirit than substance, flitting from place to place, forever escaping incarceration lest it be one of his own making.
Dominik intoxicates us during this lulling, yet captivating middle. Switching between the artistic naturalism of the aforementioned Malick and 3rd person docu-narration that give an authenticity as well as a new strangeness to events. The mood he creates hearkens back to the filmmaking of the 70s; melancholic, yearning, always distancing us from fascinating characters and yet captivating because of it.
It is the power of this mood that when it changes, it catches us quite by surprise. Jesse’s paranoia growing at an almost animalistic rate until the Ford Brothers find themselves penned in with this slowly dying, psychotic presence. While Ford changes with him, steeling himself for what has to come, it is in these moments before his death that we see the real reasons for Jesse's relationship with Ford and the sting in this film's title.
Rather than fearing his death, he embraces it, tending the affections of Ford, much like a lover, mocking him, taunting him, but always bringing him closer. In response to envy he placates and gifts him a gun, and thus creates his own killer, to do what the lawmen and the government could not. In that house, with its whitewashed purity and the sparse piano from Ellis and Cave's elegaic soundtrack, Ford pulls the trigger on an epochal moment, destroying his own life, and transforming Jesse's. It's terrifically resonant, turning the all too short final coda into something of a Greek tragedy, as Ford finds his own infamy too much to bear, his own end coming as a dull, blunt punctuation into darkness.
Poor old Empire Online. Their slow grind reveal of the new exclusive Joker pic has been spoiled by the inter-web as a leak of the actual cover for the new issue of the magazine has hit various sites. Check out the story here and see the full image below. The non-text version will go live on Empire Online later tomorrow.
Oh and check out this look at the door to the Rimrunner bar. Nothing spectacular, but it is where Rorschach likes to conduct the openings to many of his investigations. What's cool is that this came as an exclusive to arguably the best Watchman message board from the production itself. With any luck more exclusives will be following:
Trying not to give myself a cerebral hernia through geekgasm, but the Watchmen is honestly my Star Wars and seeing such beautifully resonant production photos like these is very exciting and quite frankly, very reassuring (check out the newstand, the gorgeous colours of the Gunga Diner). And though it may not be the full on, perfectly composed, and detailed character pic I wanted, that's Rorschach goddammit. Check below for the pics, and click here for their source at the official Watchmen site .
All over Empire Online apparently. Hilarious. Anyway, looks like the web version of Empire magazine is going to have a crystal, spanking, brand new, all exclusive photo of the Joker from The Dark Knight very soon. So soon, you can see a glimpse here, as three playing cards that obscure the full image have already burned away to reveal a pair of shoes, classy socks and the purple troosers we know and love. Keep a look out as more and more cards will disappear until the Joker in all his glory is finally displayed.
What next? Oh yes, a bloody full trailer maybe?
Such a tenuous, but the rise of viral sites in the cinematic community continues with this interesting selection for Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight. Check them out here at Joblo.com
Some of them make sense with the nice clash between the Gotham Times and the Joker's vandalised version while others, Remembering Gina, offer up more questions than they provide. Like any good viral should.
Been really lazy on the writing front lately. Can't seem to find anything interesting to blog, be it film or net fe-nom. Attempting to give myself a personal kick to the back of the balls and back on the keyboard to keep the old creative juices flowing. It's my one minor talent and like any muscle at least conceptual muscle it needs regular exercise.
As a flash recommendation that's weeks late, check out Eastern Promises. It may have a plot that's so slight it could be transposed to the small screen with little difficulty, it contains a central performance of such magnetism and raw, bubbling menace in Viggo Mortensen's Nikolai that it has to be seen. It's a film that cries out for a wider scope similar to that of Coppola's epic Godfather trilogy, and the touches you see of the grand, ordered, and chilling mythology of the Vory V Zakone (Russian organised crime) are almost part of a another, far better film. It's frustrating to see a film that could have been so much more gain prominence and exposure because of the nudity involved in a fight sequence rather than it's visceral impact. Are we so shallow and base as an audience?
