The FFFEYIBA Project—1994
“I've stood on the shoulders of life and I've never gotten down into the dirt to build, to erect a foundation of my own. I've flown too high on borrowed wings. Everything came too easy.“
For a refresher on the purpose (and rules) of the project, visit this post. Also, fair warning that this is the year where things start to get out of hand. Half-a-dozen “honorable mentions” is a lot, yes. And also, not the most you’re going to see over the next few weeks; not by a long shot. Sorry, I guess?
HM #1: Léon
Perhaps better known as The Professional (or as Léon: The Professional), I think this is far-and-away the best overall attempt of Luc Besson, the French “Enfant terrible” director. A number of his slick, silly, heavily action-driven films have proven to be wildly successful—Lucy, for example, made $465M in worldwide box office—so the fact that he’s been described in a New York Times article as “the most Hollywood of French filmmakers” is both accurate and damning, simultaneously. While he is perhaps (and inexplicably, to me) best known state-side as the director of The Fifth Element, (or as the creative “mind” and producer behind the Taken series), I prefer to think of him as the man who made Léon, which is definitely the most grounded and “realistic” (and therefore, unsurprisingly, the most relatable) of his films that I’ve seen. I’m sure that plays a large part in why I think it’s his best. That, and Gary Oldman, who’s a fantastic villain. Oh, and a great, bittersweet ending: “This is from Matilda.” Most of all, though, this one works because of Jean Reno, who’s completely convincing in his sorrowful inevitability, his sincerity, and his heroism.
HM #2: Stargate
Moments after criticizing Besson for being too slick and unserious, I find myself recommending a movie from Roland Emmerich, who is most definitely unserious, as well. Just how serious can the man who directed Anonymous possibly be, after all? So what gives? Well, maybe this is an opportunity for me to clarify/sharpen my original point about Besson: his movies are slick and unserious, yes. But they’re also (with, perhaps, the exception of Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets) appallingly pseudo-serious. They have nothing particularly worthwhile to say, but they think they’re giving their (unfortunate) audiences incredibly important insights into human nature. Ugh. (Oh, and while we’re at it, I should probably mention that I think they’re also surprisingly gloomy. So, films that are unserious and self-important and slick and grim? What’s not to love?) Stargate, however, is absolutely and unapologetically a popcorn flick. It has no pretensions of greatness; no aspirations to be more than it is. Which is refreshing in a film that tells the story of “an interstellar teleportation device found in Egypt that leads a team of scientists and soldiers to a planet with humans resembling ancient Egyptians who worship the god Ra.” The action is fun; the art direction, a blast; the world-building, excellent and not overly explanatory; the cast, perfectly serviceable (with the exception of Kurt Russell, who is above-average here, as always). It’s worth noting that the film sparked a wide-ranging serious of TV spinoffs; mostly successful, though none of them quite matched the sheer fun of the original recipe. Honorable Mention: David Arnold’s score is fantastic; orchestrally lush, melodically rich and mysterious, and all kinds of memorable.
HM #3: Chungking Express
This was the first Wong Kar-Wai film I ever saw, and I’m pretty sure that it’s still my favorite, even though I suspect that In the Mood for Love is actually better. I can think of almost no director who comes as close to “Style IS Substance” as does Kar-Wai, and while I’m not entirely convinced that even he can make the argument a compelling one, it’s sure a lot of fun to watch him try. The slo-and-fast sequences blew my mind the first time I saw them; absolutely wild. It’s a bit easier to do that sort of thing nowadays, technically, but to do it “in camera” as he did is just insane. And to have it serve the purpose of the overall mood he was creating is just about as insane. If I could do something like that, I’d do it every time, regardless of whether the film called for it or not. The fact that Kar-Wai is so disciplined endears him to me even more.
HM #4: The Secret of Roan Inish
I mentioned John Sayles earlier, and I’ll be mentioning him again, but this one might be the recommendation most tinged with nostalgia. I’m not Irish, but this is the kind of film that makes me wish I was. Way back in my Patheos days, I highlighted “some wonderful cinematography from the legendary Haskell Wexler,” “a pitch-perfect (heh!) score from Mason Daring,” and exemplary writing and directing from Sayles. “But the thing that really makes this film stand out…the thing that makes this film special is its mood.” So pairing it with a Wong Kar-Wai film that’s all about mood seems only fitting. A wild, wonderful, and mysterious film. I’m going to quote Roger Ebert again, just like last time: “One can easily guess how this legend could have been simplified and jollied up in other hands—how it could have been about cute little Selkies. But legends are, after all, told by adults, not children, and usually they record something essential to the culture that produces them.”
HM #5: Three Colors: White & HM: #6: Three Colors: Red
I’m not sure why these two are listed as 1994, while the other (and my favorite) in the trilogy, Blue, is listed as being released in 1993. But regardless of the year, the guiding principle for these sorts of “Honorable Metnions” remains the same: any time you can watch a Krzysztof Kieślowski movie, you should. There are literally no exceptions.
1994’s Selection: Quiz Show, by Robert Redford
Writing in The Reveal last November, on the occasion of this film’s 30th anniversary, critic Scott Tobias described it as “the last of the middlebrow masterpieces,” saying that “Hollywood has stopped making movies like Robert Redford's impeccably crafted drama about the '50s quiz show scandals. We're poorer for it.”
Amen.
An idealistic young lawyer working for a Congressional subcommittee in the late 1950s discovers that TV quiz shows are being fixed. His investigation focuses on two contestants on the show “Twenty-One”: Herbert Stempel, a brash working-class Jew from Queens, and Charles Van Doren, the patrician scion of one of America's leading literary families. Based on a true story.
Calling it “middlebrow” seems a bit dismissive, at first, but I think I understand what Tobias is getting at with that term. This is not a film that takes a huge swing, because the topic it’s addressing isn’t a meatball pitch, and a louder, boulder, bigger approach would end up feeling out of place. But it’s a topic that deserves attention, all the same. And that sort of “middle-ground” film is increasingly rare, squeezed out in a cinematic-economic world built around tiny indies with huge ROI’s and massive blockbusters that are “too big to fail.”
The film was well (if relatively mildly) received and generated some equally mild Oscar buzz upon its release—a nomination for Robert Redford as Best Director, one for Paul Scofield as Best Supporting Actor, and one for Best Picture (along with Forrest Gump, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Pulp Fiction, and The Shawshank Redemption, which is a pretty wild list)—but the subsequent years have convinced me that it deserved more attention than it got at the time (or since).
At the core of the film is one of Fiennes’ finest and subtlest performances, paired closely with one of Turturro’s finest (if not at all subtle) performances. Heck, I think it might even be one of Paul Scofield’s finest performances, and that’s saying something. But regardless of which performance you end up appreciating most, I think it’s safe to say that this is Redford’s best moment(s) in the director’s chair. In keeping with the “middlebrow, but impeccable” moniker, he does a wonderful job of staying out of the way and letting his cast (and script) do the work. Less is more, often; much more often than Hollywood seems to realize.
I think that’s probably why it feels so much like an “old-timey film,” particularly in terms of its craftsmanship. But it’s also old-timey in terms of its morality. The suggestion that someone deliberately lying on television about what he knows should be punished (or at least shamed) when his dishonesty is discovered is an encouraging one; I just wish it didn’t feel quite so old-fashioned. The fact that deliberate dishonesty seems to have become a near-prerequisite for appearing on TV at all is a “modern” (and demoralizing) advancement that I’d love to do without.
I’m happy that you’ve made the statement. But I cannot agree with most of my colleagues. See, I don’t think an adult of your intelligence should be commended for simply, at long last, telling the truth.
