#10: Walkabout

February 14, 2010

#10: Walkabout

1971, 100 minutes, Color, 1.78:1

Language: English

Directed by Nicolas Roeg

[A note on spoilers: I tried not to, but as this tome seemed to write itself, I ended up throwing in any and every conceivable spoiler possible. My bad.]

Oh, those bastards at Criterion Collection!

It’s always a bittersweet feeling when they re-issue a movie I already own. I do think it’s great when Criterion re-releases an existing title with enhanced visual quality and additional features, especially if it’s a title I don’t yet own but plan to eventually, such as was the case with Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, and Sanjuro. I am very glad I never shelled out a wad of c-notes for an original version of Salò before it was re-released (though I did let loose of a couple Hamiltons for a boot-leg copy). It is a little tougher to take when it’s one I already own, but I will bite the bullet if I can, and that’s why I have two copies of Amarcord and Brazil. I bought my copy of Walkabout two years ago and fell in love with it. I knew it was ripe for an upgrade and had heard the whispers on the wind that one was on the way. Now it’s here. But, as with The Seventh Seal, it will be a long while before I’m able to make the upgrade myself.

After The Ice Storm, I wasn’t quite sure what was next. When I saw Criterion’s announcement of their upcoming May releases, with the new and improved Walkabout listed amongst them, I figured that was good reason to watch it now. Regardless, I need to watch it before May, otherwise I will be hard-pressed to watch my old version knowing an improved one exists, and must watch it before it is obsolete. Also, after the way I got myself a little too enmeshed in my write-up for The Ice Storm, I thought it wise to not delve into a DVD with two discs full of content.

It was January 2008 when I was first exposed to Nicolas Roeg. I watched Bad Timing and was so impressed with it that I wanted to experience more of Roeg’s work. If that hadn’t have been the case, I probably never would have even considered Walkabout. Whatever the reason for it, I’m very glad to have found this little gem.

None of the characters in the movie have names. For the sake of simplicity, I will use the actors’ names when referring to the three main characters. “Girl” is played by Jenny Agutter. I recall the first time I ever saw her was in An American Werewolf in London and was enamored with her immediately. “Boy” is played by Nicolas Roeg’s son, Lucien (Luc) John, and “Aborigine” by David Gulpilil. Their performances are remarkable. Jenny is charming, Luc is a quintessential young boy, and David is endearing.

Even watching it again, two years after the first time, it is still an entrancing film, a visual wonder. As beautiful as it is on the original Criterion issue, I can only imagine how gorgeous it will be with the new release or, even more so, Blu-ray, but that curiosity will have to wait to be satisfied. In the meantime, I am still quite impressed with the beauty portrayed as it is.

Poetry. That’s what comes to mind when I think of Walkabout. Roeg’s skills as a cinematographer and photographer are on marvelous display in this film and, coupled with interesting editing, creates a visual poem, a montage of dazzling images. He shows majestic, sweeping panoramic vistas and cityscapes, and delves into super close-ups of bugs and creatures and people eating in documentarian fashion. He even displays extraterrestrial views of the moon and the sun. Electric and electronic sounds in some shots almost mimic birdcalls in others. Cross-cuts juxtapose interesting contrasts and comparisons. There are also frozen images and images played backward that all enhance the visual spectacle that makes the film more than just a story. There is one scene I especially like where the three walk along a beautiful path through rivers and greenery. Luc is telling a story and a page from a book being turned is used as the wipe that transitions between scenes.

The film opens with an intertitle briefly explaining what a walkabout is, ending with the simple phrase, “This is the story of a ‘WALKABOUT’.” At first I thought that was inappropriate because it almost leaves only the idea that it is something like a documentary about the coming of age rite for a young Aboriginal man. I thought that it is so much more than that with the plight of the two young white children taken into account too. I thought about it, and it is quite a life journey for all three of them, even if it was unintentional for the white children to be in this situation and setting that will undoubtedly be defining moments in their lives. It is a walkabout, but on a more profound level.

The opening scenes use close-ups of manmade walls of brick and natural walls of rock to cut back and forth between images of the city and the Australian Outback. An Aboriginal didgeridoo (what a cool word, didgeridoo!) and city sounds are musical accompaniment for both settings.

Instinct might be to see the juxtaposed images as contrasting two vastly different worlds, but starting here, and as the movie progresses, I see more similarities than differences. Buildings and mountains bear a resemblance. Urban expanses of concrete and glass are as infertile as desert expanses of rock and sand. Parks and oases offer verdant respite from the harshness and glare of the city and desert. Both settings teem with life and their inhabitants struggle for survival, a survival of the fittest. I think probably most conspicuous is a future scene where David is hunting, killing, and butchering wild game, intercut with a city butcher performing similar motions. The difference is the tools used and the setting it is in, primitive versus modern, but the function and purpose is the same. Both settings can be seen as wildernesses, yet both also have their own rites and rituals, which may be seen as barbaric or civilized depending on the point of view.

Even though there are many things that bear, or even bare, similarities, there are differences, but they are mostly cultural. The most striking image of the cultural differences is that of the children swimming in a manmade pool beside the ocean. Jenny steadfastly holds to her cultural ways, wanting to keep up appearances even though in the desert (“we don’t want to look like tramps”), and almost determined effort to not use any form of communication other than her language. When asking David for water, she makes no effort to gesture or sign in any way, which to me would seem almost instinctive to do. Luc, as young as he is, has yet to become so conditioned and is quickly able to bridge cultural and language differences.

But the cultural differences also aren’t all that great, either. When the white children are playing in a tree, a group of Aboriginal people plays on the burnt-out wreckage of the car; each culture is curious about things foreign to them and plays in similar fashion, with similar delight.

It is the scene where the Aboriginal families are playing on the car that has one of the most gruesome elements in the film; that of the dead father splayed out in the branches of the tree. It appears as if it is some savage indifference to the dead, but, as with so many things in this movie, it is not what it appears to be. In the audio commentary, near the end of the film when David dies, Agutter tells of an Aboriginal custom of putting the dead up off the ground so that, to my understanding, the spirit can be allowed freedom in death that would be prohibited if the body were kept on the ground. So, if I do take the meaning properly, the Aborigines found the man’s body and performed the same action as they would for one of their own culture in order to allow its spirit freedom. So, in that context, it is not such a gruesome scene.

But, I get ahead of myself by getting lost in seeing similarities where it might be expected to see difference. This is a story of a walkabout.

Jenny and Luc embark on their unexpected walkabout as the result of the bizarre actions of their father. He takes the two children, drives them into the Outback under the false pretense of having a picnic, does some work, pulls out a gun, takes a few potshots at the children, sets the car on fire, and then offs himself with the gun. It’s not explicitly clear as to what led him to this conclusion, but his discontent with life was dire enough that he apparently needed to escape it.

I don’t know why he wanted to take the children with him though, or why he went where he did. When it comes to suicide, I guess logic and reason are not things that run in parallel with the strong emotions that lead one to it. Maybe he thought that since the world was such a horrible place he must save his children from suffering in it by taking their lives too.

As for going to the Outback to kill himself and his children, maybe that was his way of getting “back to nature” and saw it as remote enough from the city that killed his spirit that it was the perfect place to kill his body. Even if he didn’t have a specific destination, going as far as the gas in the car would take him was close enough. I’m sure I’m reading way too much into it and it’s quite irrelevant as to “why” they were there. What matters most is it was a pretext for the children to be in that situation. What was most bizarre to me, however, was that the switch seemed to flip as quickly as it did. It looked like he was trying to get some work done. I mean, reading a preface makes it appear as if he has lots to do yet, and there was no indication what was to come, but I suppose that was the point. Regardless, it’s a good thing for the kids that Dad is such a shitty shot.

What gets me in the scene is the way the father talks when he is calling for the children to return to him while he is plugging away at them. “Come on. And bring him with you.” He speaks with an almost derisive emphasis when he refers to the boy. Then he says, “We have got to now. I… have got to go now. Can’t waste time.” I know it’s kind of morbid, but I find some humor in the way he says that. Yeah, he’s thinking, we have to go now, go to meet our maker. Well, at least I have to go, and now is the time. That’s when he gives up on the kids. I guess he supposes he is low on bullets, so he’ll just torch the car to leave them to die of exposure, and will use the last bullet on himself. He really is a shitty and selfish dad. I suppose that’s why Jenny was never really all that remorseful afterwards–even without considering some of the sexual tension and innuendo some people sense between her and her father. I agree there is something valid to that notion, but with all there is to consider in this film, it is one that flies beneath my radar, at least on this viewing.

So, Dad’s conniption is over and Jenny takes charge, doing the best she can to protect Luc from the reality of what just happened and lead them to safety. As they make their way through the desert, there are many spectacular images of the creatures that inhabit that space. Though they share the terrain with lizards, reptiles, arachnids, and mammals, some of which surely are life threatening, the children always seem safe.

There is a scene where snakes glide through the tree branches above the sleeping children. They first appear to the sounds of some haunting and foreboding music, but the camera pulls out to show the children sleeping peacefully and the snakes’ indifference to them, the music stops, and the children don’t seem to be threatened in any way. In the morning a wombat (also such cool word!) sniffs the boy’s head and wanders away. I don’t know how parallels with the Garden of Eden can’t be drawn here. It does seem to be a type of genesis for the children, starting afresh in a new world. In the morning their sources of food and water have dried up and disappeared. It is like Adam and Even being cast from the Garden. I see the Old Testament analogy, but it is not absolute, for I don’t see any reason for their fall from grace, unless it is for the sins of their father…

Ah, hell! I must have been over-exposed to religious symbolism in art in literature during my formal education, because I’ve started and just can’t stop. My instinct now is to mention David (David!) appearing as their savior and leading them from the desert (first Genesis, now Exodus). After that there is the infamous scene of Jenny swimming in the natural pool, which will surely evoke the word “baptism.” Then, when I get to the scene with David hanging in the tree, surely some derivation of the word “crucify” will emerge. Really, I think it must just be me because I’ve seen little mention of Biblical allusions in this movie in any of the sources I’ve been exposed to so far. I’m sure there is some sort of religious analysis of the film out there, if I were to look for it, but there’s nothing in the content on the disc or in the essays or reviews I’ve read so far. Anyway…

David comes to their rescue, providing them with sources of water, bountiful food, and eventually leads them to civilization, of which he seems to have a keen sense of what is really civilized, in spite of appearances. At one point a woman mysteriously enters the picture and speaks with David. He ignores her and takes the children in another direction. Jenny and Luc never know that there was a homestead just over the ridge. It turns out to be a horrible place, led by a greedy white man working Aborigines in slave fashion to make racist and stereotypical artifacts that demean the very people who are producing them. Though the children may have found help there by getting a ride or making a phone call, it was a corrupt place and David knew to steer the children away from it. It was a dangerous place, and not only was David protecting them from the elements and dangers of the desert, he was also protecting them from the evils produced by their own culture.

At the end of the long version of the movie trailer there is a quote shown on the screen by Judith Ripp of Parents’ Magazine: “A rare magical experience as meaningful to adults as to their youngsters, we are recommending it without reservation, despite the short scenes of violence and nudity treated as they should be; as facts of life.”

Whoever Judith Ripp may be, she is absolutely correct. This film sadly was censored because of the nudity and the violence. The scene of greatest contention is one of Jenny swimming nude in a clear pool in a rocky niche. Agutter herself, in the commentary says, “it’s not about exploitation, but with expressing a certain kind of freedom.” She also says Roeg intended it to be the most innocent and beautiful sequence of the film. “It’s about their living, and if they don’t have that, then there’s no regret.” She mentions a painter, who I take to be Sir Sidney Nolan, and compares this scene to some of his paintings. The scene is an artistic expression. I read somewhere, and I can’t recall it exactly or locate it right now, but it was someone who said that the film simply wouldn’t work without this sequence. I agree. This scene is almost essential to the film. There is a sense of the evolving sexuality of Jenny and David, this scene exhibits and touches on it, but without eroticism.

Much of the violence referred to is also in this same sequence, cross-cutting scenes of David hunting and butchering beasts for their sustenance. It is violent, yes, but not in a disturbing way, for it is a necessity. The nudity and violence at this point in the film are not done to shock or excite. They are, as stated in the quote, merely facts of life.

Roeg does show suggestive images of tree limbs and crotches. These are probably the most erotic scenes in the movie, and the parallels to humans are made even clearer with an image of Jenny’s white-stockinged leg stretching over a similarly white tree limb. Yet, there is not much sexual tension in the movie even though there are two teenagers, developing into adults while in close proximity to each other. It is evident that David does grow fond of Jenny, certainly, thought it seems to be in more of a loving and protecting way, and not overtly sexual. He really doesn’t try to express his love for her, however, until he sees a heartbreaking scene where white hunters wantonly kill buffalo. It is after that incident when he shows his love for Jenny by “giving” her his dance. It’s as if he further sees the evils of her culture and wishes to protect her from it. The sexual suggestiveness and violence here, though more overtly demonstrated, are also facts of life.

David performs his dance for Jenny, but is rejected by her. The first time I watched the film I was left wondering if David had indeed died. After this viewing, I am certain of it, if only because it is made clear that he is dead in the audio commentary. The chapter is titled “Suicide,” and David is dead, but I don’t think it was suicide in the traditional sense. He was rejected by Jenny and willed himself to death as a result. Or, if he didn’t will himself to death, life just fled his body because there was no reason to live. What I’m saying is that he died, but not by his own hand, not by a gun or a knife or hanging or any thing like that. He simply died by ceasing to live.

Before David dies, he had taken Jenny and Luc to an abandoned homestead near a road. He shows Luc the road, but neither of them mention it right away to Jenny. I don’t know if they are consciously keeping the information from her, but they aren’t in any hurry to show it to her. I think maybe David is unsure he wants Jenny and Luc to leave him. Maybe he thinks that the homestead would be the best of both worlds, reminiscent of the world she comes from and close to the world he is from. Here, in this environment straddling both worlds, maybe they can live together. His dance for her is his only attempt to demonstrate his feelings to her. Either it will show his true feelings and win her to him, or it won’t and it will be his swan song.

Jenny rejects David, if mainly out of ignorance rather than indifference and, finally, Jenny and Luc do return to civilization. Throughout the entire saga, Jenny has held on to her cultural traditions, never giving them up, practicing her voice lessons, listening to cooking and educational programs on the radio, and keeping up the civilized appearances of her own and her brother by ensuring they were properly dressed. Yet, when they come to the road she pauses before stepping onto the pavement, as if she is stepping through a portal from one world to another and is unsure if that’s what she really wants to do.

Ultimately, her return to her society has her following in the exact same footsteps of her parents; living in the same house, listening to the same radio programs, cooking the same meals, and married to a man very much like her father. Yet, her experience in the desert made an indelible impression on her. When she is cutting the meat, she appears to think of the meals David cooked in the wild. When her husband talks to her, she envisions a scene where she, Luc, and David swim and play together in an idyllic setting as an idyllic family. Maybe that is the Eden she left behind by choosing to return to the society she was born into and she regrets it after having experienced both.

I do, still, wonder about the ending. Roger Ebert says, in the essay included with the DVD, that Aboriginal culture has a less linear sense of time, and questions if things in the movie happened in the sequence shown, or even happen at all. Maybe the whole event was something Jenny imagined or dreamed. Maybe there are two alternate time-lines and it’s up to me as the viewer to make the choice whether the true ending is of her in living in the seaside flat with her husband or her living in the Outback with David and her brother. If I can make the choice, I know which one it would be.

There is a point in the film where a voice comes through a clutter of sound, as if from a radio broadcast (as well as repeated on the DVD title screen), that says, “nothing can ever be created or destroyed.” That really may be the case. Neither love nor life nor society was created or destroyed in the journey, but just took on different forms.

The Trailers:

The long version runs about four minutes. I don’t know if I particularly like it because it does seem to present civilization and wilderness at odds with each other and implies that it is a love story, a melodramatic voice over saying, “The Aborigine and the girl. Thirty thousand years apart. Together,” ending with, “Just about the most different film you will ever see.” The last part of the trailer is dedicated to scrolling quotations that are flattering—and deservedly so—of the film, using phrases such as “inexpressibly beautiful,” “richest and most provocative,” and “the sights are rare and so is the film.”

The short version of the trailer is just the last thirty seconds of the long one, before the quotes appear, but it shows probably the loveliest and most poetic images in the movie; that of Jenny swimming in the natural pool superimposed over the beautiful image of David standing on one leg, silhouetted in front of the sunset.

The Audio Commentary:

Nicolas Roeg and Jenny Agutter provide the audio commentary to Walkabout. It was a little bit difficult to endure. It did provide quite a few insights to the movie that I really appreciated, but it left me wanting in many cases.

Roeg and Agutter didn’t do the commentary together. The track alternates between them. Agutter’s was the pleasanter of the two. She spoke clearly and well and offered enlightening facts about the movie, the book, the production, the acting, the conditions, etc. Her portions were nice. Roeg’s contribution, on the other hand, is what made the commentary a bit of a chore to get through. He did offer some enlightening points, but his delivery reminded me a bit of Ozzy Osbourne. His speech pattern was broken and slow and often hard to follow, and he seemed to be lost on some digression when there was something happening on the screen that I would rather he be addressing directly.

Overall, I suppose the commentary is worthwhile, but not something I would toil through again. Unfortunately, from what I can gather from the Criterion website, the audio commentary on the re-issue will be the same as this one.

Essay:

The booklet includes an essay by Roger Ebert. It is the one he wrote in 1997 for his “Great Movies” collection. It is wonderfully written, insightful, and well worth the read.

Ebert also reviewed the movie in 1971 and, though it’s not included with the DVD, I found it to be a worthwhile read. There is definitely a difference between the two, and the evolution of his thoughts on the movie are interesting to see.

For the re-issue, the Criterion website says there is a booklet featuring an essay by Paul Ryan. I don’t know if this will be in addition to Ebert’s or replacing it. Ryan’s essay isn’t up on the site yet, but I do look forward to reading it once it does appear, which I assume it will do some time in the near future.

That does it for the special features on this DVD issue of Criterion’s Walkabout. The new re-issue will include video interviews with Agutter and Roeg, and a documentary about David Gulpilil. I do hope I am able to see these additions some time shortly after they are released. As wonderful as the current issue is, the new one will be just that much better, I do believe.

A Digression on Edward Abbey and Coincidences:

Seeing those juxtaposed images of wilderness and civilization in the movie made me think of one of my favorite authors, Edward Abbey. I first discovered him during my college days, browsing through the bookstore one chilly but sunny afternoon. I was struck by the title of a book I had happened across, The Fool's Progress: An Honest Novel. I don’t often go by title alone, but this one was too intriguing. I read a few sentences and was captivated. I bought it immediately and consumed it in just two days. I was in love. Though I had first discovered him just weeks after his death, Abbey became one of the most influential authors during my college years and I snapped up any published work of his I could get my hands on and read it over and over.

The Fool’s Progress was one of his works of fiction, but Abbey is arguably more notable for his non-fiction work, the most defining of the man and the myth being Desert Solitaire. Abbey is a man of paradoxes and contradictions that somehow make sense. A lover and defender of the wilderness, he could justify tossing empty beer cans out of his truck window as he sped down the highway. There is much below the surface of saying something like, “Ah, wilderness.” “Where’s the TV?” While in the employ of the U.S. Forest Service he would pull up surveying stakes to undermine the paving of roads through the park, but would also have no qualms about rolling an old tire into the Grand Canyon.

Those images of Roeg’s portrayed on the screen of urban and wild settings playing off of each other made me think of a specific quote of Abbey’s regarding the co-existence of wilderness and civilization. I wasn’t exactly sure where to find it and figured I would start close at hand. That’s when I noticed some amusing coincidences.

Though I hadn’t opened it in a year or more, my paperback copy of Desert Solitaire was on my nightstand. I knew it was a long shot, but thought I would try my luck at discovering the quote with a quick browse. As chance would have it, the very page containing the quote was already marked, also coincidentally, with a postcard announcing an “Anti-Valentine Party” I had picked up a couple of years ago; today is Valentine’s Day.

Easy though it may be to note the contrast between city and wilderness, there are also compelling similarities that can be noted. The Abbey quote I was looking for is, “Mountains complement desert as desert complements cities, as wilderness complements and completes civilization.” I see in that as one is the extension of the other, that there can’t be one without the other, that there is a symbiotic coexistence between the two extremes, which really aren’t all that extremely different. With Roeg’s Walkabout I really don’t get the sense that there is a statement being made about the differences between the two, nor that one may be superior to the other, but that they are quite similar, complementary, and necessary.

A thought on why I write so much about the movies:

So far, in this quixotic quest, I have taken in some great movies. There are many wonderful movies in the Collection, so it is a certainty that I will gush as much in future entries as I have thus far. What I tend to do is have the movie play while I’m writing about it. Doing so reminds me of things I may have glossed over otherwise, and I write more and more. I don’t really think that is such a bad thing, especially if the movie is a great one and worthwhile to absorb as fully as possible.

Walkabout is a mesmerizing film. I’m glad to have been able to get so much pleasure out of it. While I was writing this, it must have played an additional four or five times. Though my focus was on the writing, I did get a little more out of it with each playing. I did, of course, jump around to scenes I was writing about so I could get my thoughts on that particular part of the movie more well-formed, but still let it go from beginning to end several times.

It is a movie truly worthy of viewing more than once. As I said in the beginning, I am very glad to have ever been exposed to it, and I certainly hope to enjoy it again many times.

Though the movie is based on a book, I don’t have any compulsion to read the book. This movie is such a marvelous visual wonder that I don’t know if the book can do it justice. So often it is the other way around, but this is an instance I believe a likely an exception to the rule. That is only speculation, of course, as I have not read the book. I am not averse to reading the book, but do not have an overwhelming desire to read it now. If I ever have the opportunity, however, I won’t dismiss it. For now, I will be satisfied with the images I have seen. I am pleased that this movie has re-introduced me to Edward Abbey and, if there is reading I will do as a result of watching the movie, it will be to refresh myself with Abbey’s Desert Solitaire.

As far as where I will go next in the Criterion Collection, that remains to be seen. There are so many great choices, but after being so thoroughly satiated with Walkabout, I’m not quite sure what I’m ready to jump to next, or if I’m even ready yet. This movie is one that does linger, in a satisfying and peaceful way.

#426: The Ice Storm

February 12, 2010

#426: The Ice Storm

1997, 113 minutes, Color, 1.85:1

Language: English

Directed by Ang Lee

[A note on spoilers: I’ve come damn close to including them, but think I managed to not cross the line. Then again, there may be some who would disagree, so proceed with caution.]

Before getting started, I must beg pardon for the length of this post. I would make a horrible director. Once I put the effort into something, I have terrible time cutting it down. If I were a director, I would be one who creates four-hour-long epics. I myself was surprised at how much this movie, coupled with the information from the supplemental features and some additional research, turned this entry into a free-flowing frenzy of thoughts, reflections, and observations, seemingly without end. Entering the blogosphere on this quixotic Criterion adventure has put me in a mode of really absorbing the movies and the additional content. This movie in particular, going back in time as it did, unleashed a torrent of thoughts and memories that I just couldn’t resist indulging myself in rambling on and on… and on and on… about. I did, however, have fun writing it.

Well, I suppose I can try and offset my wordy excessiveness by providing a choice. First, here is my best effort at the most succinct description I may be capable of (my apologies for the profanity, but it seems to lend itself well towards brevity):

Criterion Collection’s The Ice Storm takes us back to 1973 New England, in grand nostalgic fashion, and introduces us to two fucked up families struggling to figure their shit out in some crazy times. Precocious children look to clueless parents for guidance. There’s alcohol, drugs, crazy sex (swinger parties, Nixon masks, and front seat fumbling), and cool music. There’s also the titular ice storm, leaving death in its wake, and us wondering if anyone is capable of enlightenment. The cinematography, music, and costumes rock. This two-disc set is packed with a shit-ton of features that will keep you entertained for many hours more than the movie runtime, and are well worth a look-see.

If that isn’t enough, then there is the nearly-six-thousand-word ramble below to take a gander at:

After taking in “Roberto Rossellini’s War Trilogy,” I was at a loss for where to go with my next Criterion selection. Since we just had the biggest snowfall of the season I thought The Ice Storm was as good a call as any. Much as I loved the “War Trilogy,” I was in desperate need of a change in scenery. I think seventies-set suburban Connecticut is exactly nothing enough like neo-realistic Italy and bombed-out Berlin to do the trick.

For some interactive fun, let’s kick things off with a trivia question: What two actors in The Ice Storm appeared in another Criterion release, and what is its title?

I received The Ice Storm as a birthday present nearly two years ago. I recall liking it very much when I first saw it, but I had forgotten so much of it since that it was almost like watching it for the first time. Even though there was quite a bit I had forgotten, there is also plenty I picked up in the second run that wasn’t so clear the first time around, such as the context of the opening scene within the timeline of events. I think this film is one that needs to be watched more than once in order to fully appreciate it.

After watching it again, the first thought that comes to mind is, what a fun little flick! Well, as much fun as a movie full of adultery, isolation, desperation, alcohol abuse, teen drunkenness and drug use and sex play, political corruption, fatal forces of nature, and death can be, anyway.

Set in 1973 New England, “The Brady Bunch” this movie ain’t. I couldn’t imagine Mike and Carol going to a key party, Bobby and Cindy playing “I’ll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours,” Marsha pharming it up with Peter, Jan going klepto, Greg hitting the water bong like a superhero while spinning Traffic’s “Light Up or Leave Me Alone” on the hi-fi, or Alice and Sam the butcher playing the advanced version of “Hide the Salami” in presidential masks. Well, wait… I suppose I can picture all of that. Who knows what those freaks were up to when the camera wasn’t rolling! Especially that Greg when he pimped out Mike’s den in psychedelic chic. Well, whatever the Bradys may have been doing behind the scenes in sunny California, the Hoods and Carvers were certainly doing front and center in frosty Connecticut.

In The Ice Storm, what we have is two quintessential New England nuclear families, the Hoods and Carvers, living next door to each other in near-incestuous relativity. Beneath the veneer of friendship, parents carry on adulterous affairs, children experiment with sex, drugs and alcohol, resentment bubbles, animosity simmers, and strong emotions swirl around like the clouds of a gathering storm. It seems they are all in some sort of existential crisis that is about to explode.

Even though it is a bit of a weighty movie, I love it for the nostalgic value. I mean, the seventies, those were the days! In 1973 Edith and Archie were reminiscing about Glen Miller, Herbert Hoover, and their LaSalle, which ain’t got nothin’ on Frank Zappa, Tricky Dicky, and a Buick Riviera.

With this movie about the seventies, I wax more nostalgic than I do watching movies of the seventies. I may have been too young at the time to recall 1973, but I remember the years immediately following well enough to at least associate with the period.

The Ice Storm is more “seventies” than the seventies really were: riding around in big-ass cars without seatbelts, toe socks, lime-green kitchen cabinets, kids pouring dinner drinks, Watergate, Deep Throat, Iron Eyes Cody in the iconic “Keep America Beautiful” PSA, penny-operated mechanical horses outside the toy store, knitted sweaters, ponchos, big collars and groovy clothes, and an obscure “Match Game” reference. Oh so many things to conjure up fond memories of a quainter time (if only seemingly so in comparison to now, but doesn’t the past always seem so?)! What hit closest to home for me was the Penn Central logo. My dad worked for the railroad when I was a little kid and seeing that intertwined “P” and “C” on the train cars really took me back.

The amazing thing is how well this movie captured the essence of the era considering Ang Lee was still in Taiwan in 1973 and didn’t make it to Hollywood until a mere two years before making the movie. Maybe it took an outsider to do it so remarkably well.

Let’s meet the families: The Woods are Ben (Kevin Kline), Elena (Joan Allen), Paul (Tobey Maguire), and Wendy (Christina Ricci). The Carvers are Jim (Jamey Sheridan), Janey (Sigourney Weaver), Mikey (Elijah Wood), and Sandy (Adam Hann-Byrd). There’s a New Age-type minister named Philp Edwards (Michael Cumpsty) who seems to have the hots for Elena. We also have Paul’s roommate Francis (David Krumholtz) and Paul’s lust interest Libbets (Katie Holmes in her big screen debut). Don’t bother asking what kind of name Libbets is. It gets asked more than once and, sadly, the answer is never given.

The cast is stellar, without a doubt. I’ve always loved Kevin Kline ever since the first time I took notice of him in A Fish Called Wanda and laughed myself to tears (Kline’s Otto providing me the biggest yuks). Same with Tobey Maguire ever since he registered on my radar in The Cider House Rules (minus the laughing myself to tears part, of course). Both those guys, I just love their screen presence. The entire cast all play their roles wonderfully well and really do bring their characters to life. Even though I tend to think of them by the names of the actors rather than the characters, all these big names don’t overshadow the film.

For me, there is something to identify with both generations portrayed in the film. As for the children, I see things more from the time period, when I was a child, although still too young to yet be dealing with the awkwardness of adolescence. As for the adults, I see things from the present, trying to reconcile myself with the world and my place in it, albeit without children.

The children instinctively look to the adults for guidance, watching and emulating them, but the adults are just as clueless, if not more so, than the children. The children look to the adults as role models, but unfortunately the adults are fumbling around in the dark themselves. I don’t know which is worse. At least the children have a lead to follow, even if it is by example of what not to do; they can at least learn from their parents’ mistakes. The parents don’t even have that.

The children tend to be the more mature generation at times, such as when Paul and Wendy discuss the mental state of their parents, a conversation more appropriate for parents to have about their children. I think the reason the parents have no role models of their own is because of the changing times. Society and culture had changed so drastically that their parents’ mores and guiding principles are so outdated as to be irrelevant; they have to find their own ways in a political and cultural landscape that sets the seventies apart from previous generations, explaining why self-help and new-age books were so popular. They try to emulate a lifestyle they imagine they should have. It shows in their haute fashion and stylish homes. Attending a key party seems to be some feeble attempt at being “California hip” instead of provincial suburbanites.

I find fascinating the relationships and interactions between the characters, within and between families. They are complex and emotional and revealing. They all seem to be groping for love and affection. Ben looks for it in Janey’s bed. Wendy experiments with both Mikey and Sandy. Paul longs for Libbets. Elena and Jim look for it from their children. Yet they all seem to come up short.

There are many parallels between the generations. That “the apple don’t fall far from the tree” is certainly holds true here. Wendy and Elena dabble in shoplifting. Ben and Paul rummage through medicine cabinets. Jim and Mikey space out on abstract concepts. Janey and Sandy go to bed with the neighbors. The children will have a difficult time breaking the mould.

The cinematography is outstanding. It is a beautiful picture that really fills the screen with great images. I did have an issue with the color that I don’t recall from the first time I watched it on the same television. There was some red over-saturation bleeding through in the skin tones. Sometimes it looked as if the people had hives on their faces. I played with the color settings, but to get rid of the red would be to go so far to the green the people looked seasick, or to turn the color down so much that it almost looked Black and White. I got it as best I could, but it was still a little distracting. I’ve only watched one other color movie on this television in recent weeks and didn’t notice anything quirky like that (it was The Double Life of Veronique and, in fact, the color and image was wonderful), so I hope it’s just something with the DVD transfer and not the television. I suppose I will see the next time I drop in a color film.

The music in the movie is fantastic, especially the original music. It is as integral a part of making the movie work as is the acting, directing, and cinematography.

There is also some great dialogue. My favorite is when Elena tells the progressive minister how she is surprised to see him at a “key party.” He tells her that sometimes the shepherd needs the company of the sheep. Her response, “I’m going to try hard not to understand the implications of that,” is classic.

With such a title as The Ice Storm, it is safe to assume that there is one. Ang Lee says he considers the storm as one of the characters, and does an amazing job recreating it. It reminds me of the ice storms I’ve seen in my life. They really are amazing things, succumbing the environment to their force. The weight of the ice snaps large limbs from mighty oak trees like twigs, bends pine trees over double, and sags power lines until they nearly brush the ground. Yet, in spite of their devastating nature, they produce vistas of majestic beauty. I remember some unbelievably beautiful landscapes where the sun shone brightly on fields of trees and bushes in crystal shells that glistened with blinding flashes and sparkles. It’s wondrous how something that can wreak so much havoc can possess such dazzling beauty. Nothing can beat the real thing, but the filmmakers in this case came about as close as possible. The magic of how such a feat was accomplished is revealed in the special features. They were able to recreate such a cold-weather phenomenon on days that were nearly eighty degrees. If only we could see the actors’ breath in such scenes, would the illusion be absolute.

The ice storm is the main event, but it is foreshadowed with a few icy cameos of sight and sound, such as when the ice is released from the old-style metal trays with a lift-handle to break the cubes free. The camera lingers on the cracked ice, but more so in order to hear the sounds than to see the ice. I was also taken by a close-up shot of ice being scooped from a crystal bucket, cubes clattering to the tabletop, and tinkling sounds of it being dropped into the glass. Crystal clear vodka is poured over the cubes and seems to melt everything together. It is certainly a visually and aurally appealing scene, and it made me just more than a little thirsty for a good vodka on the rocks. I don’t have any vodka right now, so I suppose I will have to settle for a Scotch.

The characters are out of synch with their environment and each other. Mikey slips off into a daze when he is going after a football. He can’t do well in math or English, but can grasp the abstract concept how geometry exists perfectly in the mind. When Jim comes home from a long business trip, Mikey and Sandy were completely unaware that he had been gone. Jim himself seems to be lost on this fact and mentally wanders off on the virtues of silicon. Maybe the reason for their disconnect is subconscious, as if they cocoon themselves in a comfortable “ignorance is bliss” shell to avoid the pain of the reality. When Jim and Elena can no longer deny the infidelity of their spouses they both look pathetically wounded; their cocoon has been ruptured.

The ice storm seems to highlight the disconnect the characters have with reality. They are oblivious to the dangers of such a natural phenomenon. Mikey has an overpowering urge immerse himself in the wonder and beauty of the frozen environment when all the molecules are inert, but courts danger by performing a perilous dance on an ice-covered diving board above and empty swimming pool. The hazardous conditions don’t prevent any of the guests from attending the key party. Even when the storm is at its worst, Jim says to Elena, “Let’s go for a drive,” and she, equally heedless to the recklessness of the idea, quickly agrees.

Of the characters, my favorite is Christina Ricci’s Wendy. She is only fourteen, but she seems to be the most mature person in the bunch. She is the most self-confident. Even though she is experimenting with sex, it’s as if she already knows what to expect. She rides her bike through the street with a self-composed assurance that is almost enviable, especially by her mother when she sees Wendy pass by. In the commentary, Ang Lee mentioned just how much he loved Ricci’s face. Her expressions speak volumes more than words. She gets the most close ups in the movie, and deservingly so. Only one example of the power of her expression is when she realizes a woman has witnessed her pilfer some candy from the pharmacy. Wendy gives the woman a look that says, I know you won’t dare to say a thing to anyone. It’s better than Obi-Wan Kenobi using the Force on the stormtroopers in Star Wars. Another thing I like about Wendy is her social and political concern. In this regard she surpasses her parents in maturity and awareness of the world they live in. I especially liked it when she started to say grace at Thanksgiving dinner. Her sexual experimentation seems to be more to see “what the fuss is all about” rather than to try and satisfy confusing yearnings, evening questioning one of the neighbor boys about nocturnal emissions. She takes a clinical approach to the subject of sex. I also like a girl with a bit of freak in her. A Nixon mask? You go, girl! I could gush about this character even more, but I think I’ve already gone on far too long.

Sigourney Weaver’s Janey is another favorite. There is something in her coldness that gives off the feeling that she is more aware of the inanity of their existence rather than just being a frigid bitch. She only suffers her situation because she is trapped in it by the circumstances of family. She exudes a “fuck it” aloofness just to endure it.

I also was intrigued by Joan Allen’s Elena. Here is a woman who is trapped in the same miserable circumstances as everyone else, but she still has hope. She seeks liberation by going back to her youth, riding a bicycle, trying something daring like stealing, and exploring spiritual avenues through books and discussions with a progressive minister. Though she finds disappointment along the way, she still seems to always maintain hope.

Tobey Maguire was the perfect Paul. He could be self-assured in the company of people he was comfortable with, such as his roommate or his sister, but charming in his awkwardness around Libbets and his nervousness in uncomfortable situations, such as when his dad tries to give him the “birds and the bees” talk, though much too late in Paul’s life. I enjoyed that scene because it reminded me of the when I was on the receiving end of one. My dad tried, also after it was too late, with similarly disappointing results. He walked into my room one day, tossed me a book titled The Life Cycle Encyclopedia, or something like that, and said, “Here. Read it. Don’t just look at the pictures,” and walked out. I glanced through it and quickly saw that there was nothing I hadn’t already learned in school, and by other means. I threw the book under my bed, where it stayed for many years, and resented the old man for giving me a shitty textbook with pencil drawings instead of sharing the far superior stash of his magazines I had already found.

One of the funniest scenes for me was when Libbets passed out with her head in Paul’s lap. It wasn’t the scene itself that was so funny, but rather what it reminded me of, the scene in Animal House when Larry Kroger’s date passes out on him and the angel and devil of his conscience battle his moral dilemma. It is comedy at its finest and if you want to re-live it yourself, you can check out (most of) the Animal House script. (Do a wordfind for “fuck her” or “gazongas,” and it will take you right to the scene.) Somehow it seems funnier to read it than to watch it.

Tobey Maguire does have a pleasant voice and was perfect for the voiceovers in this movie. I like his philosophical analogies between The Fantastic Four comic he’s reading and family life.

Then, of course, there is Kevin Kline. He always shines – even in other movies that don’t. He does a great job of being the dad who tries to do the right thing but always comes up short, even in his best efforts. Kline does have a unique ability to bring levity to a situation in very a subtle way, such the way he asked Paul to pretend he “didn’t say any of that” after his “birds and the bees” discussion played out in a way completely the opposite of what he imagined.

The Criterion Collection DVD release is chock full of special features – enough to warrant a second disc. They are worthwhile, enjoyable, and do a lot to enhance the appreciation of the film.

Audio Commentary:

Director Ang Lee and producer/screenwriter James Schamus discuss the film. I read the journal entry I made when I first watched this movie two years ago. I had dismissed the commentary as “two guys reminiscing and shooting the shit,” and apparently didn’t even watch the whole thing. Well, I suppose it is just two guys shooting the shit, but I wasn’t able to appreciate it before. I certainly did this time around. Really, any commentary that starts out with the director saying, “fuck you” to the producer in response to a sarcastic question has got to be good.

When I first watched the movie, one of the things that really got under my skin was the way Paul and Wendy referred to each other as Charles. I was fixated on it and wanted to know why. I expected answers in the special features, and was pissed off when I didn’t get it from the audio commentary. The language the two children share with each other is discussed, but never the Charles thing, and that’s why I stopped watching it. I was still curious about the Charles thing, but not so much that I was distracted by it, watched the entire commentary, and enjoyed it. The comments did provide additional insight to entire movie making process, from adapting and writing the script, to the direction and editing, the weather conditions, how the effects were done, working with the actors, etc. I smiled when they pointed out what they believed may be “the best bong hit in film history” and “the worst sex scene in film history.” To them, making a good sex scene was one thing, but to make a truly bad sex scene was “pure cinema.” Like I said, it is a fun feature.

I guess the original novel, by Rick Moody, was none too flattering to the town of New Canaan. The filmmakers insisted on using the actual town as the setting, and because of some of the bitterness about the book, the local politicians weren’t very accommodating. I find it interesting when the leaders of movie locations, whether a town or a university, takes some morally superior stance for political purposes and either refuse to allow the film to be made there or make things difficult. I guess that is their prerogative, but it just makes ‘em look like schmucks in the end.

Lee and Schamus touched on why The Ice Storm, even though it was critically acclaimed and is very popular on home video, did so poorly in the box office, which was something I had wondered about. It is such a loved and revered movie now that it is surprising it didn’t pull down a single Oscar nomination, but I suppose 1997 was just a hell of a year for movies.

I like Ang Lee’s sincere enthusiasm. It is almost infectious as he talks about his movie. He just loved the actors he had working for him and would gush about their abilities; about how their whole bodies could act – their fingers, their backs, even their hair.

There are many things in the movie that registered with me on a subconscious level but was made more explicitly clear from the commentary: Ben directs venomous derision at Mikey early in the movie and has to come to terms with it in the end. Janey curls up in the fetal position at one point, something easy to notice, but it was the whole “uterine world” that did not register so much at first, what with the waterbed and darkness too. I’ve always liked Tobey Maguire’s voice and they decided to have him do a voiceover during a particularly heavy point in the film because “Tobey’s voice will make anything endurable.” Much of the last part of the movie has almost no dialogue, and they noted how very few people seem to realize that is the case, based on how few reviewers ever commented on it. They mentioned how there is nothing like a father’s crying, and this movie has two such scenes. Jim’s anguished tears are even more profound, recalling Janey sleeping and Shamus says, “imagine waking up to the rest of her life to the sound her husband crying.” It sends a shiver down the spine. Ben also breaks down, overwhelmed with by his emotions, while in the midst of his family. Lee and Schamus recall the father crying at the end of The Bicycle Thief, which I had to watch the end of again just to see. Yes, it is a powerful thing to see a father give in to his emotions and have a good cry.

The commentary is worthwhile to take in, and I’m surprised at myself for not thinking so the first time I saw it. I suppose it was just because, of all the things the movie presented, I was so distracted by Paul and Wendy always calling each other Charles. By the way, I was able to find the answer to that enigmatic question. I did an extensive search two years ago and came up snake eyes, but this time I was able to find the answer, through Google Books, in the original novel (on page 19). It’s Charles Nelson Reilly from the show “Match Game.” That answer satisfies me and I don’t really care why it was that they chose Reilly for their mutually shared pseudonym. It’s just something funny kids do and knowing the reference, at least, is good enough for me.

Theatrical Trailer:

The trailer is great, hitting all the highlights, and making me nostalgic for a nostalgic movie – a double whammy! It does have a lighthearted tone with the voiceover and music selection that would compel me to watch the movie again and, I think, if I had never seen the movie before, pique my interest enough to want to watch it for the first time. If you have any doubts about checking out this movie, just check out the trailer for yourself first; it’ll convince ya!

Disc Two:

Weathering the Storm is a thirty-six minute documentary made for this Criterion release and containing interviews with much of the cast. I liked hearing the feelings the movies aroused in each of them. Elijah Wood nailed it, calling it “a heavy movie that lingers with you.” Sigourney Weaver noted the lonely lives the characters experience in their homes, searching for connections but not brave enough to make them. Kevin Kline referred to it as bleak and harrowing but infused with dark humor.

Throughout the discussions and interviews there were stills and movie excerpts to demonstrate the topic. I found it interesting how a powerful moment in the movie could be even more powerful when analyzed separately from the whole. A great example is the scene where Kevin Kline’s character carries Christina Ricci’s character home. Kline and Ricci tell how the scene evolved and its impact on them individually.

There is a twenty-one minute interview with Rick Moody, author of the original novel, on adapting The Ice Storm to the big screen. I found this segment to be most intriguing. I can only imagine what it would be like to have a novel, something you created, adapted to someone else’s vision. Moody answered that question in a frank and open-minded way. He points out that a translation, whether from one language to another or from page to screen, is as much about the translator as it is the original author. He sees it as “somebody else’s refracted version of those characters and those conflicts.” A book becomes secondary to the film it was made from. He managed to keep himself distant and objective during the adaptation, overcoming doubts when it began to be referred to as “Ang Lee’s The Ice Storm.” He recognized that something that appears to be a difference between the novel and the movie may actually just be the director picking up on something that was subliminal in the novel. Moody says, “What is the movie for the novelist other than a big, hulking billboard? That’s the truth. It’s helps your book have a life. And in this, it helps my book by being quite a beautiful and sensitively made movie at the same time. Who am I to get proprietary about the stuff?”

The first time I watched this movie I considered picking up the novel to read some time. I feel even more compelled to now. I don’t think it was the interview with Moody so much that makes me consider that, as it was reading some excerpts of the book when I was searching for the “Charles” reference. I read the opening pages and liked Moody’s style. He makes wonderful use of sentence fragments, which is something I enjoy reading if it is done well. If the movie hits on the nostalgia of 1973, the book explodes with it. I really like how it highlights the year by starting out with the thing’s that didn’t exist then, before immersing itself in the year by listing popular, cultural, and political events unique to the period. He even mentions the most popular film of the year. Yeah, the first few pages grabbed me and I think it won’t be long before I seek the book out and eat it up.

“Lee and Schamus at MOMI” is a thirty-two minute discussion at a New York’s Museum of the Moving Image event honoring Ang Lee and James Schamus, hosted by David Schwartz. It is a very entertaining and funny discussion, especially Schamus’s description of the first pitch meeting he heard Ang Lee present. Lee also tells of when it was during his reading of the novel that the book became a movie for him.

I enjoyed the discussion a lot and it made me more interested in Lee’s work. I’ve only seen Brokeback Mountain, which I thought was great, and parts of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon that impressed me. This segment covered many of the films Lee and Schamus made together and now I would like to see more of them – even The Hulk! I’ve wanted to see Lust, Caution ever since it came out, but still haven’t, and hopefully will some time soon.

“The Look of The Ice Storm” is a feature that breaks down the appearances of the movie in three different segments:

“Cinematrography by Frederick Elmes” is a thirteen-minute look at the technical aspects of the film, with the lighting aspect being the most interesting to me.

“Production Designs by Mark Friedberg” is a fourteen-minute segment that focuses mostly on the ice as a character in the film. The filmmakers looked into the “issue” of the ice as much as its appearance. It is here where they really show how the ice storm was created and it is very interesting indeed. The locations are also seen as characters in the film and they discuss the issues of filming in New Canaan, Connecticut as well as how the homes were an extension of the families that lived in them.

“Costume Designs by Carol Oditz” is an eight-minute look at how the costumes came to life. I enjoyed this segment most of all. It was here where I noticed some of the details of the movie that escaped me, like Mikey’s fly being down when he loses track of the football or the tape holding Paul’s shoe together. The designer mentioned Kevin Kline’s issues with the costumes. It seems to me that the first time I watched this movie I saw part of an interview with Kevin Kline where he was apologetic for his antics that made life difficult for the costume crew. I either saw it somewhere else, maybe online, or I just managed to overlook it this time around. Boogie Nights came out the same year as The Ice Storm and was also an effectively done trip back into the seventies. Oditz mentioned an interview that was done on NPR by Terry Gross with the costume designers of both movies. I think that would have been interesting to listen to, but was unable to locate it online.

There are also seven minutes of “Deleted Scenes.” Typically, when I look at deleted scenes on most movie DVDs, I come to the conclusion that they were deleted for a good reason. That was pretty much the case here too.

Kevin Kline uses graphic sexual analogies for the economy. It was hilarious, but didn’t go well with the movie, as it was too funny. There is also a scene in a diner with Elena and the minister, a scene with Ben and Elena in bed, and an extension of the scene with Libbets’s head in Paul’s lap. The optional audio commentary track for the deleted scenes adds most of the value to this feature because it explains what the intention of the scenes was and why they were ultimately cut.

The last supplemental feature is the essay “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” by film critic Bill Krohn. It’s a nice piece and I got different things out of it by reading it before and again after watching the movie.

Well, that about does it for Criterion’s package of The Ice Storm. I was much more verbose than I expected to be. I think it was just because I was more consumed by the movie and the special features than I have been in the past because of my blog efforts. I will try to be less prolix in the future, but I can’t make any promises. Anyway, I hope someone enjoyed my efforts here. If not, at least I did! Catch ya on the next one.