days go by I don't know why
So my friend and I watched the Departed the other night, and stayed up far too late in order to do so. I thought it was an awesome movie . . . until the end, and then I thought it was a horrible movie. It's a remake of a trilogy, the first of which being Infernal Affairs-- I'd like to see those movies now to see if they're any more satisfactory.
So the movie was most certainly suspenseful and exciting. They tried to paste on a deeper significance regarding class distinctions in Boston, but that didn't really work very well in what was ultimately a big game of cat-and-mouse where the animal roles are entirely interchangeable. The story was about the game, and about how the lines of right and wrong blurr when faced with a terrible reality; it wasn't about class struggle or religious divide or anything like that.
The female character had potential, but ended up being weak and confusing. So much so that I can't even remember her name. She was supposed to be smart, but ended up being thoroughly shown up by the two men in her life. Eventually her role became that of comfort/caregiver/prize to the men as they struggled with issues she couldn't possibly understand-- and she couldn't understand them because she was not included in them and never really told of them. So she just came across as weak and annoying for the most part, and as always I found myself insulted by the way women are generally delegated to exactly such positions in stories written about/by men. Just some Holy Grail, a vision of purity and comfort, left to gather dust on a shelf while the guys get their hands bloody.
Jack Nicholson's character, Costello: playing crazy people seems to be Jack Nicholson's bread and butter, and I rather enjoyed it here. But there was nothing human to identify with, no motivation other than the fact that Costello gets a kick out of doing what he does. He was a sociopath through and through, and it's nearly impossible for someone who isn't a sociopath to comprehend the mind of a sociopath. We can in certain circumstances identify with such a character, but this certainly wasn't one of them. The other characters, not sociopaths, don't get him . . . and ultimately, neither does he. He simply is as he is.
Leo's character, Costigan: was, in a word, brilliant. Costigan was the most complex and interesting of all of the characters, from his backstory to his development to his actions. He was frighteningly intelligent and yet cut off from the world entirely, and trying desperately to deal with that. His sanity was coming apart at the seams, and he knew that and was trying to hold it all together somehow, by whatever means he could. Really, the truth is that from the beginning of the movie he's dead and he knows it, and spends the rest of the movie running frantically away from that truth: something we can all identify with. No matter how much you like him, how much you're with him, you know somewhere in your heart that he's already dead, and there's no way he'll come out of this without someone putting a bullet through his head to show his body that it's so. All of his struggles and efforts are ultimately hopeless, and that just makes you feel for him all the more, and want him to succeed despite it all. And then, of course, he doesn't.
Matt Damon as Sullivan: A good performance, but I never managed to understand why he was doing what he did. This could, of course, be because I missed the early dialogue in the movie that sets the scene, because the volume was very low and there were two people talking. I couldn't understand why Sullivan was so loyal to Costello when he had so little reason to be. Was it because he liked the big apartment? Maybe, but we never really get to understand that. Then Costello threatens to take away his girl, but since Sullivan didn't have her at the beginning that doesn't explain why he dug himself in in the first place. Maybe he really liked Costello? But no, he empties an entire clip into him with not so much as a sign of remorse. If he's merely Costello's spiritual successor, his "son," then like his father the reasons for his actions don't ring true. Perhaps like Costello he's simply a sociopath cleverly masquerading as a whole man, but in that case it's impossible to identify with him, either. He seemed like a child who had gotten caught up in an adult world and could only comprehend and react to it as a child would: selfishly and without thought to the far-reaching concequences.
Of course, despite character gripes, most of the movie was very good: thrilling, edge-of-your-seat, near-constant action. There was always something going on, and you had to pay close attention in order to figure it out. I only started wondering when the movie was going to end when an unexpected event threw the possible ending I had constructed for myself out the window. Knowing that I was watching a movie, I then wondered how they could possibly resolve everything they'd built without running for another two hours . . .
And then, of course, I found out. The ending sucked. It was the quintessential "rocks fall, everybody dies" ending, which resolved nothing and resulted in nothing and gave nothing. It was like the ending of Hamlet, which piles up a ridiculous body count in all of ten minutes: except unlike in Hamlet, no one comes away having learned anything, no one is really left to tell the story. Only one man walks away from it all, and he is so consumed by rage that you don't feel he'll ever comprehend the entirety of what went on.
The ending also didn't make sense. There was no reason for the other mole to help Sullivan; that they were friends at the academy doesn't cut it. We're only given one short scene to establish that connection, and how does playing a few games of rugby together create a loyalty that you'd give your life for? Especially when the other person obviously doesn't feel the same way. The mole was unknown to everyone, so why would he blow his cover to Sullivan when he could come out clean?
And the CGed ending scene? All it did was painfully pound in the last nail on the coffin, and it was obviously symbolic and utterly unnessessary.
Really, I should have expected the final bloodbath from the title, though. There was no other way for them to end it without compromising what had been built . . . and yet somehow I feel that they did compromise it by offering no resolution. There was no possibility for hope in what they left, but also no feeling of despair: no pathos. It wasn't really tragic because no one understood and no one cared. It just ended up being senseless, and that cheapened everything that had come before.
Pondering Mr. Evil (um, Costello) made me think about Emrys, which isn't really a far leap. My stable of villains is not particularly well-stocked, after all. But unlike Mr. Evil, Emrys is not a sociopath, though sometimes his actions make him seem like one. Ultimately his purpose is that of creation, and although for a time he is senselessly evil it is that nature he follows. Emrys was born as a creator god, and his nature is that of an artist. Even when cursed and thus alarmingly evil, even when not cursed and only tormented and lacking in scruples, still he always tries to build, to produce, to contribute to the advancement of knowledge. For example, he tortured people, many, many people . . . and from that he became both a doctor and surgeon, studying medicine and writing many books on the body and how it worked. Causing pain was a drive surplanted over his original self, not something that was native to him.
Pam realized this a long time ago, though not in so many words, when she wrote her origin story when Emrys spoke of wanting to build a city, a significant work of art that would last through the ages. Dragon Lords are sterile, so Emrys can't propogate the natural way, but he still has children: through his orphanages and later by adopting Tor. Again, it's all creation. He even treats his own self as a work of art, sculpting his own appearance and manner towards an ideal that only he can see.
I am officially homeless and will have neither address nor internationally recognized number for a week. Just so you know.
So the movie was most certainly suspenseful and exciting. They tried to paste on a deeper significance regarding class distinctions in Boston, but that didn't really work very well in what was ultimately a big game of cat-and-mouse where the animal roles are entirely interchangeable. The story was about the game, and about how the lines of right and wrong blurr when faced with a terrible reality; it wasn't about class struggle or religious divide or anything like that.
The female character had potential, but ended up being weak and confusing. So much so that I can't even remember her name. She was supposed to be smart, but ended up being thoroughly shown up by the two men in her life. Eventually her role became that of comfort/caregiver/prize to the men as they struggled with issues she couldn't possibly understand-- and she couldn't understand them because she was not included in them and never really told of them. So she just came across as weak and annoying for the most part, and as always I found myself insulted by the way women are generally delegated to exactly such positions in stories written about/by men. Just some Holy Grail, a vision of purity and comfort, left to gather dust on a shelf while the guys get their hands bloody.
Jack Nicholson's character, Costello: playing crazy people seems to be Jack Nicholson's bread and butter, and I rather enjoyed it here. But there was nothing human to identify with, no motivation other than the fact that Costello gets a kick out of doing what he does. He was a sociopath through and through, and it's nearly impossible for someone who isn't a sociopath to comprehend the mind of a sociopath. We can in certain circumstances identify with such a character, but this certainly wasn't one of them. The other characters, not sociopaths, don't get him . . . and ultimately, neither does he. He simply is as he is.
Leo's character, Costigan: was, in a word, brilliant. Costigan was the most complex and interesting of all of the characters, from his backstory to his development to his actions. He was frighteningly intelligent and yet cut off from the world entirely, and trying desperately to deal with that. His sanity was coming apart at the seams, and he knew that and was trying to hold it all together somehow, by whatever means he could. Really, the truth is that from the beginning of the movie he's dead and he knows it, and spends the rest of the movie running frantically away from that truth: something we can all identify with. No matter how much you like him, how much you're with him, you know somewhere in your heart that he's already dead, and there's no way he'll come out of this without someone putting a bullet through his head to show his body that it's so. All of his struggles and efforts are ultimately hopeless, and that just makes you feel for him all the more, and want him to succeed despite it all. And then, of course, he doesn't.
Matt Damon as Sullivan: A good performance, but I never managed to understand why he was doing what he did. This could, of course, be because I missed the early dialogue in the movie that sets the scene, because the volume was very low and there were two people talking. I couldn't understand why Sullivan was so loyal to Costello when he had so little reason to be. Was it because he liked the big apartment? Maybe, but we never really get to understand that. Then Costello threatens to take away his girl, but since Sullivan didn't have her at the beginning that doesn't explain why he dug himself in in the first place. Maybe he really liked Costello? But no, he empties an entire clip into him with not so much as a sign of remorse. If he's merely Costello's spiritual successor, his "son," then like his father the reasons for his actions don't ring true. Perhaps like Costello he's simply a sociopath cleverly masquerading as a whole man, but in that case it's impossible to identify with him, either. He seemed like a child who had gotten caught up in an adult world and could only comprehend and react to it as a child would: selfishly and without thought to the far-reaching concequences.
Of course, despite character gripes, most of the movie was very good: thrilling, edge-of-your-seat, near-constant action. There was always something going on, and you had to pay close attention in order to figure it out. I only started wondering when the movie was going to end when an unexpected event threw the possible ending I had constructed for myself out the window. Knowing that I was watching a movie, I then wondered how they could possibly resolve everything they'd built without running for another two hours . . .
And then, of course, I found out. The ending sucked. It was the quintessential "rocks fall, everybody dies" ending, which resolved nothing and resulted in nothing and gave nothing. It was like the ending of Hamlet, which piles up a ridiculous body count in all of ten minutes: except unlike in Hamlet, no one comes away having learned anything, no one is really left to tell the story. Only one man walks away from it all, and he is so consumed by rage that you don't feel he'll ever comprehend the entirety of what went on.
The ending also didn't make sense. There was no reason for the other mole to help Sullivan; that they were friends at the academy doesn't cut it. We're only given one short scene to establish that connection, and how does playing a few games of rugby together create a loyalty that you'd give your life for? Especially when the other person obviously doesn't feel the same way. The mole was unknown to everyone, so why would he blow his cover to Sullivan when he could come out clean?
And the CGed ending scene? All it did was painfully pound in the last nail on the coffin, and it was obviously symbolic and utterly unnessessary.
Really, I should have expected the final bloodbath from the title, though. There was no other way for them to end it without compromising what had been built . . . and yet somehow I feel that they did compromise it by offering no resolution. There was no possibility for hope in what they left, but also no feeling of despair: no pathos. It wasn't really tragic because no one understood and no one cared. It just ended up being senseless, and that cheapened everything that had come before.
Pondering Mr. Evil (um, Costello) made me think about Emrys, which isn't really a far leap. My stable of villains is not particularly well-stocked, after all. But unlike Mr. Evil, Emrys is not a sociopath, though sometimes his actions make him seem like one. Ultimately his purpose is that of creation, and although for a time he is senselessly evil it is that nature he follows. Emrys was born as a creator god, and his nature is that of an artist. Even when cursed and thus alarmingly evil, even when not cursed and only tormented and lacking in scruples, still he always tries to build, to produce, to contribute to the advancement of knowledge. For example, he tortured people, many, many people . . . and from that he became both a doctor and surgeon, studying medicine and writing many books on the body and how it worked. Causing pain was a drive surplanted over his original self, not something that was native to him.
Pam realized this a long time ago, though not in so many words, when she wrote her origin story when Emrys spoke of wanting to build a city, a significant work of art that would last through the ages. Dragon Lords are sterile, so Emrys can't propogate the natural way, but he still has children: through his orphanages and later by adopting Tor. Again, it's all creation. He even treats his own self as a work of art, sculpting his own appearance and manner towards an ideal that only he can see.
I am officially homeless and will have neither address nor internationally recognized number for a week. Just so you know.