Under the Silver Lake

Director David Robert Mitchell

 

UNDER THE SILVER LAKE                      B-                   

USA  (139 mi)  2019 ‘Scope d:  David Robert Mitchell        Official site

You ever feel like you fucked up somewhere a long time ago and you’re living the wrong life?  Like the bad version of the life you’re supposed to have.

―Sam (Andrew Garfield)

A film for our times, yet so far under the radar that you’re likely to miss it, with such an overly pretentious view of itself that it literally screams LA, with a do-nothing guy known as Sam, as in Sam Spade, played by slacker/detective Andrew Garfield living on the periphery acting as our travel guide through the labyrinth and marijuana haze of Southern California youth culture, a somewhat laid-back alter-ego of the director, where in this Peter Pan world you never grow up, but remain in a state of arrested adolescence for your entire life.  While not exactly a comedy, this film is utterly preposterous, holding little appeal to those with half a brain, yet for those cultists and wacky conspiracy theorists out there, this may as well be your Bible, as it deeply emanates from your altered brainwaves.  For those who have never been to Los Angeles, this may as well be foreign territory, but for those who appreciate what a weird and twisted place it can be, filled with wannabe’s from around the country trying to break into the movie business, who are penniless and working brain dead jobs while waiting for call backs that never come, with one foot out the door from impending eviction, it’s a collection of weirdly goofy people who will believe just about anything, as this film suggests.  As misguided as Richard Kelly’s apocalyptic sci-fi film SOUTHLAND TALES (2006) turned out to be, which was such an unmitigated disaster that it pretty much derailed his film career forever, this one will give it a run for its money, though it’s not nearly the catastrophic mess that one was.  Actually it takes itself quite seriously, wrapped around clues and puzzles and treasure maps that all supposedly hold the secrets to the universe, with this film finding novel ways to unravel those precious secrets, decoding messages hidden in pop songs, old movies, comic books or magazines, with nothing quite as bonkers as scrutinizing old tapes of Wheel of Fortune, searching for hidden patterns in the random movement of Vanna White’s eyes, suggesting there must be a deep hidden meaning there.  This is a film that takes literally the signs and symbols contained inside The Hobo Handbook, as if it is an authority on indecipherable signs that appear in unexpected places all over the landscape.  Perhaps the weirdest aspect of the film is that there will be viewers who trace down every possible clue, trying to make sense of the obscure, elevating meaninglessness into clarity. 

Set in the distant past of not so long ago, the film quietly premiered in competition at Cannes in 2018, an odd pick to be sure, but his first two films THE MYTH OF THE AMERICAN SLEEPOVER (2010) and It Follows (2014) both premiered in the Critics Week section of Cannes, so the director has a history with the festival.  Almost immediately the film had problems with distribution, where an early summer release date was pushed back to Christmas, then to Spring before being released in Video On Demand simultaneous to its theatrical release more than a year following the premiere, all suggesting they were clueless how to market the film, as it doesn’t fit neatly into a commercial venture, feeling more like a quirky yet overlong indie film, where there’s not exactly a payoff at the end for sticking with it.  This is a film that is literally saturated with pop culture references, too many to count, where the director must believe these are insanely clever cinematic references, yet this knowledge does not enhance one’s appreciation for the film, which is largely a quixotic journey through the underbelly of Hollywood culture, where narcissism and extravagant wealth rule a town littered with fakery and a manipulative advertisement mentality of surface artificiality and cheap imitations, where self-indulgence is a trap door that leads nowhere, and finding something genuine anymore is a real struggle, where what you’re left with are posers and great pretenders.  From the outset it’s clear Sam doesn’t really have a life, spending his time spying on his neighbors with binoculars, an update on Hitchcock’s REAR WINDOW (1954) with a trip down memory lane in Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973), especially when it comes to trippy girls who love to parade around topless on their balconies. Spying an attractive woman in the pool, Sarah (Riley Keough), he’s quickly interrupted from his peeping reverie by a knock at the door, which turns out to be his girlfriend (Riki Lindhome), as they conveniently have quickie sex while his thoughts obviously lie elsewhere, paying a visit to Sarah the pool girl afterwards, who invites him in, apparently to have sex, smoking a little pot before they are interrupted by roommates, one of whom dresses as a pirate (a recurring character that always seems to be around when someone ends up dead or goes missing), with Sarah inviting him back the next day, however she’s completely disappeared, moving out and removing all her things overnight, where all that’s left is a photograph, which he keeps, wondering what became of her.  Asking around the neighborhood joints, simply wandering in and out of party scenes, it gives us a clear picture of a thriving subterranean culture, where he assumes the role of a detective searching for a missing person. 

The cinematography by Mike Gioulakis is notable, while the symphonic musical score by Disasterpeace feels oddly out of place, overly calm and tranquil, like it’s in the wrong movie, not capturing the subversive edge where this film exists.  What we quickly discover is that Sam is a layabout who lies to his mother over the phone pretending he still has a job, though he’s within days of an eviction, where he has a particular fascination for underground comic books, especially the vividly drawn artwork of one entitled Under the Silver Lake which he believes holds essential clues, meeting the deranged author (Patrick Fischler) who seems overly paranoid, even more obsessed with conspiracy theories, including a map drawn on the back of a cereal box, and a fictional comic character known as Owl Woman who nakedly visits men in the night before seducing and murdering them, like a mythical siren, positive this is what lies in store for him.  Of course, he’s murdered the next day by a nocturnal visitor that in fact resembles the Owl Woman on the security footage Sam examines.  This is the logic of cinema, as fictional characters can become real while actual human beings are more and more fictional, using cinematic references as clues, basically inventing an absurdly surreal narrative style to advance the story, yet what’s missing throughout is anyone that is remotely authentic or real, so it feels more like an imaginary landscape inhabited by ghosts.  Using out of the way locations that aren’t often seen in movies, Mitchell does capture a murky world, though he fills his movie with contemptible creatures that don’t really exist but are figments of his imagination, creating a corrosive atmosphere of lingering dread, as there’s a serial dog killer on the loose, reminiscent of Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam (1999), where an underlying layer of brutality exists throughout, with Sam losing it from time to time, growing explosively violent himself, exaggerated as movie violence, which is basically a caricature of the real thing.  And that’s what this entire movie becomes, a caricature of all the movies ever made about Los Angeles, which is a state of mind in and of itself, tapping into old movie references to add interest and allure, where literally anything can happen, as one is not bound by reality, so this one tests the imagination, but never builds to anything that’s all that interesting or emotionally challenging, keeping viewers at a distance, remaining weird and oddly mysterious, somewhat entertaining, but it exists in a fog world that doesn’t exist even while its intentions are to sarcastically poke fun at the realities that do exist.  It’s an odd mix, one that few directors even attempt to master.  Most recently Aaron Katz took a stab with Gemini (2017), inverting the masculine-fueled film noir world of Los Angeles with a core cast featuring women.  For all the circuitous asides, easily the best part of Mitchell’s film is the song playing over the end credits, R.E.M.’s Strange Currencies, R.E.M. - Strange Currencies - YouTube (3:52). 

Logan Lucky

LOGAN LUCKY                  B+                  

USA  (118 mi)  2017 ‘Scope  d:  Steven Soderbergh                       Official site

I guess retiring from making movies at the age of 50 did not suit Soderbergh, as he’s back, rounding up an A-list of popular Hollywood celebrities to work in his film, something that actually works “against” the film, as these are the familiar faces of the industry, where watching them all working together closely resembles watching television, where we’re used to seeing familiar casts.  Soderbergh himself used familiar casts in his Oceans Eleven series (2001, 2004, 2007, with another one planned for release next year), which felt more like a small circle of friends and close associates that turned filmmaking into a party atmosphere among themselves, where let’s face it, there’s so much money handed out in this industry, what better way to spend it?  The problem is, it’s an absurd form of Hollywood nepotism, little more than a patronage system that rewards only your friends, preventing others from breaking into the industry, where a small circle of almost exclusively white actors continue to reel in the major pay dates, where it’s their faces that are continually plastered across the screens in American movie theaters.  In this film, the appearance of neo-Nazi’s is now viewed as acceptable, in this case comprising a jailhouse contingency, making no social comment whatsoever about this in the film, but elevating what was once deemed irredeemingly unacceptable back into the mainstream.  This is unfortunate, and feels like a step backwards, especially considering the deteriorating state of racial relations in America.  Certainly one reason to enjoy watching international films is to get a mixed flavor of faces and cultures, which better reflects the world around us.  But with Soderbergh, four years after a self-imposed sabbatical, it appears we’re targeting the Trump audience and attempting to profit from it.  It fits into the whole idea that in Hollywood in particular, films are a business, not an art form.   Most critics even evaluate their work from this perspective.  If it makes a lot of money, then it must be good, as if that’s the criteria for success.  Hollywood is the champion of capitalism.  But if truth be told, that’s why nearly everything coming out of Hollywood is pure crap these days, as it’s based upon a business model, not creativity or art.  In their eyes, commercial success is art, but it’s the art of making money.         

That said, this film is hilarious from the get go, surprisingly so, calling attention to a script from “Rebecca Blunt” that is more likely a pseudonym for the director himself, a kind of flashy, Robin Hood style of heist picture that’s a bit like David Mackenzie’s Hell or High Water (2016), as these films elevate the smarts of local good ol’ boys who are typically one-dimensional, used only for laughs in SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT style regional Southern comedies, the second highest-grossing film (after STAR WARS) of 1977, where jokes and fast cars go down easy as light entertainment, accentuating individualism, often spoofing the authority of the law, as in deeply rural areas of the country they have little respect for the law anyway, so films that flaunt it become very popular.  Set in Boone County, West Virginia, this film makes excellent use of John Denver’s song “Country Roads,” John Denver - Country Roads (1995) - YouTube (3:06), where it comes across like West Virginia’s national anthem, a patriotic rallying cry for Southern regionalism.  Rich with Southern drawls and exaggerated inflections, the song actually opens the film, with Channing Tatum as Jimmy Logan working under the hood of his truck describing why he likes the song to his young daughter Sadie, (Farrah Mackenzie, providing the exact tools her Daddy needs much like a nurse handing surgical equipment to a doctor), as it was written by a couple of guys who had never set foot in West Virginia, yet produced a song that literally became the unofficial anthem of the state, becoming the theme song of West Virginia University, performed at every home football game since 1972, where the state legislature passed a resolution adopting it as the official state song, making it the stuff of legends, wholeheartedly embracing the power of American mythology, where people have a choice, but choose to believe what they want to believe instead of reality.  The film sarcastically takes off on that theme, giving the audience what it wants, a plethora of familiar stars, but dressing them up in unfamiliar territory, with Channing Tatum and Adam Driver as country hick brothers Jimmy and Clyde, as if they’re part of the Barrow gang in Bonnie and Clyde (1967), whose identity is defined by robbing banks during the heart of the Depression, where Clyde has an extensively thought-out theory about how the Logan family is simply unlucky, described as the Logan’s Curse, with the credits adding to the fun, “introducing Daniel Craig as Joe Bang,” breaking him out of the mystique of his familiar James Bond roles, turning him into an explosives expert who happens to be a convict behind bars, so the brothers hatch a plan to break him out of prison to help pull off a heist, targeting the Charlotte Motor Speedway during the NASCAR Coca-Cola 600 race, then getting him back into prison again without anyone the wiser.  While the complexity of the operation is greater than anything they or we could possibly imagine, or so we think, what stands out is a moment of bewildering confusion when the Logan brothers are perplexed that Joe Bang does not use dynamite, but a chemical concoction that any child could devise, actually writing out the molecular formula on the wall for their better understanding “during” the operation, like a professor educating his students with a brief lecture, before they get back to carrying out the details of their master plan.  This brief little aside perfectly illustrates what works best in this movie, as it’s all about humorously establishing character.

To that end, perhaps the most brilliantly written character is reserved for a Logan sister, and that would be Riley Keough from American Honey (2016) as Mellie Logan, a scene stealer amidst a cast of scene stealers, yet she distinguishes herself for her cool under pressure and the sheer audacity of her wit, as she knows cars and trucks better than any of the boys, yet works as a hairdresser, known for its steady work, unlike the hit or miss jobs of brother Jimmy Logan, who seems more of a drifter, working whatever job happens to be available at the time.  What gives him the idea for the heist, however, is he was temporarily employed doing construction work underneath the Charlotte Motor Speedway where he became familiar with the pneumatic tubes used to transfer the money, thinking it could be intercepted before reaching its destination.  Blowing the generator, making credit card transactions inoperable, vendors would continually feed the system with a constant flow of cash, blind to what’s happening underneath, where they stand an excellent chance of hauling away a massive payroll.  While this is nothing less than a criminal operation, Jimmy isn’t seen in that light, as he’s a doting father to his adorable daughter, wants to spend every waking hour with her, and has to battle with his ex-wife (none other than Katie Holmes as Bobbie Jo) for visits, who has made matters worse by moving out of state to neighboring Virginia, upsetting the status quo of his existence, where his daughter is the center of his world.  In a nod to LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (2006), a hugely successful indie film that featured an infamous performance scene at a kiddie beauty pageant, Sadie has her own pageant coming up coinciding with the planned heist, so of course it offers an opportunity for the perfect alibi.  Wanting to provide for his daughter, however, becomes the driving force behind the heist, altering our perceptions of what constitutes a criminal offense, as the audience is clearly aligned with the success of his plan.  While there are inevitable obstacles in their path, moving to Plan B and C, etc, this group has a surprising ability to adjust on the fly, heading off potential disasters, where the meticulous planning seems ingeniously carried out without a hitch, yet there are a series of surprises that occur along the way, not the least of which is the amount of time left in the film “after” the heist, which suggests there’s plenty more to come.  Once discovered, the Speedway calls in the FBI to investigate, which includes the straight-laced agent Sarah Grayson (Hilary Swank), whose gravity and somber mood is at odds with the rest of the picture, seemingly out of sorts with the otherwise blistering pace of the film, slowing things down considerably.  While everyone else is lighthearted and funny, she’s not, becoming something of a weight dragging this picture down, as she simply doesn’t fit with the exaggerated caricatures.  One could think of at least a dozen other people who might have been better suited for the role, where a sharp-as-a-tack, Wanda Sykes-style black female comic matching wits with these mountain boys might have been interesting, taking a turn out of IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT (1967), where leisurely affability is countered by more sophisticated and scientific police methods.  With a few narrative hiccups that go awry, mostly this remains a heavily calculated, audience friendly experience throughout, something of a hoot, a tribute to white rural America and their home-grown brand of patriotism, with flags, men in uniform, muscle cars, and LeAnn Rimes belting out the national anthem, defying the stereotype with these country bumpkins outsmarting the city slickers, yet the irony is the film was created and designed by ultra-rich and extremely successful Hollywood types who rarely, if ever, set foot in rural America, bypassing West Virginia altogether, instead shooting the film in Georgia and North Carolina.  Unlike the myth of the film, which may as well be a feel-good fairy tale, this film uses the reality of the Trump model, where the joke is on the white working class Americans who voted him into office, as the real heist is that instead of a penny actually going to working class Americans, all the money made by the film (which is considerable) is collected from them in ticket sales and funneled to the bigshot Hollywood moguls who are already millionaires or billionaires, transferring wealth from the poorest to the richest Americans.