"Would you believe in a love at first sight?"
"Yes, I'm certain that it happens all the time."
"What do you see when you turn out the light?"
"I can't tell you but I know it's mine."
-- Billy Shears, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
Sometimes I can pinpoint the very moment I first fall in love with a movie. It may happen in the first shot (Bong Joon-ho's "Mother"; Michael Haneke's "Caché"), or may be clinched in at the very end (the terminal instant of Rahmin Bahrani's "Man Push Cart"), but in many cases there is an identifiable point at which I know that I am in love, even while the movie is unspooling, and by that time it's not likely there's any going back, unless the movie simply implodes.
Here are a few of those times from 2011 when I realized I was falling hard...
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
There's not so much snow as in director Tomas Alfredson's previous feature, "Let the Right One In," but it gets plenty chilly here, in Cold War London, Budapest and Istanbul. The emotional iciness sneaks up on you: by the end, as the strands of loyalty and betrayal unravel, leaving characters exposed to some very cold realities, I found it uncommonly moving. (Yes, I cried -- more than once.) Not unrelatedly, "Tinker Tailor" (no commas in this title) is one of the most hauntingly and imaginatively composed movies (both in terms of framings and shot sequences) that I've seen since... maybe the last Coen brothers picture. Early on, it catches you a little off-guard when, in the midst of a hushed, paranoid conversation in a musty apartment, there's a cut to a monochromatic, neo-Gothic Eastern European skyline (punctuating John Hurt's use of the word "Budapest" -- a word that will become code for loss, failure, disgrace).
Suddenly, a pair of MiG fighters roars out of the distance and passes overhead as the camera glides backwards, with uncanny smoothness, in a perfect, vertiginous motion. This cooly executed dolly shot brings schoolchildren into the foreground, excitedly gawking and pointing and yelling, while framing the original view with pillars and archways -- but the Hungarian Parliament building at the center of the cityscape, on the far side of the gray Danube, somehow remains exactly the same size and in precisely the same position in the frame. The vista and the camera movement are most likely separate composited images, but however it was done, it's dazzling and it made me sit up and pay attention. (The screenplay, which varies significantly in structure from the finished film, begins with this shot.)
I was certainly intrigued by this point, but I didn't fall head-over-heels until a bit later. It's approximately 18 minutes into the film before George Smiley (Gary Oldman) says his first lines: "I'm retired, Oliver. You fired me." Shortly thereafter, he and his junior associate Peter Guillam (Benedict Cumberbatch) visit a retired Special Branch man, Mendel (Roger Lloyd-Pack), who is a beekeeping hobbyist. The visit itself is just one brief shot, with Mendel mumbling over his bees in back of his house, while George and Peter approach him from behind. The next shot is this rear view of a Citroën DS (we do a lot of "following" the backs of people's heads in this movie -- they're no more difficult to read than faces), which is interesting enough, given the aerodynamic contours of the vehicle. Yet, there are all kinds of other things going on here, too.
The colors, for one, are extraordinary: grey, white, beige and amber/yellow. The camera seems to be locked onto the car, but not quite. (A process shot of some kind, I guess.) A stowaway bee is buzzing around the interior. Peter, in the front passenger seat, tries to swat it away. George, in his patient, unassuming way, observes it, opens his window a bit at the opportune moment, the bee flies out, and he rolls up the window again. A shing-shot (16-second?) character scene, with no faces and containing one line of expository dialog (Mendel: "There's a place I know, sir. Little hotel near Liverpool Street.") What more do you want to know about George's personality and methods? Some have described "Tinker Tailor" as elliptical, but it's more than that: It's breathtakingly economical.
Moneyball
The first conversation in the Oakland A's owner's office -- basically the second scene in the film -- after they've lost the division series to the New York Yankees. In the flat, grey, morning-after daylight, the air seems to have been let out of the room. In deflated, gently stoic voices, Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) and Steve Schott talk about what a great year it was, how much they and the team have to be proud of, how close they came (Billy gestures, as if grabbing at the brass ring, only to come up empty). It's a marvel of a scene, in which the characters say the things you would expect them to say under the circumstances, and in which you sense their personal ambitions and frustrations bubbling up (as David Lynch likes to express it) from below the cordial surface.
The function of the scene is purely expositional, spelling out the story's premise -- Oakland doesn't have the payroll budget to compete with the big teams -- but it doesn't feel like it was written for us in the audience. It feels like you're there, in the room, a fly on the wall. Perhaps it's a vestige of the approach Steven Soderbergh had planned, in which much of the film would be improvised, and shot documentary-style, with some of the principals playing themselves in direct interviews and "re-enactments." Whatever it is, it works like a charm. But it doesn't feel like a "documentary," either; there's no phony, hand-held shakiness to remind you that there's a camera crew in the room.
Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives
It begins with a bovid (water buffalo?) tied to a tree on a deep blue-green night. Because of the title, and my familiarity with previous Apichatpong Weerasethakul film-worlds, I assume that this is a former incarnation of Uncle Boonmee, who we haven't otherwise met yet. We spend a few seconds getting to know him, his snorts and grunts. He pulls on the rope and gets loose, trotting -- then galloping -- toward the forest. From across the field we see him gliding fleetly through the tall grass, like a silent speedboat. I am in love. And I will follow him anywhere.
Meek's Cutoff
The mule- and horse-drawn wagons are rolling unsteadily across the hot, dry land of the Oregon Territory. The women, in their pastel frocks (pink, yellow, green), walk alongside them. Between their bonnets and the men's wide-brimmed hats, it's hard to see the travelers' shadowed faces in the harsh sunlight. From a distance (through unfocused blades of dry grass) we see two women crossing a small river, one holding a basket on her shoulder and another raising an inhabited birdcage above her head. The effect is reminiscent of the opening of Werner Herzog's "Aguirre, the Wrath of God" -- these tiny, fragile reminders of Western civilization, painstakingly transported, piece by piece, over a wild, rugged, inhospitable landscape.
Near sunset, cloud formations lay across the horizon like hills, and (during a slow, almost imperceptible dissolve), men on horses appear to walk across them, ghost riders in the sky.
"Meek's Cutoff" is like looking at the very DNA of the pioneer Western ("Wagon Master," "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon") -- just as last year's "Sweetgrass" was the essence of the cattle drive Western ("Red River," "The Far Country"). It's a good thing I was watching this on a nice big HDTV at home, because I couldn't help but exclaim at the screen: "Holy shit! That's fantastic!" The adrenaline and dopamine kept flowing for the rest of the picture, and (spoiler alert) by the end, I was yelling and pointing at the location of the Columbia River. (Being somewhat familiar with the border between Oregon and Washington, I swear it's there, just out of sight, between the brown and grayish rises in the final shot.)
"Meek's Cutoff," "Uncle Boonmee" and "Tinker Tailor" are the kinds of movies that big screens and Blu-ray were made for.
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I've recently seen The Umbrellas of Cherbourg for the first time. The opening, with mechanics singing at work, kind of rubbed me the wrong way. I had seen Evita when it was released and was bothered by the constant singing all the way through and I knew this film was song from beginning to end. So I was bracing myself for an "ordeal" watching this. After a good 20 minutes I was ok with the melody and felt "Alright... I've made it this far so I guess I'll watch it all the way through." And then, after the wonderful title song when Guy steps onto the train and it leaves, I knew I was in for something much deeper than the "cuteness" of the beginning.
By the end, when Geneviève happens to come by Guy's garage and their mutual understanding that "it's over!" I knew I had seen this masterpiece THE FIRST TIME. Subsequent viewings will never equal that first one. But he train station scene is when I fell in love.
I edited and co-wrote a tribute to "Umbrellas of Cherbourg" when it first became available on DVD at Cinemania Online in 1996. I don't remember the exact moment, but yes I fell in love, too.
Have you ever fallen in love with a movie quickly, only to fall out of love with it later on? That happened to me earlier this year with Beginners. All the business between Ewan McGregor and Christopher Plummer was wonderful and moving and interesting and for 20 minutes or so I thought "Wow, this is going to be my favorite movie of the year" and then Melanie Laurent came into the picture which sounds on paper like a good idea, but their meet-cute is so calculated and irritating and the rest of their relationship seems so phony and by-design that the movie just sagged and finally fell apart. The dad stuff remained excellent, but it was watered down by this crappy fake Hollywood romance that kept Beginners from being the film I thought for a moment it was going to be.
Argh, I can't read this article as I haven't seen any of the listed films...
I've been sadly behind this year.
MI4 (IMAX), Sherlock Holmes, Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, A Dangerous Method...this is where I'm at so far...and that's been in the last week. Lots of catching up to do...
I could pinpoint the moment I fell in love with a number of movies this year, but none of them come close to what I felt the first time I saw Asghar Farhadi's A Separation (incidentally my favorite film of the year). It's a little over halfway through the film, when Hodjat, who's so far been portrayed as a short-tempered, borderline violent man, goes to Nader's daughter's school and makes a scene in front of everyone, demanding that the daughter's teacher swear on the Quran that she thinks Nader didn't know about his wife's pregnancy. He's very aggressive about it, and people keep telling the teacher that she doesn't have to do it and trying to get him to leave. But the teacher agrees, takes the Quran, and swears. You've been led to expect Hodjat to say something here, maybe that she's still lying to protect her pupil's father, but no. He just looks at her, gets up, and leaves silently.
That was the moment I realized just how complex this film is, and fell in love with it irremediably.
Did you startle the girls? I can see you (eyebrows rising above the frames) and hear the tenor of your voice... just wanted to say that I'm smiling from here to there.
Happy New Year to us all.
I know exactly what you mean, and my senses are usually very good when it comes to this: if I can "tell" that I'm going to love the movie in the first few minutes, chances are I'm really going to. A random example, for me, is "Billy Elliot." From that very first frame of Billy jumping in slow motion over the credits to T. Rex's "Cosmic Dancer," I was enamored, and I knew this would be a personal favorite.
It's very interesting you mention "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy" (WITH commas) as an example of this, because that film was one of the rare cases where my instincts actually let me down. I do like the film - very much in fact, but after that fantastic opening I was sure I was going to be seeing a masterpiece. It fell short for me ultimately, though.
However I'm completely in agreement on "Moneyball." Have not seen the other two.
In a strange way, 'Tree of Life' had that effect on me. I was astounded by the special effects and the whole montage of the history of the universe itself. Yet, what solidified my love for the film was when I found out Douglass Trumbull was the man behind the special effects. I am a huge fan of '2001', 'Close Encounters', and 'Blade Runner' so it was very heartfelt to see Trumbull back in films and as strong as ever.
I only had this experience once this year, with the 'Tree of Life.' However, I actually fell in love with that film twice in one sitting. The first time was the first few seconds of the Creation Sequence as Lacrimosa started to play. I was filled with such an incredible amount of emotion, that I almost started to cry. The second time was when Jessica Chastain's character chases the children around the house after Mr. O'Brien has gone away on a trip. It brought me back to all the wonderful memories of my childhood with my mother.
Three times for falling in love this year
1.Tree Of Life(Film of the year)-Scene where middle kid plays guitar and makes father proud
2.Midnight In Paris-Scene where the Private investigator gets stuck in another time period
3. Super 8-The acting rehearsal before the train blows up
SB - yesss, the PI in Versailles! A great moment in film!
Keith Olbermann agrees with you Jim:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntWcM5UcMbo
I don't remember the exact wording of the line, but in Carnage, Christoph Waltz says something along the lines of "well, at least we got a good cobbler out of this," and Jodie Foster comes back with "I just wish my son didn't have to lose his teeth for it." Or something to that effect. Anyway, I quite literally howled with laughter, and now that I knew exactly what the movie was up to, was totally in its grasp.
Clyde Tolson's silhouetted introduction in J. Edgar had an immediate effect. I was mostly grooving with the film up to that point, and had thought it to be a mostly by-the-numbers biopic, but that scene slapped me in the face and declared that this was going to be anything but ordinary.
Like you, I have fallen in love with Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy Jim.
And as you always say, the opening shot always tells how to watch a film. The Budapest parliament dolly, by boxing the building and making the place an event, establishes with the film's primary method - to look at the past, and from a distance.
My favorite moment though comes later in the film, a super edit. Smiley asks his right-hand man Peter to tidy up his stuff (in reference to his homosexual relationship), and as his boyfriend leaves the apartment, a heartbroken Peter, shot from outside a window, sits in the middle of the frame, sobs inconsolably. And at that very moment the film cuts to Smiley, who is in the very same position of the frame as Peter, smiling. He remembers his own heartbreak from the past and he nods it away with a smile. The thing is to look at the past straight.
I fell in love at the beginning of "Drive" when they played that music. And it was probably the movie that gave me the strongest reaction because of its minimalist style.
I think I agree with "Moneyball" but I kind of felt like it made me a little dumber in the way it sort of follows (albeit in a different way) the regular sports movie and with the whole big game thing (that part was when it really did it with the crowd-cheering)....but I do love a good talkie...and as a talkie it was great...if I didn't really listen to it...about baseball.
The ending of "Melancholia" gave me the shivers; I was literally shaking in my chair for about 30 seconds and couldn't get up.
I fell in love in "The Artist" during the scene where Clifton is standing outside the house, which showed me (sort of a theme in the movie) that there are still other people in this world who put the more important things in life above all else, which I wasn't sure anyone else had values like that anymore besides me (or I should say it felt that way); so it was kind of a relief to see that.
I wished more live-action movies were like the more serious parts in "Rango", the animated feature.
I liked the music during the sandstorm scene in Mission Impossible; it made it feel pretty cinematic...which is rare these days.
I thought "Tree of Life" was pretty great not in the big things it did (which was most of the movie..which I felt it didn't earn), but for the little things it didn't do, like the the smoke bubbling up from the volcano or the little lights shows that nature would give. Well, actually, at the beginning, I thought the kind of hand-held style of shooting was working really well, but it sort of lost it/stopped doing it so much. I don't know, it seemed when there was a lot of movement on the screen it was working really well...or was captured well..maybe worked well with the dark tone/color of the movie.
Also, "My Week with Marilyn" for making other people's first loves seem insignificant compared the guy in the movie (based on a true story) who had to lose Marilyn Monroe as his first love (the line in the movie is "first love is such sweet despair").
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy *Spoilers*
Does anybody know why the mole defected? What his motivation was? I'm pretty confident I understood the rest of the plot, but this felt pretty glanced-over. (I should say I haven't read the book or seen the mini-series.)
About that scene in the car, I find it interesting because the message/subtext is more substantial than what actually happens in it. What I mean is: it doesn't take a tactical genius to figure out that if you have a bee in the car the smartest thing to do is open the window. Yet visually it's clear, concise...although you could say it's contrived to have Guillam and the other agent react so thoughtlessly, in order to contrast them with Smiley.
I had a great time all the way though Midnight in Paris but there's a moment early on when Gil is walking with three friends - all four of their full bodies visible in a tracking shot - and being chastised by them for his nostalgia, where he wanders, casually, his back to the screen, off-camera, that I thought perfectly put across the character's loneliness. (Also, Corey Stoll's dialogue scenes were wonderful.)
In both films, it's not so much what the characters you mention do, it's how they do it.
Call me crazy: The very first words Oldman (Smiley) utters are: "I'm retired, Oliver. You fired me." I swear they looped in the voice of Alec Quinness. That is not Oldman's voice unless he is intentionally imitating Quinness.
I remember the moment in Juno when Jennifer Garner feels the baby kick at the mall... chills.
What a wonderful piece, Jim. I know I don't speak only for myself in requesting more of these.
Jim,
This article on Tinker Tailor might be of interest, especially the first photo (not the header), which you can click on to view a larger version:
http://magazine.creativecow.net/article/tinker-tailor-soldier-spy
Also, if you look at the second row in that photo, just right of center, it looks like the bee in the car scene was indeed a process shot.
For those who haven't seen the film, there may be some spoilers there, particularly in that first photo, which shows the whole film, more or less. The opening seems to match the screenplay, as Jim described it.
Thanks for that link, nice article.
This year it was Tree of Life for me. Two moments, actually: 1) The montage of the young boy growing up. 2) Jessica Chastain dancing/levitating in the yard. I haven't seen anything so powerful since the "life flashing before the eyes" sequence of Enter The Void.
About that Moneyball scene... The guy playing Steve Schott is Robert Kotick, Activision Blizzard CEO and the most despised figure in the video gaming industry. He was invited to appear in this film to make it more authentic, even changing the script to reflect what a real executive would say and how he would say it.
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