The Year 2003: Elephant (Gus Van Sant)

Gus Van Sant's minimalist and stunningly effective film, centered around a Columbine-style high-school shooting, took the Palme D'Or in 2003 at Cannes and returned the director to his indie roots. Evoking the horror of that all too true event, Elephant is filmed in a faux-documentary style and in doing so dares to ask important questions about our culture. Taking on this significant and striking film, Counting Down The Zeroes welcomes Chazz Lyons, editor of the superb Cinema Gone Poaching, featuring a dedicated and brilliant band of film lovers who write passionately on the subject of film, who witnesses a 'beautiful and haunting' but subtle study of school shootings and 'a mature, graceful and sensitive portrait of adolescence.'

Gus Van Sant constructs his films around a single event and takes him time creating a palpable build up to the incident using wonderfully patient, unhurried cinematography, with little to no plot at all. In each of the films in his astounding ‘death quartet’ (that’s “Gerry,” “Elephant,” “Last Days” and his most recent “Paranoid Park”), Van Sant has stuck to this technique faithfully, building the films around a solitary moment/scene of violence or death, throughout each fashioning plausible situations often replayed from different characters’ point of views, showing us how these events effect the characters’ lives. These four films are perhaps some of the strongest of the new millennium; emotionally staggering works maybe best viewed together, all the way through. Though none of the films stand out as the best, all are equally as fascinating, including the one I’m here to talk about today, 2003’s “Elephant”.


“Elephant” controversially won the Palm d’Or (top honors) at the Cannes Film Festival in 2003, causing a stir due to the film’s bold decision to essentially (and indirectly) re-imagine the infamous Columbine shootings. Set in a fictional high school in Portland, Oregon, Van Sant’s hometown, putting a more personal spin on the picture, the movie is shown through vignettes titled according to the character they focus on, all of which take place in the hours leading up to the massacre, and often the same situation, told through the eyes of the character under the spotlight, one of Van Sant’s signature methods. The characters include: the killers, Alex (Alex Frost) and Eric (Eric Deulen), Alex’s friend John (John Robinson), John’s alcoholic father (Timothy Bottoms), aspiring photographer Elias (Elias McConnell), teenage couple Nathan and Carrie (Nathan Tyson and Carrie Finklea) and the socially uncomfortable Michelle (Kristen Hicks), all mostly non-actors, another Gus regularity.

Beautiful and haunting, “Elephant” doesn’t try and address the hugely political Columbine issue directly, instead, it makes subtle observations about the killers (such as their interest, but not worship, of the power of Hitler’s unrelenting fascist reign), fortunately not grouping Alex and Eric into a tidy label like the troubled, introspective kids. No, Van Sant goes for something entirely more sophisticated, and doesn’t play sides to Alex and Eric, who, sympathies considered, are still in the wrong. He knows this, and without letting the pair completely off the hook, the filmmaker goes undecided on the issue right up until “Elephant’s” thoughtful, atmospheric final shots, which are, like the ones that open the film, of a bluish, moody sky, clouds interrupting the unperturbed heavens, a poetic, memorable image that can be interpreted a handful of different ways.


Although mining familiar themes in “Elephant”—some that he had just addressed a few months earlier with “Gerry”—Van Sant still finds new material to examine, questioning the killers’ every decision, and pondering themes of sudden violence and how popular culture reacts to such acts. Of course, it’s not all just Gus (although I would like to claim it is), and Van Sant regular and iconic lenser Harris Savides shoots “Elephant” in a gloriously patient, leisurely style, capturing the daily rituals of adolescent life, in a way similar to the work of Taiwanese master filmmaker Hou Hsiao Hsien (“Café Lumière,” “Flight of the Red Balloon”). Savides’ photography is poignant and meaningful, and combined with the film’s distinctive ‘score,’ made up almost entirely of nature sounds such as the rustle of leaves, and chirping of birds (all suggestive of life), proves that Van Sant’s movie is as technically powerful as it is emotionally denting. “Elephant” is a necessary entry in its director’s death series, and a mature, graceful and sensitive portrait of adolescence.

The Year 2003: Saraband (Ingmar Bergman)

Revisiting two characters from his previous film, Scenes from a Marriage, some thirty years earlier, Bergman's Saraband turned out to be the cinematic craftsman's last film to be released theatrically, somewhat belatedly in 2007. His final masterwork was as powerful and intelligent as anything he directed over his long distinguished career and a befitting last chapter to one of the all time greats. To take us through Bergman's swansong is Rick Olson of the sublime Coosa Creek Cinema, who believes 'the greatest pleasure is in watching two old pros -- and obvious old friends -- reunited one last time, guided by their great friend and mentor' in this wonderful submission for Counting Down The Zeroes.

The title of this Ingmar Bergman-directed film is derived from a "sarabande," a dance in triple meter. In its later, Baroque incarnation, it is a contemplative, meditative dance, and this is just such a film: it moves at it's own pace and speed, dances to its own rhythms. It is a sequel, thirty years after the fact, to Scenes from a Marriage, and reunites two of Bergman's iconic actors: Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson. The first film chronicled the disintegration of the marriage of Marianne (Ullmann) and Johan (Josephson) due primarily to his infidelity. Saraband opens with Marianne reminiscing to the camera about this history with her photos spread out before her. She speaks to us as if we were in the room, and with this most basic of Brechtian devices, Bergman announces that this is indeed a story, that he -- through the character of Marianne -- is telling us a tale.

In this way, we are firmly identified with Marianne: she is established as our surrogate. The story is seen through her eyes, she is our witness, and little things throughout the film indicate that her viewpoint is not the most objective one. When she enters Johan's preternaturally still house for the first time, doors close of their own accord, a cuckoo clock chimes suddenly, then then does it again. Is she trapped into a course of action she now regrets? Is this place somehow outside of time, or are we being reminded that time is almost up for her and Johan?

Little surreal moments like this are scattered throughout the film, underlining the action or indicating the mood of Bergman's players. Saraband is not a piece of realist cinema, despite the deceptive ordinariness of its mis en scene, and Stefan Eriksson's functional digital photography (it was shot originally for Swedish television). Its ghosts are not as obvious as those of Fanny and Alexander, nor is its symbolism as heavy-handed as in The Seventh Seal, but they are there nevertheless, making this quintessential, if low-key, Bergman.

In the thirty years since our characters have seen one another, Johan has inherited a tidy sum and retired to a remote farm house. There, he lives alone with his bitter memories, visited only by a housekeeper and cook who goes home at night. For the several months prior to our story, his estranged son Henrik (Börje Ahlstedt) and Henrik's daughter Karin (Julia Dufvenius) have lived in another house on Johan's property. Henrik is a professional musician and his daughter a budding cellist; two years before the film's opening, Henrik's wife and Karin's mother Anna had died. Neither has gotten over this tragedy, and since that time Henrik has developed an unhealthy obsession with his daughter. The plot revolves around whether or not she will leave him to study on her own and whether it will destroy him if she does.

The story exists mainly as a framework upon which to hang Bergman's trademark psychological drama, his explorations of human interaction at its most extreme. The film is structured as a ten-part musical composition, with a prologue and an epilog. Each movement revolves around an interaction between two of the characters; it is thus a duet. The prolog and epilogs are solos, featuring Marianne's introductory and closing comments, spoken directly into the camera. Classical music opens and closes each movement; its tone sets the mood of each piece. As Karin visits Marianne, it is playing lightly on a CD player in the background. As she goes to a fateful visit to her grandfather Johan, it plays bombastically from his stereo.

As in Scenes from a Marriage, Cries and Whispers and others of Bergman's films, there are scenes that are almost unbearably painful to watch, where people say things to one another that are so hateful that you want to turn away and watch something a little less intense, like maybe a televised hanging. Long before Ricky Gervais' theater of the squirm, Bergman's dramas defined the term "cringe-worthy" -- you almost reflexively wince, and go into a protective crouch, hunching your shoulders to protect your head and neck.

Yet, you cannot turn away, and a lot has to do with Bergman's actors, and his remarkable way with them. Josephson and Ullmann have not lost a step in the thirty years since Scenes. He has the ability to project a niceness and a kindly warmth, while nevertheless saying and doing the most awful things. Ullmann at 63 is still luminously beautiful, with perhaps the most expressive face in the business. Watching her expressions as she reacts to the goings-on around her is like a master-class in subtle, powerful acting. Ahlstedt -- who played Carl in Fanny and Alexander -- is a worthy match for the two, effortlessly gliding from benign good humor to contempt to near madness without our being aware of the seams. His scene with Josephson is the most harrowing in the film.

Unfortunately, Dufvenius fares less well -- she doesn't have the emotional depth to play the tortured Karin, and this is the film's major flaw. While the other three endow their roles with clarity and emotional depth, she flounces around the set, stomping her feet to show emotion. Her scenes with Marianne, in particular, show up the mismatch between actor and material -- but in Dufvenius' defense, who wouldn't seem that way with Ullmann?

The movie's greatest pleasure is in watching two old pros -- and obvious old friends -- reunited one last time, guided by their great friend and mentor. We have a history with these actors, as well as with this most personal of directors. Clint Eastwood's recent Gran Torino had some of the same effect: watching that film, we brought all our history with him to bear. Similarly, as we watch Ullmann and Josephson embrace and spar with one another, we remember and savor their other Bergman roles, and experience a melancholy nostalgia knowing it's the last offering from a giant of world cinema. While Saraband is not great Bergman, it's good Bergman, satisfying Bergman. And good Bergman will always be more than good enough for me.

The Year 2003: School of Rock (Richard Linklater)

Written specifically for the talents of overgrown kid Jack Black, Richard Linklater's hit 'fish out of water' comedy from 2003 took the box-office by storm and the quirky and brilliant performance from its lead act truly makes you fall in love with the 'power of rock'. Taking on this hilarious film is Daniel Getahun of the quite magnificent Getafilm who finds 'a crowd pleaser that never tires' and witnesses 'a career making' performance by Jack Black.

Jack Black just has one of those faces, doesn't he? The kind that you see once and never forget, that can exhibit every range of human emotion, and that can believably slip into any supporting role in any genre of movie - Demolition Man, Waterworld, The Neverending Story III, Dead Man Walking, The Cable Guy, Enemy of the State, High Fidelity, Saving Silverman, Orange County. This fact shouldn't be a surprise, but yet it is: Jack Black had a solid 50 acting roles under his belt before his career-making turn as Dewey Finn in School of Rock

Prior to Richard Linklater's sleeper smash hit, Black's biggest starring turn had been opposite Gwyneth Paltrow in the underrated Farrelly Brothers rom-com Shallow Hal, where he shockingly demonstrated for the first time that he could play the straight guy for a whole movie, without even one air-guitar foray or memorably wacky scene. Ironically, it was probably during this time in Black's life (the early 2000's) that he lived in the same apartment building as Mike White, who wrote Orange County and was inspired to write School of Rock after frequently witnessing Black blast classic rock music and run through the halls naked.

High Fidelity director Stephen Frears was originally tapped to direct, but the job ultimately went to Linklater, who had the slacker movie cred (Slacker, Dazed and Confused) but had never made a film as "kid-friendly" as School of Rock (he would go on to make a poorly received Bad News Bears remake two years later). The film opened in the U.S. on October 3, 2003, less than a month after its premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival.

I remember seeing it with a friend on opening weekend at Universal City in L.A., then a few weeks later again with friends in San Diego, and then a few weeks later again with my brother and sister in Minnesota (ah, the Roseville 4). A crowd-pleaser that never tired, School of Rock was the first movie I saw three times in the theater since Jurassic Park a decade earlier. Maybe in part thanks to my efforts, School of Rock remained in theaters for almost 6 months, grossing more than $80 million on an estimated budget of only $35 million. In the Chicago Tribune, Mark Caro perfectly summed it up: "The movie is the cinematic equivalent of a near-perfect three-minute pop song. It makes you laugh, smile and tap your toes over a brisk 88 minutes, and when it's finished, you're ready to hit repeat."

What makes this movie so enjoyable through repeated viewings? It's hard to narrow it down to just one or two aspects, but each time I see it the answer becomes more clear: Jack Black's performance and Mike White's screenplay. Without either of these two elements, the movie would suffer considerably, despite the sure-handed direction of Linklater and some great performances from the kids, Joan Cusack, and even Mike White himself as Jack Black's roommate.

When we see Black (or more likely a stunt man) take a stage dive onto an empty floor in the very first scene, we get a pretty good idea of the kind of energetic comedy in store for us. As Dewey Finn, Black fully commits to the role of a sensitive slacker with a passion for music so pure that it overshadows otherwise sacred values (until he discovers the students' musical talent, he's happy enough to completely waste their educational time). In his 3 1/2-star review, Roger Ebert observed, "Jack Black remains true to his irascible character all the way through; he makes Dewey's personality not a plot gimmick, but a way of life."

Of course, it would be hard for anyone not to have fun playing Dewey Finn, a wannabe rock star who doesn't play by any of the conventional rules of life. But Black doesn't overdo it; we actually believe that, despite his own selfish interests in winning the "Battle of the Bands", Dewey really does care about the students' wellbeing. In fact, as he grows closer to them it becomes clear that Linklater is making something resembling a Disney movie, what with positive lessons and a heroic ending. Ebert, again: "Here is a movie that proves you can make a family film that's alive and well-acted and smart and perceptive and funny -- and that rocks."

In other words, as vital as Black's balanced energy is to the success of School of Rock, the material he is working from cannot be overlooked. Mike White's stories were a bit hit-and-miss to that point (Dead Man on Campus, The Good Girl, Orange County), but as Ebert described it, "White's movies lovingly celebrate the comic peculiarities of everyday people", and School of Rock remains both the funniest and most endearing screenplay of his career (the upcoming School of Rock 2 has potential to replace it, but I'm skeptical). Praising the film for Newsweek, David Ansen wondered, "It's a bravura, all-stops-out, inexhaustibly inventive performance. I don't know how much was improvised, and how much comes from White's sharp screenplay, but Black may never again get a part that displays his mad-dog comic ferocity to such brilliant effect."

Unfortunately, Ansen has so far been right on the mark. Black has been given steady work in the past six years, but while much of it has been significant (opposite Kate Winslet in The Holiday, under the direction of Michel Gondry in Be Kind Rewind, and in the star-studded cast of Tropic Thunder), the role that's perhaps best fit his talents was as the voice of Po in last year's animated hit Kung Fu Panda. I'm not proposing an actual theory here, but it might be worth noting that both Kung Fu Panda and School of Rock are essentially kid's movies - maybe Black is best suited for roles that are more obviously juvenile? Food for thought to go along with a last bit of trivia: School of Rock (which was originally The School of Rock) was shockingly given a PG-13 rating due to "rude humor and some drug references", whatever that means. Lamenting the situation, Ebert offered a parting shot: "There's not a kid alive who would be anything but delighted by this film."

And finally, while I don't mean to diminish the work of Linklater at the helm here, for the most part it appears he took a hands-off approach and simply let Black run wild with his young co-stars. It worked beautifully and in the hands of another director this movie could have been bogged down with all kinds of unnecessary "stuff". There is one scene that displays Linklater's directing chops, however, and it's the thrilling, emotionally moving finale (or, as Lou Lumenick admitted in the New York Post, "an inspirational climax that's as rousing as it is predictable."). Enjoy:

The Year 2003: The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (Peter Jackson)

Without doubt Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King was the film event of the year, filmed back to back, Peter Jackson's massive epic trilogy finally came to fruition, scooping a record tying horde at the year's Academy Awards, reaped critical acclaim and stormed the box-office. Sam Juliano of the outstanding Wonders in the Dark, an assortment of critics, film aficionados and enthusiasts who combine their talents to form the finest film salon there is, witnesses a film that's 'majestic, awe-inspiring and extraordinary' and implores everyone to watch the extended edition DVD to fully appreciate 'the best film of 2003'.

After Peter Jackson’s The Return of the King won eleven Academy Awards to tie the all time record with Ben-Hur and Titanic, the film, inevitably was doomed to widespread backlash, which has persisted to this very day. It is fashionable for film snobs to now dump on the film, and the trilogy it concludes, but truth be said the most telling award of all won by the film was announced in December of 2003, when the New York Film Critics Circle in a rather shocking decision named the film best of the year. The Gotham scribes rarely give their biggest prize to mainstream fare, opting for small independents and art house films. The year before, in 2002, they named Todd Haynes’s Far From Heaven the year’s top film. The artistic validation bestowed on the film in the Big Apple was duplicated throughout the nation with critics’s group after critic’s group giving their top award to Peter Jackson’s film. In any case The Return of the King, against all odds is the best of the three films in the trilogy, and the one that blends all the elements of the others films-ferocious battles, epic conflicts, ethereal landscapes and an operatic sweep that elevates the film to level of emotion and exhilaration that nears spirituality. While the first film The Fellowship of the Ring, introduced the hobbits and the magical characters that were essayed in the subsequent installments, and The Two Towers was in large measure a prolongation battle, the third delivered the emotional payoff, and was the defining coda of the long journey that for its staggered release was actually filmed in one continuous stretch.

To say that The Return of the King is majestic, awe-inspiring and extraordinary is to be painfully obvious, but in the absence of a better way to convey the experience these generalizations must suffice. From the outset, Jackson has stressed the necessity of having seen the previous entry to fully grasp the launching of the new installment by way of character and narrative. Hence, the hobbits Frodo and Sam commence on their journey to Mordor’s Mount Doom t o obliterate the sacred One Ring, while the emaciated and “bi-polar” guide, Golum tries to bring danger to Frodo and lead him to oppose Sam in a secret attempt to steal the ring for himself. The mission to obtain the ring is exhausting for Frodo, but Sam gains the necessary strength to allow them to achieve the success they have their lives to achieve. Still, Frodo’s inch-by-inch journey, which includes peril at very turn over with twisting stairs and a terrifying encounter with an enormous spider, Shelob. The astonishingly delineated and realistic arachnid stings Frodo and quickly wraps him into a mummy. Sam comes to the rescue and engages the beast with sword in hand, in another unforgettable and choreographed set piece. the eventual safe return of Frodo at the bowels of Mount Doom is a scene of specious power which also suggests an unachieved spirituality.

Meanwhile, Gandalf and the hobbit Pippin, with the monumental battle of Helm’s Deep concluded, embarked on the city of Minas Tirith to alert the inhabitants of an imminent invasion, while the human warrior Aragorn and three other elves and dwarfs look for assistance in the final battle for Middle Earth. Jackson then introduces a two-part assault on the sense, with a pair of battles, the Siege of Minas Tirith and the Battle of Pellenor Fields, a one-hour action sequence, replete with plotting, military strategy, and narrative progression that must surely rank among the most riveting and electrifying of its kind in the history of the cinema. Only near the end of this battle is there what appears to be an artistic misstep, when Aragorn is forced to enlist the support of the “dead” against the Orcs. Within the parameter of fantasy and myth of which this film falls squarely within, the device contains rather dubious special effects that make the these figures look like green ghosts gliding across the field. Deftly weaving through time periods and locations that made Tolkien’s original novels such challenging reading, Jackson minimizes the narrative confusion that normally would inform such an auspicious undertaking and faithfully returning to threads that were temporarily abandoned for various shifts of focus.

Subsequently, Frodo puts on the Ring, but Gollum bites off the finger and dances for joy, as Frodo counter attacks, lunging at Gollum and ending up hanging at the side of a rock. Sam pulls him up, but they are trapped on an island of an ash pile. One of the film’s most breathtaking moments occurs at this point, when Gandalf flies on an eagle, safely carrying the Frodo and Sam to safety in a sequence that so imbued with celestial splendor and awe-inspiring aural operatic accompaniment, that it stretches the capabilities of what cinema can accomplish in wedding image to emotion. It’s at this point that the full realization of the invaluable contribution of composer Hans Zimmer, whose score here is as important to The Return of the King as any other contribution. There’s an other-worldly grandeur that underscores the ravishing visuals supplied by Jackson, cinematographer Andrew Lesnie and production designer Grant Major. The creativity in all the technical departments, evident in the first two installments, has been intensified here. The most painterly visual sequence of all is the wedding set piece with Aragon and Arwen, and the former’s coronation, where the warrior tells the hobbits: “My friends, you bow to no one.” The whole population of Gondor bows to the hobbits, who then return to their home country, the shire. It is at this point that Jackson refuses to let go, and a succession of “final” endings are attached to the final reel that incurred critical disdain, especially among the few that were not adherents of the series in the first place. But the physical tapestry of these final encores add, rather than detract from this inexhaustibly beautiful canvas.

Jackson’s veteran cast, all familiar with their developing and developed characters, render an added level of poignancy to their roles that reaches full consummation in this final part of the trilogy. The heartfelt bond of Frodo and Sam is beautifully evoked by Elijah Wood Jr. and Sean Astin. Astin, who was something of a sidekick in the first film metamorphosed into one of the work’s most vital and inspiring figures. The frustration and fear he feels in losing Frodo to the power of the ring is intimately felt, as is the strength he feels in himself to carry on. Andy Serkis, with CGI assistance used to mimic his movements, is simultaneously haunting, endearing and terrifying as Gollum, and Ian McKellen again delivers a commanding performance of great warmth as Gandalf after being left off the second installment’s cast. Of course Viggo Mortenson as Aragorn is that physically endowed warrior that any action or adventure film would dream for. Billy Boyd is perhaps the most impressive (as Pippin) of the remaining roles, though Liv Tyler looks great as Arwan.

One caveat: If you haven’t seen the extended edition DVD, you are depriving yourself of the intended version, as the theatrical version leaves out vital narrative information, which not only improves the arc of the story, but also brings character development to full fruition. Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King in this extended form is unquestionably the best film of 2003, and a strong contender for the top spot in cinematic achievement since the beginning of the new millennium.

The Year 2003: House of 1000 Corpses (Rob Zombie)

Reel Whore of the superb Reel Whore knows a bad/good film when he sees one and boy does Rob Zombie's macabre horror debut 'House of 1000 Corpses' fit that bill nicely. Taking his cue from 70's classics such as 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' and 'The Hills Have Eyes', Rob Zombie's trashy and disturbing exploitation flick neatly divided horror film fans and had to wait three years (it was originally completed in 2000) to find a distributor for general release. In this great review for Counting Down The Zeroes, Reel Whore finds 'a very bloody and deliberately brutal film' that despite failing to hit the right chord most of the time still rates as 'a must see'.

I have to go on record as saying House of 1000 Corpses is perhaps one of the best and one of the worst horror films I have ever seen. Approximately three-fourths of it is edgy and phenomenal in its delivery; the remaining just utter filth and a waste of good celluloid. Then again, the horror genre has a wealth of depraved avenues one can traverse; I just prefer some concepts more than others.

The debut picture from musician turned writer-director Rob Zombie opens on All Hallow's Eve with four college kids traveling along the back roads of Texas (has a familiar ring to it, right?). Captain Spaulding (Sid Haig, Jackie Brown) runs the roadside Gasoline, Fried Chicken, and Horror Museum where the kids stop to stock up for the last leg of their voyage home. The museum tour chronicles notorious mass murderers, including the local legend, Dr. Satan, which sparks the kids’ need to drive out to the fabled killer's remote stomping grounds in the cold, rainy dead of night. One hitchhiker named Baby (Sheri Moon) and one flat tire later, the kids end up at the home of the Firefly family. After partaking in the Firefly Halloween celebration and getting the car repaired, their fun really begins.

The darkest, most twisted character is Otis, creepily portrayed by Bill Moseley (Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2). Otis will single-handedly freak you out. He’s the answer to the question “What if Ted Nugent was insane?...correction...an insane mass murderer?” Sid Haig's Captain Spaulding is a vulgar, dreadful delight and may just hold the record for most profanity per minute from a character. Spaulding couldn't open his mouth without making a sailor blush. I always wished Haig would start appearing in more features after 1000 Corpses, but seems only Mr. Zombie appreciates his talent. Sheri Moon's Baby is a sexy, sultry psychotic woman who flaunts it. Her high-pitched, joyful schoolgirl giggle will send chills up and down your spine. My favorite sedate scene with Baby involves a liquor run to the local ABC store with the ingenious name. (I was so enamored by her character that I penned two pieces of fan fiction for the LAMB).


The unsuspecting travelers are played by Chris Hardwick (Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines), Erin Daniels (One Hour Photo), Jennifer Jostyn (Deep Impact) and a then, mostly unknown Rainn Wilson (Juno). As each becomes the playthings of their sadistic hosts, they give great ear-piercing screams. The gore and torture are wonderfully sick and twisted; the influences of many horror classics are plainly evident in 1000 Corpses. It's a very bloody and deliberately brutal film with a smidgen of violence tossed in to help offset the blood. Unfortunately, 1000 Corpses has many horrific horror film fumbles that disengaged my interest at times. Likewise, Zombie's direction is tense, creating a nail-biting ambience, but at other moments he segues into a music video vantage with random cuts and digital effects unnecessary to the story's development.

House of 1000 Corpses has something for every aficionado of the horror genre, and that is where it fails. In trying to make a dish palatable to all connoisseurs, Rob Zombie inevitably created a film with some indigestible tripe. That said, it is still a must see. I recommend 1000 Corpses on the well-developed and unique characterizations alone; what you try to get from the rest of the flick is done so at your own risk.

The Year 2003: Lost in Translation (Sofia Coppola)

Sofia Coppola followed her impressive debut, The Virgin Suicides, with yet another polished and highly acclaimed film with Lost in Translation, a low-key and reflective film, about two lost souls adrift in the hurly burly madness of Tokyo who find each other at just the right time in their respective lives. Taking us through this sedate, romantic and charming film is the Film Dr of the superb The Film Doctor who captures the essence of a film where 'the plot seems too simple' and celebrates a vision of Tokyo that's 'freaky, jarring, and beautifully atmospheric'.

A mood piece of a movie, a study of urban alienation, jet lag, the disorienting effects of fame, and the amount of angst one can feel while staying in the luxury Shinjuju Park Hyatt Hotel in Tokyo, Lost in Translation (2003) earned Sofia Coppola an Oscar for her screenplay and the first nomination of an American woman as Best Director. The plot seems too simple. Film actor Bob Harris (Bill Murray) spends a few days in Tokyo earning 2 million dollars shilling Suntory whisky and getting to know recent Yale graduate Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson). He can’t sleep at night, so he whiles away much of his time in the hotel bar. His passive aggressive wife sends faxes reminding him that he has forgotten his son’s birthday. He feels trapped even amidst all of this luxury, a sensation that culminates in a scene where Japanese photographers endlessly shoot pictures of him as he holds a whisky glass by his face and grimaces in exasperation at the camera. The scene is both funny and poignant, although the viewer cannot feel too sorry for him, because he chose to sell out. The Hyatt Hotel has become a glittering luxury cage where nothing has any connection to who he is, and, thus, he feels lost.

Meanwhile, newly married Charlotte decides to tag along to Tokyo with her photographer husband John (Giovanni Ribisi). John keeps busy elswhere, so Charlotte listens to motivational tapes in their room. She passively stares out at the Tokyo skyline and smokes cigarettes. She majored in philosophy at Yale, but now she finds she can’t stand John’s superficial movie star friend Kelly (a hilarious Anna Faris), so she begins to see Bob (still lingering at the bar) as a possible ally.


As the third major character in the film, Tokyo is freaky, jarring, and beautifully atmospheric thanks to the cinematography of Lance Acord. If the film ever threatens to grow too solemn, Coppola brings in a bizarre dancing talk show host (“Japan’s Johnny Carson”), or channel surfing TV images that include a much younger Bill Murray from Saturday Night Live, or mod Japanese teenagers playing video games as they posture like some distant reflection of American rebels. Some critics have claimed the film caricatures the Japanese, and it might, some, but I think Coppola balances her portrait in part by including scenes of traditional Japan—a Buddhist monastery, a meditation garden, and flower-arranging to balance with the impersonal cityscape.


Murray is an inspired choice to play Bob, one of the few stars capable of conveying both the depth and the humor necessary for the part. Coppola reportedly left hundreds of messages on his answering machine to eventually cajole him into taking the role. When asked how she got Murray to join the production, Sofia answered “Perseverance.” In fact, in the “`Lost’ on Location” behind-the-scenes documentary on the DVD of Lost in Translation, Sofia shows every indication of being smitten with Murray, which perhaps encouraged his performance. In regards to Johansson, Coppola used much of her own tastes and interests to form her character. People have noted how Charlotte dresses much like Coppola with her restrained preppy chic sweaters, pants, and sneakers, and she also shares with Sofia an interest in photography and philosophy. After her unfortunate reception as a last-second replacement for Wynona Ryder in The Godfather III, Coppola spent a good portion of her young life not knowing what she would do, but she combined many of her interests (including music and writing) in her work as a director. Charlotte is in this sense a composite self-portrait of Sofia before she crystallized into the creator of this film.

To get a sense of Sofia Coppola’s understated talent as a director, again one can learn from the behind the scene documentary about how she differs from the cliched image of a loud exasperated male director shouting his orders to his crew. Coppola is very calm on the set. One actor likened working with her as being in the quiet of a submarine. As she says, “I’m used to people not expecting much from me. But then as soon as I start working, that drops away. I don’t yell. I’m petite. I don’t turn into a tyrant. Being underestimated is, in a way, kind of an advantage, because people are usually pleasantly surprised as a result.” Sofia’s more intuitive, nuanced approach gives her actors the opportunity to blend the tragic, the alienated, and the comic, making some scenes so multivalent, they are hard to classify.

About a third of the way into the movie, during one evening in the hotel bar, Bob says to Charlotte, “Can you keep a secret? I’m trying to organize a prison break. I’m looking for, like, an accomplice. We have to first get out of this bar, then the hotel, then the city, and then the country. Are you in or you out?” Charlotte promptly replies “I’m in. I’ll go pack my stuff.” From that point on, they manage to forge a relationship that again defies any easy summary. Eventually more than friends, they find they cannot consummate their relationship, perhaps because sex would reduce it to the level of Bob's one night stand with the bar singer with dyed red hair, or his encounter with the Premium Fantasy woman who enters his suite one evening to ask him to “lip” her stockings. Given the age difference between Bob and Charlotte, sex would become a mere symptom of his midlife crisis and her need for attention. Instead, during one night out with Charlotte’s Tokyo bohemian friends, Charlotte places her head on Bob’s shoulder in between karaoke songs as they both smoke.

Naturally, there are moments when Bob considers making a move on her, but he treats her much as he plays golf, with great restraint and artful deference. At another time, late at night after watching Fellini’s La Dolce Vita on the hotel television, Charlotte despairs when she says “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.” Bob considers for a moment, and says “You’ll figure that out. The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.” As they spend time together, these scenes of intimacy and understanding somehow invert the significance of all of the images of alienation. Charlotte and Bob make a connection that seems more substantial than their marriages. Faced with the return flight to the states and the likelihood of never seeing her again, Bob says to Charlotte, “I don’t want to leave,” and she replies “So don’t. Stay here with me. We’ll start a jazz band.” Thanks to Lost in Translation’s improvisational alchemy, Charlotte’s suggestion sounds exactly right.

The Year 2003: Kill Bill: Vol 1 (Quentin Tarantino)

Quite possibly the most anticipated film of 2003, Kill Bill vol 1 (the first part in what was originally meant to be a three hour plus epic) marked the return of the renowned director Quentin Tarrantino. In a mix of high octane action, martial arts, manga animation and grindhouse cinema containing, the sort of homages, fan references and feverish cult cinema only Tarantino can deliver, Kill Bill vol 1 did exactly what it said on the tin. Taking on the ultimate revenge movie is Joseph Belanger of the marvellous Black Sheep Reviews, who celebrates a director who 'earns every indulgence in this film' that all you can do is 'sit back and enjoy the bloodbath'.

2003 was a big year for me. I shot my very first short film – also coincidentally my only short film – and I got involved in theatre production It was also a big year for one of my favorite filmmakers, Quentin Tarantino. After his third film, JACKIE BROWN (1997), the follow-up to his contemporary masterpiece, PULP FICTION (1994), underwelmed both critics and audiences alike, Tarantino returned to theatres in 2003 with an epic so momentous that it needed to be split into two films. Clocking in originally at over four hours, Tarantino’s fourth film, as it is billed when the title appears on screen, KILL BILL, was both highly anticipated after a six-year hiatus on the part of the infamous filmmaker and highly criticized for being split into two parts (the second was released in the spring of 2004). Regular Tarantino distributor, Miramax, felt the film was just too long to be released as a whole; the industry meanwhile saw the decision as nothing more than a way to sell two tickets to one movie. Audiences did not care one way or the other; KILL BILL VOLUME ONE went on to earn over $180 million internationally and put Tarantino back on track to becoming the best of the contemporary film auteurs.

KILL BILL VOLUME ONE opens with a Klingon proverb … Revenge is a dish best served cold. Only Tarantino can open a film with a quote from a Star Trek character and transcend geekiness into authenticity. Besides, the quote fits as revenge gets served in the coldest of fashions in the two hours that follow. And with good reason, I might add. In a role that was written specifically for her (to the point that production was pushed back after she became pregnant), Uma Thurman plays The Bride and when we first meet her, she is lying on the floor, beaten and bloodied. A gun is pointed at her beautifully battered face and she tells the man standing above her, whose name, Bill, is all we know for now, that she is carrying his baby. Regardless, he shoots her anyway. Believing her and her entire wedding party to be dead, he leaves her to rot but The Bride is a character that will not be held down. Miraculously, she survives and devises a plan to obliterate the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad (the group responsible for her wedding day massacre) one by one, including their leader, Bill (the recently deceased David Carradine). I’m a big supporter of turning the other cheek but this is one scenario where I can hardly blame her for exacting her revenge. In fact, I delighted in every second of it.


I was not the only one delighting in this blood-soaked revenge tale (nearly 100 people die in the film). Clearly, Tarantino was having so much fun too. Just as he did with PULP FICTION, he takes the story, based heavily on the 1973 Japanese film, LADY SNOWBLOOD, and breaks it up so that the timeline plays out non-sequentially. The through line is simply a death list that The Bride attacks one at a time. There are plenty of trademark Tarantino touches, from a bright, yellow truck called the Pussy Wagon to punchy dialogue like “My name is Buck and I like to fuck.” There is even a knowing nod to himself at one point when Thurman draws an imaginary square in the air, just like she did in PULP FICTION at the Jack Rabbit Slim restaurant on her date with John Travolta. Tarantino’s films are never fully out of the reach of his sometimes gigantic ego but he earns every indulgence in this film. Considering how playful his tone is, his care for the visual style is stupendous and the choreography of the all out brawl at the film’s climax is mesmerizing. All you can do is sit back and enjoy the bloodbath. And as much as Tarantino deserves all this praise for this picture, he could not have done it without Thurman. Her turn as The Bride is immensely demanding of her talents, both physically and emotionally, and she makes every moment on screen that much more urgent.

It seems that little is said about KILL BILL and what a strong picture it is for women working in the action genre. The rest of the cast is made up of Lucy Liu, Vivica A. Fox and Daryl Hannah and all of these ladies are not to be messed with. There is no denying their strength or the skills and Tarantino has far too much respect for both his characters and his actresses to ever allow them to be taken advantage of or exploited as girls gone wild. They are simply women who kick some serious ass paving the way for KILL BILL VOLUME ONE and Mr. Tarantino himself to do the same.