19 February 2010

I generally enjoy NYT film critic A.O. Scott's film reviews from start to finish, whether or not I'm interested in the movie he's reviewing, and today's critique puts that claim to the test.

From the first ten seconds of the TV spot for the new Scorsese film--from before I knew it was, in fact, a Scorsese film--I felt repulsed. But why? This movie seems tailor made for me. I admire DiCaprio. I appreciate well made imagery. The juxtaposition of gloom-and-doom with saturated color lures me in like honey draws flies. Yet, when DiCaprio says, in a comically ominous voiceover tinged by a cheeseball Boston accent, "These are all violent offenders--they've hurt people, murdered them in some cases," well, I'm done. You see, if you have to define the keyterm "violent offenders," then you clearly don't think highly of your audience. You are appealing to the village idiots of the world. Which is fine, I suppose, but not for me.

(Shutter Island at IGN.com)

In any case, Scott takes all of ten seconds to dispense with the pretense that "Shutter Island" is yet another serious piece of work from Scorsese:

“Shutter Island” takes place off the coast of Massachusetts in 1954. I’m sorry, that should be OFF THE COAST OF MASSACHUSETTS! IN 1954! since every detail and incident in the movie, however minor, is subjected to frantic, almost demented (and not always unenjoyable) amplification. The wail of strangled cellos accompanies shots of the titular island, a sinister, rain-lashed outcropping that is home to a mental hospital for the CRIMINALLY INSANE! The color scheme is lurid, and the camera movements telegraph anxiety. Nothing is as it seems. Something TERRIBLE is afoot.

Sadly, that something turns out to be the movie itself....

As the kids were fond of saying not too long ago, SNAP!

Later, among so many others, Scott gets in this zinger:

All of these riddles send out tendrils of implication that end up strangling the movie, the plot of which does not so much thicken as clog and coagulate.

Scott has developed into a master of using verbal play to burst the bubbles of pretension blown by the objects of his disdain.

And that's the reason I link to a review that will surely reach its fair share of readers: Rather than letting his wit drive his writing (as I am prone to do), Scott uses wit in service of a broad vision of the possibility, potential, and reality of cinema. His outlook reveals a smart critic, a compassionate man, and a film lover with a zeal for placing new works within the context of cinema history. His razor wit is, itself, just another red herring.

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Read the rest of the review here: "All at Sea, Surrounded by Red Herrings."

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On a related note, yes, Scorsese has made a handful of good films, but is there a single more overrated figure in American cinema? I can't think of anyone even close.

Which makes me wonder: who's the best we've got? Wes Anderson comes to mind, and Clint Eastwood, and, well, hmm....

Suggestions?