Danny Boyle's Wounds - Rough Opening

The Danny Boyle that the public sees and the Danny Boyle that Boyle sees when he looks in the mirror are two very different people. As the director of “The Beach,” “28 Days Later,” “Millions.” Sunshine,” “Slumdog Millionaire” and “127 Hours,” Boyle is one of the most fascinating and successful directors working today. Yet Danny Boyle doesn’t consider himself a “real director.” Despite his Oscars, Golden Globes and BAFTAs, Boyle still sees himself as “an outsider,” someone who doesn’t fit in to the big picture of Hollywood.

There’s an idea in the film business that most good directors tend to stick to the same idea, the same basic story, and tell it over and over again. Terry Gilliam (“The Fisher King,” “12 Monkeys”) a notoriously strong-headed artiste is constantly telling stories about a man who the world sees as mad, fighting to prove that he isn’t insane and that he can succeed. David Fincher (“Fight Club,” “The Social Network”) who famously told an actress “I have demons you can't even imagine,” creates a powerfully flawed protagonist then relishes in their slow demise. But then there’s Danny Boyle, a director who is notoriously difficult to pin down. Boyle realizes this and relishes it. In a recent interview he said “There's a certain truth that you do end up making the same film again and again so if you vary the genre you have a chance of breaking that cycle.” Because Boyle has realized this, and thinks about it with each of his films, he is a fascinating director to analyze and try to understand.

Like many artists, Boyle uses his work as therapy. Watching Boyle work through his psychological wounds on film is a fascinating adventure that becomes even more intriguing when you look into Boyle's past and his own ideology.

Final Project Outline

Subject: Danny Boyle’s exploration of film genres and his directorial style.

I. Trainspotting
Genre Boyle explores: Gritty drama
Themes and concepts: addiction and obsession
Boyle’s connection to the work
Critique of film

II. 28 Days Later
Genre Boyle explores: Horror
Themes and concepts: societal breakdown and apocalypse
Boyle’s connection to the work
Critique of film

III. Millions
Genre Boyle explores: Family film
Themes and concepts: childhood dreams and heartbreak
Boyle’s connection to the work
Critique of film

IV. Comparison of the three films and what they say as a body of work about the director and his unique style of direction.

Archer Pilot: Mole Hunt

Spoofing spies and espionage is not a new thing. In the mid 1960’s “Get Smart” riffed on James Bond with the air of a Mel Brook’s comedy, to great effect. In the late 80’s, along with the surge of blockbuster action films, we got “The Naked Gun” series, showing another bumbling, undercover agent. Now, in the age of Jason Bourne and Daniel Craig’s Bond, America was ready for another spy spoof, and in 2009 audiences got what they had been waiting for, in the form of an offensive, dryly written, wonderfully cast animated show called “Archer.”

Recognizing that the general public had become bored with bumbling, incompetent spies, series creator Adam Reed gave us Sterling Archer, the show’s titular protagonist, who is a talented and competent spy. Yet more importantly, he is also an insolent, misogynistic bastard, and you can’t help but love him for it. As an antidote to the 2000’s obsessive political correctness, Archer draws out deep belly laughs with dialogue that you just shouldn’t laugh at. When trying to bribe his way past a heavyset secretary Archer says “If you let me into the mainframe, I'll drop these donuts. And then you can pretend you're a hungry hungry ... hungry hippo.” Or when berating his ever loyal, British butler for not buying milk “I'm gonna pain you dearly Woodhouse, when I peel all your skin off with a knife, sew it into Woodhouse-pajamas, and then set those pajamas on fire!”

Beyond the sardonic humor and upsettingly lovable lead, “Archer” has also managed to assemble a wonderful ensemble voice cast, including Jessica Walter as Archer’s condescending, drunk of a mother, Aisha Tyler as a powerful female spy who acts as Archer’s foil for much of the episode, and SNL alumni Chris Parnell as the ISIS comptroller and consummate nerd. The cast plays together so well and delivers the crude jokes with such finesse; it’s easy to imagine that they have been working together for years.

“Archer” only runs into problems when it attempts to get serious, which it (thankfully) does very little. It’s easy to imagine a bigwig at FX becoming worried that the series doesn’t connect emotionally with viewers, and trying to strong-arm in a serious plotline here or there. The thing is, we don’t need those in “Archer.” The audience is expecting silly and offensive and the show does best when it sticks in those boundaries. The nasty humor and their ability to spoof most everything is what make “Archer” so refreshing. When a show has as little respect for common decency as this one does, there is something genuine and liberating that rushes forth, making the 21 minutes of nonstop jokes and awkward pauses a total, if guilty, joy.

“That Which I Should Have Done But Did Not Do (The Door)” Review

“That Which I Should Have Done But Did Not Do (The Door)” by Ivan Albright is a painting that gets under your skin. The subject of the piece is relatively simple; a large wooden door with a funeral wreath hung upon it, and a greying hand reaching from the edge of the painting towards the doorknob. Yet there is something about the obsessive intricacy of the painting style, the rancid decay of the subject and the uncomfortable scale of the work (eight feet tall, three feet wide) that makes this piece of art especially difficult to stomach. It’s hard to study the painting at any length without your mind wandering to the artist himself. It’s easy to imagine a frazzled, obsessive Albright, awake late at night, stopped over the canvass, lumpy oil paints mixed into bizarre colors. He is painting with a tiny brush in the light of a small candle while rain pounds against the windows and thunder crashes outside. Albright is Dr. Frankenstein and “The Door” is his monster.

Alvin Albright, Ivan’s father, was a renowned landscape painter in the late 1800’s, and often used his son as a model for his sweet, nostalgic paintings of children playing in pastoral settings. Ivan found his father’s artwork impotent and silly, and decided that yes, he would pursue art too, but his work would be powerful and gripping.

From the beginning Ivan had an obsession with the macabre, while in school at the Art Institute of Chicago he would insert dark touches into his homework. An assignment to paint a simple hillside would become a rainy cemetery, when asked to sketch a bird, the drawing would end up as a pair of bird’s wings, apparently ripped from the corpse of the animal, lying crumpled on a cement sidewalk.

In all of Albright’s work there are hints to death and spirituality, subjects that he became obsessed with. But Albright’s obsessive nature didn’t just send him towards specific subject matter, it also led him to develop a fanatical, obsessive style of painting. He was well known for using single-hair brushes and taking years to finish a piece. This style of painting is no more apparent than in “The Door,” a painting with detail so minute it took Albright almost ten years to complete.

“The Door” is a sickening and uncomfortable piece, but there is something beautiful about the way Albright confronts death and decay with such honesty and clarity. He savors the putrification of it all and works incredibly hard to communicate the rot to the viewer. In this way, Albright succeeds without question. The painting is so hard to look at, a majority of visitors to the Art Institute seem to avoid it, but if you force yourself to dissect the painting there is no way to deny the subtle, moldy beauty of “The Door.”

"Almost Famous" Review

Though “Almost Famous” deals with “sex, drugs and rock n’ roll” it manages to show it in a sweet and nostalgic way. Sure, the people may be crazy, but there’s something about them that you can’t help but find endearing. Writer/director Cameron Crowe has managed to capture a place in time, clean it up just enough, and put it on display as a comforting coming of age tale. Sure, it may not be the deeply meaningful picture one gets the sense Crowe might have sought to direct, but it shines in its comedy and feel-good musical moments.

“Almost Famous” is the story of William Miller, an ostracized and sheltered high schooler who has a passion for music. After finding out that he’s two years younger than he always thought he was, he decides to pitch a story to Rolling Stone about the up-and-coming band Stillwater. Rolling Stone decides to take a chance on him, so our young journalist packs his bag and hits the road with what will eventually become one of the biggest bands in the country.

Patrick Fugit delivers a wide-eyed performance as William, and is saved by the much more talented actors he is put on screen with. Billy Crudup as the affable lead guitarist Russell Hammond brings just a bit of danger to the world, while Kate Hudson, as “band-aid” Penny Lane, shines in a way Hudson since hasn’t. But what’s really impressive is the amount of talented character actors that populate the smaller roles in the story, all delivering interesting (though many times, all too short) performances. Philip Seymour Hoffman, Rainn Wilson, Jimmy Fallon, Fairuza Balk and Anna Paquin all pop up, adding a comedic and emotional depth the film would otherwise be lacking without them, and Frances McDormand in particular delivers a hilarious turn as William’s outrageously overprotective mother.

Maybe it’s just because rock n’ roll craziness has been talked about so much, or perhaps Crowe doesn’t want to inadvertently offend any of his old buddies, but the film is at its weakest when it strays to the topic of the musician’s private lives. Sure, Crowe has fun at their expense but he never goes for the jugular, preferring instead awkward comedy or heartwarming drama. Cameron is a director who shines when he can explore characters that are just a bit larger than life (“Jerry Maguire,” “Vanilla Sky”) and “Almost Famous” gives him a wonderful opportunity to do just that.

"Ink" Revised Review

Rather than relocate to Los Angeles or New York, as a majority of filmmakers do, Jamin Winans has decided to bring the movie industry to his hometown. Along with a ragtag group of artists, Winans is struggling to revive Colorado's decrepit filmmaking industry. The Centennial State's most memorable onscreen moments are tied between "Dumb and Dumber" and "Mad Max 2," a truly sad state of affairs. Though Colorado possesses exquisite natural beauty, it seems to suffer the fate of many of the middle states, people just sort of forget about it. A feature film hadn't been completely shot on location in Colorado since Woody Allen's 1973 comedy "Sleeper," but in early 2009 Winans set out to do exactly that. Struggling with an inexperienced crew, an unknown cast and a miniscule budget, Winans has created a film that manages to overcome its many small failures and become a beautiful and out-of-the-ordinary fairytale.

"Ink" tells the story of Emma (played by the delightfully vulnerable Quinn Hunchar), an eight year-old girl who, when she falls asleep, is able to see the creatures who deliver dreams. In this world there are both good angels and bad angels, who deliver good and bad dreams respectively. In the first 20 minutes or so, establishing this reality becomes tedious and worrisome. The setup feels forced and bizarre, leaving the viewer scared that this might just be another artsy film they won't understand. But then it changes. It's hard to say when, but somewhere between Emma falling asleep and her violent dream-kidnapping, leaving her body in a comatose state, the movie becomes gripping and intense. Winans uses the interplay of the dream world and the real world to great effect, telling two stories which bounce and play off each other in exceedingly clever ways.

For all the strength that the story possesses, there's a good reason you don't usually do science fiction on a small budget. When a film takes place in a dream world of angels, demons and monsters it's a given that the production design alone will end up costing an alarming amount, money which "Ink" obviously didn't have. Winans seems to have realized this early on, so instead he relies on smoke, shallow depth of field and a plethora of computer generated filters. This works fine for the majority of the film, but there is a point when the audience begins to wonder just what the filmmakers are trying to hide. It's only the focused cinematography of commercial photographer Jeff Pointer that saves the film from becoming an inescapable sea of low "Dutch-angles," a filmmaking term for diagonally tilted shots.

Jamin Winans has taken to heart Pablo Picasso's quote that "good artists copy, great artists steal" and his directorial debut draws inspiration from a diverse array films ("The Dark Crystal," "Blade Runner," "The Wizard of Oz," "Memento," the list goes on and on) yet surprisingly, it always manages to maintain its own sense of individuality. Winans is a strong visual director, in the tradition of Terry Gilliam ("Brazil," "The Fisher King," "Twelve Monkeys") and Jean-Pierre Jeunet ("Amélie," "The City of Lost Children"), and his dialogue, though not nearly as dexterous as the story itself, is snappy. This surprisingly powerful directorial debut positions Winans as a director who may just be able to bring filmmaking to Colorado. It also begs the question: Will someone please give this man some real money to play with?

"Ink" Review

Jamin Winans is single handedly attempting to revive Colorado's filmmaking industry, though it's difficult to revive something that was never alive in the first place. Colorado's most memorable onscreen moments are tied between "Dumb and Dumber" and "Mad Max 2", a truly sad state of affairs. Though Colorado possesses exquisite natural beauty, it seems to suffer the fate of many of the middle states, people just sort of forget about it. A full feature hadn't been shot in Colorado since Woody Allen's 1973 comedy "Sleeper," but in early 2009 Winans set out to do just that. Struggling with an inexperienced crew, an unknown cast and a miniscule budget, Winans has created a film that manages to overcome its many small failures to become a beautiful and out-of-the-ordinary fairytale.

"Ink" tells the story of Emma (played by the delightful Quinn Hunchar), an eight year-old girl who, when she falls asleep, is able to see the creatures who deliver dreams. In this world there are both good angels and bad angels, who deliver good and bad dreams respectively. In the first 20 minutes or so establishing this reality becomes a bit tedious and worrisome. The setup feels forced and bizarre, leaving the viewer scared that this might just be another indie film they won't understand. But then it changes. It's hard to say when, but somewhere between Emma falling asleep and her violent dream-kidnapping, leaving her body in a comatose state, the movie becomes gripping and intense. Winans uses the contrast of the dream world and the real world to great effect and manages to tell an interesting and compelling story through it.

For all the strength that the story possesses, there is a reason people don't usually do science fiction on a small budget. When a film takes place in a dream-world of angels, demons and monsters it is a given that the production design will end up costing an arm and a leg. Winans didn't have that arm or leg, so instead he relies on smoke, creative angles and unbelievably shallow depth of field. This works fine for the majority of the film, but there is a point when the audience begins to wonder just what the camera is hiding. It's only the inspired cinematography of commercial photographer Jeff Pointer that saves the film from becoming an inescapable sea of low Dutch-angles.

Jamin Winans directorial debut draws inspiration from a great many films yet it always manages to maintain its own sense of individuality. Winans is a strong visual director, in the tradition of Gilliam and Jeunet, and his dialogue, though at times laborious, is sharp and alive. This powerful, though flawed, directorial debut positions Winans as a man who may just be able to bring filmmaking to Colorado. It also begs the question: will someone please give this man some real money to play with?

Copyright Criminals Review

Can you own a sound? This is the question that the documentary "Copyright Criminals" explores with surprising insight and care. The film, directed by Benjamin Franzen, introduces viewers to the concept of "sampling" music. Sampling is the act of taking sound clips from previously recorded songs and repurposing them. Sampling has been a hugely controversial practice in the music industry and is a complicated problem without any easy answers. This divisive and complicated issue is one that could lend itself well to a fascinating and thought-provoking documentary, but this film isn't quite there.

"Copyright Criminals" is laid out in the standard documentary format of archival footage and talking heads. Nothing earth-shattering, but it gets the job done. The most exciting aspect of the visual storytelling is the use of split and overlapping images to illustrate the concept of sampling. It's entertaining to see the old footage and the dissonance between their sources, but the do filmmakers rely very heavily on this gimmick.

Throughout the course of the story we meet quite a few characters on both sides of the sampling controversy. On one side of the issue sit lawyers and producers, people who believe that songs should be heard in their entirety and not mined for parts to create new music. They see sampling as an easy way out of having to learn an instrument or find band members. On the other side of the issues, we meet DJs who wax poetic about sampling. One especially enthused musician describes sampling as the ability to assemble a dream band and play with them, sounding a lot like someone talking about a fantasy football team. These talking heads are informative but they don't give the story much heart.

But then we meet Clyde Stubblefield, a man who has been strongly affected by sampling and who is really the soul of the story. Stubblefield, known by many as "The Funky Drummer" was a drummer in James Brown's classic band and is widely considered the most sampled musician on earth. There is something touching and oddly tragic about Stubblefield, an old man who has been left in the dust by technology and wildly taken advantage of because of it. Stubblefield's beats and solos have been used hundreds, if not thousands of times by DJs worldwide, yet Stubblefield hasn't seen a penny from it. But even more powerful than that is Stubblefield's statement that he doesn't care. He doesn't want the money, no, he just wants to be recognized for his music.

"Copyright Criminals" is able to show many sides to an issue without becoming judgmental, something fewer and fewer documentaries can really pull off. It ends without the requisite "call to action" but this might serve to make the point even stronger. There's no simple way out from this problem and the destructive cycle of exploitation, followed closely by litigation, seems intent on continuing.

"Mr. Nobody" (Directed by Jaco Van Dormael, 2009) Review

Jaco Van Dormael's "Mr. Nobody" is the best film of 2009, and nobody in the US saw it. Though the film (shot in English no less) received wide release in Europe, it was deemed "too smart" for American audiences and never got a single screening here. This is a travesty because "Mr. Nobody" is one of the finest examples of a nonlinear narrative ever shot. It explores philosophical topics from the Big Bang theory to the Superstring theory to the concept of parallel universes. It manages to intimately follow a protagonist from the moment of his conception, through numerous lives, for 118 year. It thoughtfully and elegantly explores the themes of birth, childhood, marriage, love, divorce, depression and death. With its beautifully layered exploration of moral and philosophical themes, "Mr. Nobody" makes "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" look like "Gnomeo and Juliet."

At the start "Mr. Nobody" stems from the tales that Nemo Nobody, the last "true" human living in the year 2092, tells his doctor. From these stories we spring backwards to multiple points in Nemo's 118 years of life. He tells of his childhood in an idealized 70s Britain where love is always around the corner. He tells of both teenage years in Vancouver and Britain, which begin a pattern of his deliberately contradictory stories. Though Nemo has only been married once, his wife seems to be three different women at different moments in the story. In one life he becomes a rich author and has two perfect children. In another, his wife suffers crippling depression and can't connect with him. And in the third, Nemo spends years searching for his one true love, only finding her moments before their death on a space station, revolving around a collapsing star. Nemo dies multiple times in his stories, yet versions of him always continue.

Though the story doesn't unfold in a manner anywhere close to the traditional plot structure western audiences have become accustomed to, it moves naturally and dreamlike through the multiple lives Nemo Nobody claims to have lived. His stories are fantastical and the locations unreal yet the relationships he shares are honest and striking.

Jared Leto, as Mr. Nobody himself, delivers an emotionally resonant, tour-de-force performance, as he inhabits twelve different versions of the character, ranging from 19 to 118 years old. Diane Kruger, Sarah Polley, and Rhys Ifans offer up strong supporting work. But it is the young actors, Toby Regbo and Claire Stone, who bring vividly to life the heated intimacy of young passion and heart-wrenching pain of their separation.

Though the story doesn't begin to really make sense till the end, it quickly establishes itself to be a fantastical and wonderful exploration of what it means to be a human and the difference in what is and what should be truly important in the world.

Timeout Roundtable Reaction

After reading the Timeout piece Donna Seaman seemed to stand out. From the get-go Donna states that to be a qualified critic one must have "passion first and foremost, you must find consolation in the art you dedicate yourself to and devote your critical attention out of hunger for what books or music or, literally, food grants you." This quote rings true because without passion, reading a critic's work would be dull and uninteresting. Seaman's emphasis on devoting your attention to what you are reviewing is also an incredibly important idea that she words very nicely.

The next bit of truth that Seaman brings up is the need for an "urge to share one's enthusiasms...to advocate." This enthusiasm is what truly sets critics apart from most people. After seeing a movie they love the average viewer will rave about it for a while to some close friends but forget it soon enough. A critic on the other hand has a burning desire to share their passionate love (or equally as powerful, hate) for said piece of art. Without this desire to help others spend their time and money wisely, critics as we know them today wouldn't exist.
Seaman's next powerful point it that "a critic has to be able to imagine many responses, and see the experience in a greater context." This is one of the primary reasons that Roger Ebert's reviews are so fascinating. He manages to both communicate his own experience of the film while also remaining open to the possibility that others will have a totally different experience of the film. He does this by both explaining a simple plot of the film as well as giving the reader a feel for what the experience of the film is like. In his review of The Mechanic Ebert manages to both express his distaste for the film while still leaving room for the possibility that people who enjoy violent, action driven thrillers might enjoy the film a lot. It is this ability that sets many of his reviews apart from his peers.

One of Seaman's final and arguably most powerful points is the idea of a critic having a solid track record. When a critic has been around for a substantial amount of time, this greatly increases both their reliability and their validity as a source of criticism. When a critic has shown time and again that they are reliable in their reviews, they are able to earn the trust of the reader on a much deeper level. An intelligent reader can usually see when a critic truly believes in their opinion or whether they are endorsing something because it's what is new and exciting. The critics with the most staying power tend to be the ones who are able to maintain the same rigorous filter throughout the passage of time.

Seaman's thoughtful approach to her role as a critic is what makes her stand out above the rest. She approaches her job with a series of rules and morals that allow the reader to trust her. She recognizes that along with passion, enthusiasm and staying power, a critic must always remain trustworthy and reliable.

A Review That Works and One That Doesn't

A good review is one which can eloquently and effectively communicates a critic's opinion on a certain subject, regardless of the opinion of the reader. A great review goes a step beyond that and actively enhances the reader's enjoyment of what is being reviewed. Roger Ebert's January 12th review of the "The Illusionist" does just that. The review begins by discussing the storyline of the film, it doesn't give much away yet manages beautifully to pull us into the story. These first few paragraphs also manage to communicate the tone and pace of the story, allowing the reader to get a well-rounded feel for the film itself. In the second half of the review Ebert delves deeper into the story behind the film, telling the reader of the screenwriter's dark past and giving us a small biography of Jacques Tati, the man who was meant to direct and star in the film. Ebert's elaboration on the history of the production gives the reader a wonderful level of depth and insight that would otherwise be absent. This review masterfully provides information as well as opinion, allowing the reader a deeper understanding of the review and in turn, of the film. Reviews like this one, which can enlighten as well as entertain, may be the most valuable kind of all in an era where the headline has become a substitute for the article and in-depth research is virtually nowhere.

On the other end of the spectrum lie reviews that add nothing to the discussion and do little except throw mean spirited jabs. Armond White's November 23rd review of "The King's Speech" is a prime example of the type of reviews that have made White something of a pariah among film critics. White finds little to enjoy in "The King's Speech" which, though different than most, is a perfectly valid opinion. The problem arises when White attempts to explain his distaste for the film and can find little more than superficial or political criticism for the film. From the beginning of the review White seems to have some kind of resentment for the royals and instead of discussing the filmmaking he spends a solid two paragraphs mocking the royal family. When White finally reaches the subject of the filmmaking he dismisses huge sections with a wave of his hand. White doesn't seem to examine the reasons behind the cinematography or blocking, calling them "inept" and "frivolous" respectively, without giving much of a reason for his opinion. The review continues in this spiteful tone until the conclusion where it wraps up with a few more tasteless jabs at the monarchy. The review fails not because of its strong opinions but because of its lack of its substance. Even if a reviewer disagrees with a choice or dislikes a film, the reader deserves an explanation of why. When a review becomes completely about the reviewer and gives no information for the reader to explore the subject themselves it becomes masturbatory and pointless.