A Serious Man is a film like nothing I’ve ever seen before. To me it represents an extreme precision in filmmaking that only the Coen Brothers can achieve. Where do I begin in describing this film? I’m not sure. There are no clear answers in my analysis or in the film itself. But that’s ok.

It’s all about a man whose life is falling apart. His wife leaves him, he finds his job reputation threatened, he struggles financially to pay for disastrous events that plague his life. All because he did nothing. Where is the justice in that? In this film, which draws much of its story inspiration from the biblical account of Job, there isn’t really a lot of closure or definite reasons given for these events. They just happen. The Coen Brothers are much more interested in exploring these topics than solving them. And by crafting an ultra-specific journey of one man’s confusing, often funny struggle through life, I somehow recognize so much of what I’m seeing on screen in the life around me as well.

And with that, I leave you with a very short inconclusive review of a film that I can confidently say I loved.

Part 2 of my Jonathan Demme double feature. Something Wild is a film whose description can be perfectly described by its title alone. The story follows Charles (Jeff Daniels), a respectable new VP of a corporation who meets a wild and manipulative drifter first known as Lulu (Melanie Griffith) who confronts him on a street for walking out of a restaurant without paying his check. She senses a wild, rebellious side of him, and she’s not wrong. She offers to drive him around for a bit and give him a ride back to work, and he reluctantly agrees. She doesn’t drive him to work and instead leaves town and leads him into the craziest weekend of his life. Charlie at first seems so unsure of himself and just goes along for the ride, but we see that he’s secretly enjoying every detail of the rebellion of blowing off work to spend the weekend with some exciting girl he just met. But from there, things get a little more complicated as a vulnerability is exposed in both characters. We at first mistake Lulu for just a wild, surface-level character, but in a particularly telling scene she takes Charles to meet her mother, pretending they are married. It shows a vulnerability and sadness to her character, especially when her mom, who plays along with her daughter’s fantasies but knows the truth says to Charles, “You look out for that girl.” And from there, the lies begin to become truths, facades fail, and both Charles and Lulu find a sort of volatile vulnerability with each other that perhaps neither has felt before.

Ray Liotta also shows up in the latter half of the film, as Lulu’s ex-husband. From here, the film seems to shift gears and further add to the mayhem and craziness of the plot. It’s a crazy, ludicrous plot that is as entertaining as it is unlikely, but that never detracts from the fun of it. At the core, the film is about being truly known by someone, and perhaps for that to really happen, it just takes something wild.

Melvin and Howard is such a fascinating movie to watch today. I didn’t know what to expect going in other than it was a beloved Jonathan Demme film (whose influence can be clearly seen in the Coen’s Raising Arizona and Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master). I had to track it down on DVD just to watch it. The cover is very misleading and so is the title because it wasn’t a buddy comedy like I thought it would be. The film is all about the character of Melvin and his wacky life of financial and familial struggles. It has such a unique and comedic tone that seems to sort of poke fun at American culture and consumerism at times.

The film starts with the two title characters meeting by chance on the road when Melvin pulls over in the middle of the night to find Howard lying in the dirt. He gives Howard a ride, quite possibly saving his life. And we linger with them in conversation, learning that this mysterious man Melvin found in the dirt claims to be Howard Hughes. Melvin doesn’t believe him and they sing a song together instead. It’s a strange first sequence for a film, but quite enjoyable, especially because you’d think this is the start of a fun, road movie and a funny friendship between the two. But instead, the film keeps the audience on their toes and Melvin and Howard part ways after driving through the night and arriving in Las Vegas. Melvin gives Howard some change and he leaves. That’s that. The film suddenly exchanges this lengthy first sequence for fast paced scenes and turning points in the life of Melvin. The film continues forward as we see Melvin’s life fall apart and come back together multiple times. Where’s Howard? God only knows, but this is Melvin’s story. And Melvin is the typical, innocent American everyman who we love and hope makes it out alright. So much happens to him and it happens so fast. The plot often skips over important beats to maintain this breakneck speed, but it never feels too fast. That’s just how life is for Melvin, he bounces around looking for the right life, changing his career and family multiple times. It’s an honest quest for a pure life that he can’t seem to find. Why not have the movie be about him?

Through the comedy, it’s almost somewhat tragic how much Melvin has faced. What will his accomplishments be? What will he be remembered for? Who will be with him in the end? Perhaps that fateful day he met Howard on the road had more purpose than he could’ve possibly imagined.

Yep, this is a fun movie.

Hugo is a film about dreams. It’s also about childhood and wonder and many other pure and heartfelt things that feel a bit surprising to be coming from Martin Scorsese, who is often (wrongly) labeled as a director who glorifies violence and toxic lifestyles. Although Scorsese’s filmography has always transcended the labels that have been placed on him, Hugo represents an even greater departure from any of his works, yet the story of this film fits him in such an evident way as it deals with the power and enchantment of cinema, but also the heartbreak that comes with working as an artist.

Centering on a young orphan, Hugo (Asa Butterfield), with a skill for fixing machines and a fascination for cinema, the story follows his quest to fix a mysterious automaton that him and his father used to work on together. Along the way, he meets another young orphan, Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz), who helps him with the automaton and a great many other things. In a heartwarming scene, Hugo introduces Isabelle to films, repaying her for introducing him to the library. As the film continues and more clues are unraveled, we learn about (and come to sympathize with) the great French filmmaker and illusionist Georges Méliès (Ben Kingsley) who plays a big part in Hugo’s quest with the automaton. And once Méliès enters the story is when things get really, really good. This is where the film shines as you can feel Scorsese’s joy and excitement for film start to really come through. Anyone familiar with Scorsese’s way of speech knows that he has the incredible ability to rapidly list off title after title of films, smiling as he describes their impact on him, filling himself and others with a pure childlike joy (I’m not exaggerating here). And it is this same joy that is captured in the filmmaking here as Scorsese brings life to the beautiful story of Méliès and his groundbreaking work as a filmmaker seen through the childlike eyes of Hugo. We see one master give honor and homage to another, but never in the sacrifice of story, as Méliès is written beautifully into the heart of Hugo’s journey. I have to talk about one beautiful scene in which Méliès watches a film reel of his old work with a smile on his face. I’m reminded of a recent interview with Scorsese for his latest film, The Irishman, in which he discusses many scenes when he couldn’t help but crack up laughing on set as they filmed moments that he loved, his smile too big to contain. There’s a beautiful metaphor in there somewhere about one master smiling at another’s work within his own. Like the machines and magic tricks in the movie, it’s a labor of love.

The last 30 minutes is moving and wonderful. It not only caps off Hugo’s story in a satisfying and wholesome way, but it makes you appreciate the passion that goes into a work like this. Whether it be an automaton, a magic trick, or a film, they all ultimately represent the same thing: our dreams. (Is that cheesy? I don’t care.)

P.S. I didn’t even mention Scorsese’s unique and wonderful use of animation and 3D to enhance the film. It might be slightly distracting, but I’m sure it dazzles people in a way that Méliès would’ve been proud of.

I have finally reached the conclusion. The tenth and final film of Kieslowski’s epic 10 films about the 10 commandments. A cinematic masterclass if there ever was one. And the film that ended it is a refreshing change of tone from the rest, proving to be more lighthearted and funny, yet equally rich with insight and commentary on human nature. The commandment of the film is “Thou shall not covet thy neighbors goods.” The story follows two distant brothers, both middle-aged, who come together in the wake of their father’s funeral. Their father, who neither of them knew well, turns out to be a well-known stamp collector who left behind a collection of rare stamps worth millions. That’s right…stamps. These stamps provide the basis for the rest of the film as the two brothers drive themselves to extreme measures trying to gain one last stamp for the collection, even going so far as giving a kidney. It’s strange and funny..after all, it’s just stamps. At the start of the film, neither of the two brothers knew the worth of stamps, and by the end, they find themselves giving much of their lives to it. It’s a funny, entertaining, and fascinating way to end such a heavy series of films on a somewhat lighter note.

Overall, the decalogue as a whole is one of the most unique, simple, and profound pieces of film I’ve watched. It feels as if every episode is mythic, providing scenarios I never would’ve dreamed of, but that I don’t doubt has happened to plenty of people worldwide. The connections that Kieslowski makes throughout these films provide a cathartic sort of payoff to those who are paying attention and it makes you feel as if you’re in a fully formed world. At any given point, a random character walking down the street could be the lead of one of the other Decalogue films, almost as if Kieslowski is saying, “look at these people, each one of them has a weird, funny, gross, strange, intimate, heartbreaking struggle.” I hope more people from my generation invest the time into this 10 hour epic because it’s undoubtedly worth it. Genuinely can’t wait to watch these again someday and explore the rest of Kieslowski’s serendipitous work.

Can’t believe I’m already here. This ninth installment of the Decalogue series provides a challenging and fascinating story as the series reaches its end. Centering on a husband and wife, this film tackles the commandment, “Thou shall not covet,” but not in the way you’d expect. When Roman learns that he is physically unable to satisfy his wife, he is sent into a dark and depressive state assuming his wife, Hanka, will leave him. Hanka however affirms her love for him and says their love is more than physical, but Roman insists she find someone else to please her regardless. In some sort of strange off screen agreement, they both accept the fact that Hanka will see another man while staying married to Roman. Weird, but sad. Both characters want the best for each other, and you get the sense that Hanka only acts this way to make her husband feel better, as the guilt she faces from these actions far outweigh the pleasure. In a strange cat and mouse routine, Roman spies on his wife and her new lover, fueling his rejection and hurt. At this point, both of them know of the affair, but never discuss it. As the story progresses, we see a broken Roman coveting the one thing he can’t have, his wife; and it’s heartbreaking. Hanka feels this same heartbreak and does everything she can to convince Roman her love is real for him, but it becomes harder and harder to believe. Another element is that Hanka’s new lover, an immature jock, begins to fall in love with her, not understanding the true meaning of their meetings. Kieslowski makes us think, who’s really do the coveting? Who is actually guilty of breaking this commandment? Which one (if any) is worse? These questions don’t have easy answers. Whew. What a story.

It’s also worth noting that Kieslowski brilliantly captures Roman’s struggle visually with many repeated metaphors: framing him through glass (a symbol that he can only watch and never touch), framing Hanka in smaller frames, and even something as simple as showing a broken glove box repeatedly. In this film, and most of the other Decalogue’s, it’s the small details that give authenticity to these peoples lives, and allows me to feel like I know them so well through just a snapshot of their whole struggle. This one is loaded with things to dissect, and I could definitely see myself revisiting this as a stand-alone film in the future just to watch again. Great stuff.
One more to go.