Oh My God, You Sound Famous Already.

Jeffrey Wright fest! It would appear that we announce a festival in honour of an artist when we hit three films that they have been involved with. And unless he popped up in something the I didn't recognise, this is Wright's third appearance after this and this. We do love him so.

Basquiat was a bit of a breakout for Mr Wright, despite much acclaimed stage work (including Angels In America, a role he reprised on television.) And it's a beautifully juicy role to be given, a biopic of artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, friend of Warhol, major acclaim, kooky, rags to riches, all that business. And a seriously cool cast alongside you - Benicio Del Toro, Claire Forlani, Michael Wincott, David Bowie, Dennis Hopper, Gary Oldman, Christopher Walken, Willem Dafoe, Parker Posey, Courtney Love, Tatum O'Neal... wow. Plus! A film about an enfant terrible of the art world directed by an enfant terrible of the art world! What more could you want?


Basquiat (Wright) is a druggie, living rough, earning some notoriety for his graffiti work as Samo and the phrases he sketches on streetscapes. He works in an art gallery run by Mary (Posey), hanging paintings with an electrician also trying to make his way as an artist (Willem Dafoe) while Mary and her client, Albert (Oldman) abuse him until he walks out on them. He does some sketches and, with his friend Benny (Del Toro), manages to convince Andy Warhol (Bowie) and his manager Bruno (Hopper) to purchase these sketches - Warhol, in his terrific deadpan manner, comments after Basquiat's departure that they're actually good. Eventually, art dealer Rene Ricard (Wincott) spots one of his paintings at a party and tracks down Basquiat. The artist, still doing copious amounts of drugs as he tries and succeeds in romancing waitress Gina (Forlani), is quickly turned into a star, though on the way he burns many, many of his closest allies, including Rene and Gina. The destructive clinicism of Warhol's artistic cynicism starts to wear him down, and with no one there to say no, Basquiat spirals downwards.

Wright as Basquiat is fantastic, fully inhabiting the fear and fearlessness of success, the stoic drive behind the fragile artist, the self-belief and arrogance mixed with a paranoia that he might fade as fast as he rose. The supports, especially Oldman, Wincott and particularly Bowie, are terrific. Bowie as Warhol is almost scary in his disconnect from the world around him. Whether or not he is a perfect Warhol portrayer, he is perfect for this film.


It has been noted that the film can be seen as much as being about director Schnabel - I don't know a great deal about either artist outside of a decent knowledge of their work and where they fit into their respective movements, but even I picked up on distinct similarities between the characterised Basquiat and the real Schnabel. His pyjama wearing, for example. But whether or not the film is accurate to the truth of Basquiat's life, it doesn't really matter anyway. The film is an artwork by Julian Schnabel taking Basquiat's life as a leaping-off point, and like any great work of art it is not just technique but the emotion put into it, and that emotion is always going to be drawn from the artist themselves. So rather than seeing the film as a biopic, it is probably instead best to view it as a fictional narrative built around the basics of the artist, interpreted through the eyes of another artist who obviously holds the character in high regard.


But does the film work? In many ways, yes. The riveting performances and great cameos keep you watching and caring, despite the fact that Basquiat is in many ways repugnant once he gains his fame. But the film does not reach the heights of Schnabel's later The Diving Bell And The Butterfly, or even his Before Night Falls. It is, however, a solid debut and an interesting take on an artist's story. 3 stars.

Now He's Too Rich To Kill.

Avert your eyes - more James Dean love coming up. But rest assured (or saddened), it's the last of his three. That he only made three is a tragic loss, though at least he went out with one of the best hit rates in history. And he managed to avoid that terrible slide of other figures of similar standing from the period - I'm looking at you, Marlon Brando.


Giant is big by name, and big by nature. The last of Dean's performances (after East Of Eden and Rebel Without A Cause) it picked up his second consecutive posthumous Oscar nomination - I'm pretty sure that's a feat no one else has achieved, and probably never will. Surely helped by the fact that he died shortly before production had even wrapped (some of his lines ended up being dubbed by another actor), and that the film spent a solid year in the editing suites. It released 14 months after he died.

Giant is a three hour plus epic, and the story is pretty huge, so I'm not going to be able to do it justice. Briefly, Rock Hudson plays Texas rancher Bick Benedict, who falls in love with and marries young Leslie (Elizabeth Taylor) when he goes to buy a horse off her father. She struggles to win over Bick's sister Luz (Mercedes McCambridge), who runs the ranch, for a long time, as Luz feels replaced. Bick and Leslie have a couple of kids, Jordan (Dennis Hopper) and Luz II (Carroll Baker), neither of whom seem too keen on taking over the extensive ranching operation the family has built up over years. To add insult to injury, Jordan goes off and marries a Mexican immigrant.


Running parallel is Dean's story. Shortly after the arrival of Leslie, Jett Rink (Dean) is reminded that he was fired. Luz, however, has affections for him, convincing Bick to let him stay on, despite his drinking problems and the fact that, well, he's just a bit of a prick. After Luz dies (thrown by the horse that Bick bought off Leslie's father), she bequeaths to Jett a small parcel of land. Bick tries to buy it off him, but Jett honours her wishes and sequesters himself on the pocket, building a house as he continues his desperate slide into alcoholism. Suddenly, however, he discovers oil, mining his land for all that it is worth and making an absolute fortune. He tries to lease Bick's ranch, to put down rigs that would see Bick pocket a very tidy sum of money (the word 'billion' is thrown around - and this is back around the time of the war, so you know that's a hell of a lot of money), but Bick refuses, stating that his ranch will never be an oilfield, though it's reasonably obvious that it is primarily due to his dislike of Jett. Jett doesn't worry, instead building a vast empire. The Benedicts and Rink are both very wealthy, but Rink is fast descending into alcoholic madness, though it does not stop him from pursuing Luz II, much to Bick's disdain. Finally, however, Jett collapses at the feet of the destruction he has sown for himself.


Yep, that's the short version. And it sounds like Jett's side of the story is the major one, but really it's a subplot, and his being nominated for Lead Actor reeks of category fraud that may actually have cost him an Oscar he deserved, instead pitting him against costar Hudson and probably splitting the vote. All of the performances in the film are superb, masterfully handled by director George Stevens (the only person to pick up an Oscar for this film, despite nine other nominations.) Stevens in fact manages to craft a solidly and consistently compelling film from start to finish - as mentioned it is very long, and at the time I thought I was too tired to watch it in one sitting. Wrong. I couldn't stop, and just dealt with my fatigue the next day. And it was worth it. A great score, beautiful lensing from  William C. Mellor, and editor William Hornbeck should be handed an Oscar for managing to wade through the hundreds and hundreds of thousands of feet of film Stevens shot. That he managed to create a film as long as this that never once dropped the ball or seemed to contain an extraneous frame is truly laudable. 


As a curtain call for the icon that would be James Dean it is very fitting. Epic, despite the short life led by the star, it pulled in so much beauty and talent as to be a fitting tribute to someone who could have gone on to even better things. Imagine what a few more years under his belt could have done for him. If he could pull these performances out with the experience of only three features, give him another ten years and, if he had managed to stay on the rails, he would have been unstoppable. But, as it were, his legend will always remain, however succinct, as glorious. 5 stars.

I'll Try And Be As Strong As You Want Me To Be.

Is there any late actor as repeatedly imitated as James Dean? In terms of attempted artistry in photo spreads of the newest up-and-comer playing something approaching bad-boy status, or who's just so damn pretty and talented, that look is always going to come out somewhere along the way. 


The only Dean film I've seen is Rebel Without A Cause - though he only made three major films, so that's a whole third of his primary output. I do also plan on correcting that to encompass Giant and East Of Eden as soon as I can lay my hands on them.

I first saw Rebel Without A Cause at an underground cinematheque of sorts in inner-Sydney back in... what, 2005? Projected onto the wall of a room underneath a cafe in Surry Hills from an old 16mm print I think from the National Film And Sound Archive. I'd obviously been aware of James Dean for years before, had been in love with him from naught but his photos and tragic story (nothing like a tragic story to get me crushing - Mr Dean, River Phoenix, the list could go on but it's just going to get to much for our little hearts to bear.)


RWAC (as it shall now be known to save on typing) is the story of Jim Stark (Dean), a perpetual new kid on the block whose family decides to move every time he gets in trouble - which seems to be often. Finding himself in his new town, he only has to turn up to school to get into trouble - he steps on the school seal, which everyone else walks around on the way up to the front door. Stark has already met a couple of the kids from school by the time his first big fight happens later that day, at a field trip to the planetarium. Judy (Natalie Wood) lives down the road from him, going out with tough guy Buzz (Corey Allen), but you can tell from the get-go that Stark enthralls her. John, known as Plato (Sal Mineo) is a complete outcast, an apparent homosexual, lusting (completely understandably) for our protagonist. The fight between Stark and Buzz at the planetarium sees a challenge to a game of chicken that night, whereby Stark and Buzz get in stolen cars, race them towards a cliff's edge, and whoever jumps out first is the chicken. Except Buzz never manages to get out.


As the film continues, with the famous scene between Stark and his parents, Stark's discontent and angst-before-angst-was-in becomes more and more apparent, and Stark, Plato and Judy all become closer and closer, finally spending time in an old abandoned mansion where they are set upon by Buzz's old crew (including Dennis Hopper in an early and very minor role.) The film comes full circle, finishing at the Planetarium, with police involvement.


Dean is electric, though Wood and Mineo got the Oscar nominations. The script is fantastic, spawning so many quotable lines that have entered the lexicon to the extent where I'm certain it is quoted without most people having any idea where these words come from. Director Nicholas Ray keeps the film taut and trim, allowing the easy beauty and dynamism of the young cast to flow through every scene, and Dean's ability to bring humanity to a role that so easily could have been completely loathsome, or at least purposelessly antagonistic, keeps you feeling for all three when, by rights, you should be on the side of the law. But at the end of the day, Stark just wants to try and find his place in the world, find how he fits in, but he doesn't want to hurt anyone. And once he finds love, all he wants is contentment that seems to completely elude him.


A true classic of cinema, let alone American cinema. And testament to the reason James Dean has remained so prominent in the eyes of the world over half a century after his death. 5 easy stars, and sometimes I wish I could add an arbitrary sixth.

I'm Hip About Time.

Easy Rider is one of those films that someone of my age always hears about yet so few actually get around to seeing. When I pulled it off the shelf at the DVD store it was the third time I'd seen it sitting there, and I almost put it back when I saw something else alongside it I had been meaning to watch also. I don't know what it is about the film - it probably has something to do with the notoriety around the production, plus the fact that, let's be honest here, it's 40 years old. That's actually a pretty decent age. It's a long time ago.

How hot is Fonda's bike (the front one?) I want. Immediately.

The film has held up very well, though, I must say. I often find myself watching films that were termed groundbreaking so many years ago and being mildly unimpressed - probably because once that ground was broken it was turned and mined so often as to become old-hat by the time I turned up fifteen years later. Easy Rider has maintained its uniqueness, however, and I dare say a big chunk of its ability to retain it has to do with Dennis Hopper's complete lack of general sanity and the gratuitous use of drugs during the production of the film. Hell, they didn't even really take a crew or cast for most of it, just made it up as they went along (and still scored a Screenplay Oscar nom! Snap, boys.)


So, the film was directed by Hopper, produced by Peter Fonda (who both starred) and written by Hopper, Fonda and Terry Southern, who had made a name for himself with films like Dr Strangelove. (I'm not going to go into the politics of credit and all of the folklore regarding the making of this film. It's too hard. I'm going to go off the credit list. It is wildly entertaining - I've just been reading about it in Peter Biskind's Easy Riders Raging Bulls - check it out.) Billy (Hopper) and Wyatt a.k.a. Captain America (Fonda) are on a road trip of sorts, having scored a pile of cocaine that they had successfully resold for a good profit. They're heading to New Orleans for Mardi Gras with two motorbikes and a pile of weed. Along the way they pick up lawyer George (Jack Nicholson, who was totally not a star back then - weird, huh?), and the three of them just motor along the highways of rural America, dealing with discrimination from locals offended by their hippy look, getting stoned (a lot), dropping acid, just generally doing whatever it is they want to do. 


It's a marvelous road movie, because the ultimate goal (Mardi Gras) isn't really a goal at all - it's some strange ephemeral thing off in the distance that doesn't really mean anything to anyone, just happens to be there for motivation. Upon arrival, you realise the ultimate destination was where they were at any given point - it really was about the journey, about discovery, about exploration and experimentation and living the lives they deemed to be the most relevant for that day and age. And the ending - a brilliant and tragic ending.


The performances... well, Hopper's was manic, Fonda's was distant and Nicholson's was particularly restrained. They kind of improvised most of the film, so their performances were all pretty much pitch-perfect, considering they were drug-fucked as they wrote it and performed it. And it never really goes too crazy - it does threaten to veer off into extremes, but somehow Hopper and Fonda manage to reign it back in just in time.


Strangely timeless, for a film featuring hippies, made in the hippy era. Perhaps the reality of them inhabiting the mindset of those featured in the film allowed for a much truer representation than clever scripting, smart casting and more money would have allowed. Their own insanity was what saved the film. 4 stars.