I_Ailurophile

I can't help but think of select jidaigeki from world-class filmmakers like Kobayashi Masaki ('Samurai rebellion,' 'Harakiri'), or Mizoguchi Kenji ('Sansho the bailiff,' 'The life of Oharu'). For all the many, many works of fiction that romanticize feudal Japan with its daimyo, samurai, and ninja, some select filmmakers and titles like those I've noted emphatically work to demythologize the period, zeroing in on the brutality, cruelty, corruption, rigid class structure, hardship, and oppression that characterized life for all but a lucky few. This is worth reflecting upon, for with 'Unforgiven,' screenwriter David Webb Peoples, and filmmaker Clint Eastwood, have done much the same for the Old West with its cowboys, outlaws, lawmen, and figures larger than life. It plays with familiar themes and story ideas, yes, as old guns ride to protect innocents from ruffians. Yet few are the westerns that do so much to tear down the tall tales and legends of a time and a place that hold immense sway in popular culture and popular belief. And as this instance does indeed boast all the same narrative ugliness as its genre kin, the result is even more intensely absorbing than other points of comparison - and surely one of the best westerns that has ever been made.

There are no heroes here. Our protagonists regret their pasts and are horrified by the current state of affairs. The sheriff really is intending to uphold law and order, but he does so in a coarse, violent manner as rotten as a days-old corpse in the desert sun. The sex workers operating out of Skinny's saloon are ordinary people trying to get by, and victim to the whims of the men and society around them. Why, Peoples leans extra hard into dispelling the illusion of the Old West with select characters - the well-spoken gunslinger whose reputation shines taller than his real deeds; the arrogant young pup whose bark is bigger than his bite; the remorseful killer who hates everything he has done and is doing, and is just as mortal and vulnerable as anyone else. As the grisly climax draws to a close, there is no sense of thrill or triumph to be found, but only a gnawing sense of horror at what Munny has done, and who he was and who he was forced to become once again. There is a certain wryness to the proceedings here as our chief characters find themselves ill-suited to the task at hand, yet particularly as the latter half runs on faster than one would suppose, the picture bears an unexpectedly heavy, depressing tone as the saga grows darker.

All this makes it even more impressive that, overall, 'Unforgiven' was shaped with a delicate, mindful touch that feels gentle and nimble in contrast to the tenor of its story. Though greeting the climax with a theme of dread ambience equivalent to the mood, composer Lennie Niehaus mostly presents a score not befitting sweeping vistas, or spotlighting victorious champions, but plucking away at the simmering tragedy that has fallen over the entirety of the landscape. While stunts and practical effects cut through the tableau with stark bloodletting, and the lighting in nighttime scenes makes the darkness feel extra thick, the overarching palette with which this was crafted is detailed yet deliberately plain, if not even muted. The production design aims for "rustic" and achieves it to perfection; even the finest of the wardrobe, hair, and makeup seem very appropriately to have been out in the weather for a few days. The film employs beautiful landscapes but we are quite pointedly not allowed to drink them in as we do in other westerns, not while this seedy slate of events transpires, and Jack N. Green's cinematography and the subsequent film processing almost seem to drain some color out of the finished product, again meeting the lightly sorrowful sensibilities that pervade the length. This is to say nothing of sharp, subtle moments in the writing, and in Eastwood's truly masterful direction, and in the acting of the incredible cast, that do much all on their own to bring the tale to bear: the way the voices of these would-be legendary figures shake; the precise instant that we see a switch flip in Munny, signaled with a physical action that in any other western is so common as to be mundane; and so on.

Frankly, if this isn't the best western movie ever made, then it keeps only the very finest of company. For ever reason I had high expectations when I sat to watch, and even still it's far better than I could have supposed. Everyone involved should be endlessly proud of their contributions, for this represents stupendous work from one and all. It's surely one of Eastwood's finest hours as both a director and an actor, and he's not alone in that. Whether one is specifically a fan of the genre, or has some other special impetus to watch, or is just looking for something good, this is a momentous classic that everyone needs to see. I would suggest as a minor caveat that one has to perhaps be in a certain mood to watch, and it is definitely a feature that commands one's full attention - but this is no abject warning, for this is what any work of such a caliber should achieve. I'm swept away by how excellent 'Unforgiven' is and I cannot recommend it highly enough; find it how you must, for this is a must-see! Bravo!

Rare is the western in which some violent conflict is not central to the narrative. It's somewhat refreshing, I dare say, as the title character relocates to the wilderness of the mountains to eke out living on the land, learning and growing along the way. More thoughtful than many like figures, albeit just as crude in some ways, and initially far more naive, Johnson makes for an interesting protagonist in a story that chiefly, effectively, boils down to "man versus nature." To be sure, there are bursts of violence here and there as the tale progresses, and the stunts and effects to greet us are fantastic. Yet despite such instances and the coarseness that fills certain corners, overall the tone here is warmer and gentler, one of awe, wonder, and reverie more than concrete drama, thrills, or otherwise emotional spikes. Or to quote filmmaker Sydney Pollack, one doesn't necessarliy see "a strong narrative line. It's a picture made out of rhythms and moods and wonderful performances." Admittedly, the result is perhaps less than grabbing at first blush, and I can understand how such a tack won't appeal to all comers. Yet for those who are open to the style at hand, 'Jeremiah Johnson' is a low-key treasure, and I can honestly say it's even better than I had hoped.

I could do without the unnecessary vocals in a couple of Tim McIntire and John Rubinstein's themes, but by and large the score is outstanding: a stirring complement as soft-spoken as the title at large, but nevertheless ably fitting the mood at all turns whether by its inclusion or its declination. One could also argue that some little touches in the cinematography or editing are needless embellishments, but on the other hand, Duke Callaghan captures many superb shots of all the visual splendor to greet us - and there are also times when Thomas Stanford's cuts are so smart and effective that they do just as much as the writing to elicit strong reactions as the material intends. Why, there's one shot herein so brilliant that it just might be one of the best things I've ever seen. And that's really the key, for alongside the dexterous, physical, wholehearted acting of the cast, primarily Robert Redford, the storytelling herein is more nuanced and purely visual than we register in the average flick. The saga is populated with specific beats that follow a through-line with a real progression, yes, and the violence is stark, grim, and fluid where it arises, mostly in the back end. Yet the screenplay boasts more words of description and direction than words of dialogue; Pollack shows us far more than he tells, and commonly quite subtly. Our protagonist himself almost feels like a set piece, a force of nature unto himself amidst the mountains, among the marvelously detailed production design, the vibrant costume design, hair, and makeup, and above all the unfailingly gorgeous natural landscapes of Utah. With all this well in mind, when the feature does deign to be more plainspoken, there's a mindfulness and deliberateness to it that almost feels poetic.

Some tiny odds and ends might not sit so well with me to one degree or another. Still, in whatever measure 'Jeremiah Johnson' may fall short of perfect, the distinction is negligible. For having started so passively, and unimpessively, long before it's over this more than proves itself, with exquisite direction capping off the bright writing that lays the foundation. When all is said and done I could scarcely be happier with just how good the film is, and it's no wonder after all that it's had such a lasting presence in culture. It bears repeating that it won't appeal equally to all, but as someone who is by nature rather cynical, being so taken at length is a true pleasure. This is well worth watching however one needs to go about it, and I'm glad to give 'Jeremiah Johnson' my very high and hearty recommendation!

There were some good ideas here, including writing that draws slight narrative links to prior entries in the Heisei series. It's also pretty much as well made as one would expect of Toho's signature franchise in the 90s, including models, miniatures, practical effects of all varieties, the monster suits and effects, production design, costume design, sound, and so on. The iconic music of composer extraordinaire Ifukube Akira is always welcome, the cast are just fine, and among the computer-generated imagery that embellishes the proceedings, the attacks of the titanic creatures look darn good. All the ingredients are here for another solid entry in the Godzilla series.

Unfortunately, the doing in 'Godzilla vs. Mechagodzila,' or 'Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla II' as she is often known, is less clear-cut than its component parts would suggest. The creature attacks are swell, but uses of green screen are much more tacky and dated - about on par for 1993, but that generous acknowledgement only gets us so far. The folks working behind the scenes turned in good work, yet I'm not necessarily all that fond of the designs of the kaiju here, for they seem to bear noticeably less detail, and also seem to have a rubbery sheen to them that heightens the sense of artifice. More substantively, for all the thoughts that went into the screenplay, I just don't believe that they're used very well. We're greeted with not so much a unified plot as a weirdly loose collection of ideas that sort of form a whole. Nevermind characterizations, or dialogue, or even scene writing; once we're past early exposition, and the kaiju start to enter the picture, story cohesion is rather thin.

The latter is particularly unfortunate because this movie struggles with an issue all too common among its predecessors. The pacing is all but lethargic, deadening what excitement there might be had as colossi fight and humans, well, do something on the sidelines. With weak pacing adjoining weak storytelling, the monster violence that is a chief draw of Godzilla in the first place just becomes a tiresome slog floating in an amorphous sea of "sort of." For as differently as cinema's foremost beast has been interpreted in one film or another, the best installments can all claim superb writing as the bedrock underlying the sci-fi, horror, drama, and action. This is not one of those instances, and though the entirety isn't altogether bad, it leaves me pretty nonplussed, and less than enthusiastic.

There are a lot worse ways to spend one's time. There are absolutely worse Godzilla flicks. There are better ones, too, however, and there's the rub. If you have a specific impetus to watch, or even if you're just looking for something light on a lazy day, this is decent enough on its own merits to warrant a view. Keep your expectations in check and just try to appreciate the experience for what it is, and maybe that's the best way to get the most out of 'Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla II.'