Find Me Guilty (Lumet 2006)

(While the move is being a pain in the butt, here is another classic review till I finish the Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans review)



Find Me Guilty is perhaps the most frustrating type of movie to review simply because of what it is: a professionally made, solidly written, directed and performed film that is completely lacks any distinguishing features to make it memorable. Of course, when you have a director as great as Sidney Lumet who gave us 12 Angry Men, a statement such as the one I made might still be seen as damning. It shouldn’t be, but the film never reaches the highs or lows that make a great director’s work worth discussing. After considering Find Me Guilty from all angles, the conclusion I reach is that there are better Sidney Lumet films, better Vin Diesel films, better court room dramas, better court room comedies, and better mob films that one should seek out first.

The film is based on the true events of the longest criminal trial in US history as an entire New Jersey mob family is arrested and to be put on trial all at once. One of these mobsters is Jackie DiNorscio (Diesel) an aging man already convicted for a drug charge in a separate case. DiNorscio is approached by DA Sean Kierney (Linus Roache, aka Bruce Wayne’s dad), who will get DiNorscio’s prison sentence reduced if he testifies against his associates. Instead, DiNorscio refuses and chooses to defend himself in court, with occasional advice from lead defence attorney Ben Klandis (Peter Dinklage). What results is a slightly absurd trial as DiNorscio’s generally loveable personality becomes the center of focus, much to the frustration of the prosecution.

The film is not so much about the court case itself, but rather an examination of DiNorscio’s unfailing sense of loyalty to his mob family and his inability to differentiate between personal ties and business ties, even when such loyalty seems misplaced. When the film opens, Jackie is nearly killed when his cousin shoots him several times: Jackie believes his cousin still loves him deep down and is simply in need of help for a drug problem, hence his refusal to turn him over to the police. Jackie, as played by Diesel, is not innocent of the crimes accused but does have an innocent view of the world. He does not seem to understand why people could possibly dislike him or doubt that he loves them. Kierney is the exact opposite of Jackie, a man who is legally innocent and right but is so personally arrogant and dislikeable that the viewer almost entirely sides with Jackie despite of the evidence.

This binary opposition of the characters is part of the problem with the film though. In one of the film’s best scenes, Kierney lets loose his frustration about the jury finding Jackie likeable and its impact upon their society, noting that after all, these men are murders and thieves. However, the viewer is never really left in conflict. Jackie is such a nice guy that we never really are left to see the other side of his life. In fact, the crimes Jackie has been involved with are pretty much swept away from the view of the viewer. Meanwhile, Kierney's horrible personality is in full display, ending any chance of conflicting ambiguity.

The end result of all of this is that there is no drama. While the film is interesting, it never becomes involving, leaving the film as little more than a collection of moments, of interesting scenes that really don’t add up to a whole lot. This is shocking given that, as noted, Lumet made perhaps the most intense court based films ever made in 12 Angry Men. Whereas each member of the jury in that film had distinct personalities and viewpoints,in Find Me Guilty, the supporting cast has nothing to work with. Dinklage and Ron Silver have very little to do, and the entire mass of the mob is nothing more than a series of Italian mafia stereotypes.

Worse, the film has a made for cable feel about it, from adequate but not great production design to shoddy makeup. The film is supposed to be set in the 1980s, but nothing in the film ever manages to feel evocative of the era. And while Diesel does his best as an actor here, the makeup he is given does not look natural, never allowing the viewer to believe in the supposed age of his character. The film would have been better served by casting an older actor in the role, and given the likeable but not overly bright approach taken to Jackie in the film, one could easily have seen Sylvester Stallone in the role. Yes, I am being serious.

I could say more about Find Me Guilty, but there really is not that much left. The film is a minor work for all involved, and is fine if there is nothing else to watch. But with all the possible choices one has, that will leave this film near the bottom of the pile

Bad Lieutenant (Ferrara 1992)

It is safe to say that I am not a fan of Abel Ferrara’s work for the most part. While I loved his direction on the pilot for the television series Crime Story, Body Snatchers (1993), his remake for the 1950s classic Invasion of the Body Snatchers, was mediocre at best, while King of New York (1990), along with many of his other crime films, were ultra violent attempts at mimicking Martin Scorsese’s early works.

So consider me surprised to find that I am not only impressed by his 1992 effort Bad Lieutenant, but I am willing to go as far as to say that Ferrara has made a legitimately great film. Moreover, Bad Lieutenant is a film that demonstrates a thoughtful and mature exploration of Christian faith and man’s relationship with God, regardless of where one stands on the spectrum of thought regarding God, faith and religion.

Bad Lieutenant tells the tale of a nameless New York Lieutenant (Harvey Keitel), who is just about as corrupt as they come: he is a heroine addict, a gambling addict, and and adulterer who is prone to violence and extortion when it comes to the people he meets on the job. As the Lieutenant’s life slowly unravels, his bets on a series of baseball games place him in the hole and his drug addictions grow more uncontrollable, he is presented with a shockingly brutal case. A young nun, during a break in at a church, is raped. While initially cynical and dismissive as to the horror of the event, the Lieutenant is shocked when the nun not only reveals she knows her attackers, but forgives them and refuses to give up their names. As his life falls apart, the case becomes a quest for the Lieutenant to understand the choice of the nun, and possibly find redemption for himself.

Bad Lieutenant is a film that is likely to offend viewers across the board. Conservative, religious audiences will likely be turned off by the extreme and volatile character at the center of the film, a character that we follow into the darkest of corners when it comes to his personal failings and vices. Non-religious viewers may very well be turned off by the film’s focus on spirituality and faith. Still others will likely be put off by the fact that the film is not a thriller or mystery, but a character study with little in the way of a traditional plot. All three possible rejections of the film would be a shame, as the film’s complex exploration of the possibility for personal redemption is rich and textured, asking the viewer to really engage with the issue both emotionally and intellectually.

The Lieutenant of the title is not merely a misguided individual, but a truly vile human being: a wretched father, a lousy husband, and a sickeningly horrific police officer who abuses his powers daily. The Lieutenant is the embodiment of every character an audience has ever been asked to root against. His initial reaction to the crime against the nun not only invites disgust from the audience, but elicits shock from some of his fellow officers. He cannot even fall back on the claim of being any good at his job, as the time he spends on his vices leaves little time to accomplish any form of crime fighting. About the only thing he cares about is baseball, where he seems to invest himself both financially and spiritually. By all definitions, he is an irredeemable monster, and there is no reason for us to give a damn about a monster, except for the fact that society has invested this one with power.

Oddly enough however, we do give a damn about this monster. All credit must be given to Ferrara and Keitel, because they somehow manage to find the humanity in this abomination of a character. The nameless Lieutenant is less a character than a walking, talking collection of anger, frustration, self pity and hatred, aimed at anyone and everyone. In lacking a name or much in the way of a defined existence outside of his job, Ferrara allows the viewer to project onto the character, and identify the traces of our own personal dark side within his behaviour. Keitel manages to give the best performance of his career here, portraying a man so convinced in his understanding of the world that the actions of the nun totally shatter his very core.

What differentiates this redemption narrative from others is that the redemption for the title character is of secondary importance. While certainly the Lieutenant’s own redemption comes into play, what he seeks most is to understand the choice of the nun, an understanding also sought by the audience. This search for answers, to seek to understand another point of view of life free of or base traits, ironically further unifies the viewer and the Lieutenant, connecting his attitude towards life and bad behaviour as being typical of part of our everyday lives.

It is debatable whether or not the Lieutenant is able to comprehend the answers to his and the viewers’ questions, and unlikely that all viewers will be open to accepting these answers, but the Lieutenant’s quest for knowledge leaves him by the final third of the film fully stripped of agency, belaying any power he might have over his life. (SPOILERS AHEAD) Whatever redemption the Lieutenant finds by the conclusion of the film has little to seemingly do with his own will, Ferrara and Keitel magnificently establish this redemption as one in which the character has been kicked dragging and screaming from his typical patterns of behaviour. Keitel’s performance is at its best here, as he makes a decision he clearly is tormented by, yet clearly feels he needs to do. His reconnection with humanity has left him broken and in pain, toying with the viewers’ emotions as to how to interpret the conclusion of the film. (SPOILERS OVER).

Ferrara wisely attempts to place the viewer squarely into the subjective point of view of the Lieutenant, following the character as he makes his journey from home to the streets, clubs and grimy apartments of criminals, drug dealers and prostitutes. As the Lieutenant deteriorates, so does the stability of the camera, and the end results helps to add to the grimy world from which escape is seemingly impossible, at least for the Lieutenant.

The deployment of music is also highly notable in the film, mainly for how little music is actually featured in the film. Ferrara doesn’t bother to often highlight scenes with non-diagetic music, instead allowing for the harsh collection of voices and city noise to carry entire scenes, adding a heightened tension to the film, as we lack an audio cue to help navigate just where scenes will head.

Bad Lieutenant will not be for all tastes, but it was not made to be. It is a film which relentlessly tells its tale the way it needs to be told, the audience’s reaction be damned. As such, the film is unquestionably art, and needs to be accepted on that level, along with the work that a viewer must do to understand art. Those seeking easy answers or sheer entertainment, look elsewhere.

Woyzeck (Herzog 1979)

There are some ways of describing a film that have simply become clichés, and I do my best to avoid using them. Referring to a film as a “minor work” is one such description that has fallen into overuse. Yet when it comes to Werner Herzog’s Woyzeck, I really cannot think of anything better than to describe it as a minor work. While I still have many films to go in my viewing of all of Herzog’s work, Woyzeck simply feels like a filler project, going over ideas and concepts that other films and filmmakers, including Herzog himself, have touched on before without really saying anything new, or at least finding a new vantage point from which to talk about these topics.

Based on a play by Georg Buchner and set in the early 1800s, Woyzeck is the story of Franz Woyzeck (Klaus Kinski, once a frequent collaborator with Herzog despite their equally frequent clashes), a poor private in the military whom has had an illegitimate child with his wife Marie (Eva Mattes). To earn money for his family, Franz performs tasks for his Captain, who views him as little more than a cheap amusement, and also works as a guinea pig for a local doctor’s bizarre and cruel experiments. Used an abused, Franz hears voices inside his head, but seemly remains stable enough to ensure his family is taken care of. When his Captain lets slip that Franz’s wife is having an affair with a Drum Major, the last remains of Franz’s sanity begin to collapse with tragic results.

Woyzeck certainly isn’t a bad film, yet it never manages to be as engaging as one would hope from a work by Herzog. Herzog approaches the film in a fairly detached and ironic manner, utilizing a series of long takes with a mostly stationary camera which allows the viewer to carefully observe Franz Woyzeck and the world around him. Herzog also presents the events of the film in a manner which may be linear, or may be totally fragmented, furthering the feeling of disconnect from the world of the film. In taking this approach to the film, Herzog allows the viewer to be objective in the act of watching the narrative unfold while at the same time giving viewers a sense of how Franz views the world. The balance between objectivity and subjectivity is a major accomplishment, and for that alone the film is certainly worth viewing. Furthermore, Herzog's approach to the film transforms the viewer into one of the clinical scientists and military officials that observe Franz as a curiosity, a point made clear time and again when Kinski as Franz gazes out of the screen and directly at the viewer, seemingly lost in confusion and pain and in search of answers that never come, thus putting the whole of the cinematic apparatus under critical examination.

However, as magnificent as the film making and narrative technique are, Woyzeck never really manages to be overly involving on any level. Emotionally, the film is too detached to truly draw in the viewer into the narrative. We have a sense of who Franz is, and even a limited understanding of him, yet as noted, the viewer is encouraged to remain distanced from Franz and approach him (and the film as a whole) from an intellectual perspective. Yet intellectually the film is not overly involving either. Class politics, time, religion, money, exploitation and the relationship between the individual and the whole of society are all subjects that the film examines, yet it all feels tired and doesn't offer anything new to the discussion of these topics. Indeed,much of the subject matter and even the observational, detached style are reminiscent of Herzog’s earlier film The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974). While both films are certainly different from one another, Woyzeck in many ways feels like a collection of ideas that Herzog didn’t get to use in the earlier work, resulting in Woyzeck feeling like a retread rather than a progression for Herzog as a filmmaker.

The film also occasionally suffers from the conflict between Herzog’s brilliant cinematic visuals and the dialogue that comes from the original play (presumably from the play, I really should say, as I have never read the work, nor seen a production of it). It’s not that the dialogue is bad, but rather that Herzog makes many of his points visually, nullifying the need for the dialogue. I admit that this point is a nitpick, but it was certainly something that occurred to me during the film and continued to bother me afterwards.

Yet, I don’t want to come down too hard on Woyzeck, as there is wonderful material to be found in the film, from moments of grim satirical humour with both the Captain and the Doctor, to the brilliant execution of a scene of murder that is shockingly violent whilst showing the viewer nothing. Then there is the haunting closing shot in the film, with the sinister and ironic closing text that does manage to bring the film to a powerful close.

Then of course, there is Klaus Kinski, who is at his reserved best in the film as the title character. Tortured, confused and yet strangely articulate, Kinski manages to portray a dissent into madness in a manner that dodges the overblown performances of other actors in similar roles. It isn’t Kinski’s definitive work, but it is damn fine work that continues to show why Kinski is held in such high regard as an actor.

Still, I cannot help but feel that Woyzeck is a film that should probably wait until one has seen all of Herzog’s greater works, or viewed before seeing any of his efforts. It’s a good film, but in a career of great films, flawed but ambitious films, and films that are fascinating failures, Woyzeck can wait to be seen.

Being There (Ashby 1979)

Being There, Hal Ashby’s 1979 comic-drama masterpiece is one of those films that have been discussed to the point that it is really hard to bring anything new to the table. From the satirical nature of the story, to Peter Seller’s brilliant performance, and to the notorious final shot, Being There is a film that has been talked to death, yet we still feel a need to try and say something about it. If that isn’t the mark of a brilliant film, what else is?

The film is the tale of a middle aged man named Chance, played by Peter Sellers, who has lived his entire life inside the confines of a wealthy man’s home, alternating between watching TV and working in the garden. He cannot write, cannot read, and only seems to be capable of imitating behavior presented on television. When the wealthy, elderly man dies, Chance is thrust out into the world for the first time, wearing the clothing of the deceased man. Through a series of, um, chance meetings, Chance ends up in the residence of Ben and Eve Rand (Melvyn Douglas and Shirley MacLaine), a wealthy couple with connections to the President of the United States, all whom mistake Chance for being a highly intelligent, warm and understanding individual instead of the near cipher that he is.

Right about here, I would start performing an analysis of the film, trying to grapple with some of its intellectual complexities. Perhaps talk about the playful biblical allusions in the film which give it an almost mythic feeling, all while discussing how the concept of the simulacra contextualizes this biblical inversion. Or maybe I could just rant about how brilliant Ashby and Sellers work is here, this being Sellers last fully completed film and Ashby’s last great (and even just plain solid) film. I could, if I wanted to, try and compare Being There to Ashby’s other works, or films of a similar nature.

However, I can’t help but feel I would be doing Being There a total disservice. This is a film built on observation and nuance, where Ashby fills every frame with small details that require the viewer to spend time diligently studying the film. While no film is objective, Ashby works hard to avoid dominating over the ideas put forth in the film with his own perspective, seeking to embody Roland Barthes’ concept of the writerly text (I hate the literary bias the term holds), where the viewer must truly work to bring meaning to the text. The film is filled to the brims with possibility, but it takes the viewer to bring it to living life.

For myself, I oddly find Being There a comforting experience. As much as the film is a critical reflection upon society and culture, I don’t feel that the film is entirely condemning of the society upon which it reflects. The world is one that simply is: for all its faults, for all its failings, it’s our (well, Western society’s) world and the one we are stuck with. Is Chance’s existence any more absurd than our own? And do we not project onto others our own thoughts, feelings and ideas? At some point in time, are we not a Chance to somebody? In that sense, the film is an acceptance of flawed humanity and miscommunication.

This is a much shorter review than I usually write, but I feel, just this one time, that my simply telling you to go see the film is the best thing I can do. Watch it with large groups; watch it with strangers; watch it with loved ones and, hell, even watch it with people you just plain dislike. When it is all done, start talking. I’m sure you’ll all have something fascinating to say.

Blue in the Face (Auster and Wang 1995)

Blue in the Face is the kind of film one wants to love while watching it, but at the end of the experience one finds that they can only appreciate the finished work. Blending episodic, improvised scenes with shot on video testimonials from real people from Brooklyn, Blue in the Face is an amusing if not overly insightful attempt to reflect on how a community shapes and is shaped by its own history and culture, and what manages to survive as the times change around such a community.

A sequel of sorts to Wayne Wang’s Smoke from the same year, Blue in the Face has no story, but instead provides a series of sketches surrounding those who find their way into the Cigar shop manned by Auggie (Harvey Keitel). The sketches range from everyday moments of life on the streets, to monologues, and even moments of the fantastic, as one character comes face to face with Jackie Robinson (Keith David). The film is far more jovial in tone compared to Smoke, and in its best moments, Blue in the Face is like a casual get together with some close friends. Nothing much happens, but the environment is warm, pleasant, and comforting.

The downfall of the film is the one that is typical of most episodic films: the ratio of great sketches to weak ones. The opening scene involving a purse snatching that is a simple bit of comic gold built entirely out of the ways in which characters interact and react to a fairly common event. Unfortunately, the more the film moves away from the everyday, the weaker the film becomes. Perhaps the worst offender is the scene involving Jackie Robinson which, while featuring wonderful performances, feels out of place in the world of the film. While I understand both the story and thematic reasons for the scene, the scene is overly staged and artificial, undercutting the sense of grounded reality within the film.

The Robinson story is not the only moment when this becomes a problem however. The film is full of celebrity cameos, which manage to range from inspired to feeling like a marketing gimmick. Jim Jarmusch, for example, appears as a man who has decided to quit smoking and wants to smoke his last cigarette with Auggie. Jarmusch works in the film unlike many others because he feels like he belongs in the neighbourhood of the film, managing to have chemistry with Keitel that allows their interaction to feel natural. Others however have a much harder time blending in. Roseanne for example, appears and quickly drifts into cartoonish behaviour in her performance, as does Lily Tomlin as a homeless woman looking for waffles; Lou Reed, speaking directly to the camera throughout the film, delivers a series of monologues about Brooklyn that only manage to be interesting in any way because it is Lou Reed delivering them, and Madonna manages to show up in a role that clearly had little point other than to work Madonna into the film. With each appearance, these stars manage to detract from the reality of the film and feel like a parade, making one wish that unknowns had been cast in those parts instead.

For all these faults though, I really love the world that both Smoke and Blue in the Face reside in. Laid back, contemplative, and welcoming, it is the kind of cinematic universe one doesn’t mind returning to time and again. I would hope that at some point, the filmmakers would return to the world of these characters, hopefully without the cameos next time.