Ian Thomas Malone

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Thursday

12

December 2024

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Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July

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We are back in the Rankin/Bass cinematic universe! Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July is in many ways a prototype to the Avengers-style team-up modern audiences are used to, a convergence of beloved heroes such as Rudolph, Frosty, Big Ben, Jack Frost, and Mickey Rooney’s Santa. It is also a terrible movie, the only feature-length Christmas release in the Rankin/Bass catalogue.

ITM’s sister Barbara returns to the show to unpack this trainwreck. Where are Milton’s laughs? What’s up with the Caves of Lost Rejections? Find out as we take one of our last adventures into this bizarre world.

 

Tuesday

10

December 2024

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Miracle on 34th Street

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It’s time for holiday coverage! ITM takes a look at the 1947 classic Miracle on 34th Street and its 1994 remake. While the remake boasts an impressive cast, it’s hard to top the magic of the original. ITM examines the peculiarities of the beloved film, particularly its preoccupation with ethical consumption under capitalism and the trial that soaks up much of the narrative.

Monday

25

November 2024

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Conclave is a gripping thriller undercut by a lack of confidence in its own story

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Rituals either have meaning, or they don’t. The process of selecting a new pope feels fairly ridiculous, following certain rules and traditions that have been in place for more than a thousand years. Many of those customs, such as the sequestering of the College of Cardinals were established in the 1200s to prevent corruption, a reality that may seem strange to generations who have grown up with seemingly endless scandals affecting the Catholic Church.

The film Conclave centers its narrative amidst the secrecy of the Vatican. Based on the 2016 novel of the same name, the film follows the election of a new pope, and all the politicking that entails. Led by Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), the conclave quickly devolves into a standard power grab, with various factions jockeying for support, most belonging to various shades of extreme conservatism. The sweeping liberal changes enacted in the Second Vatican Council are still met with swift opposition some sixty years later, with many cardinals supporting the return of the Latin Mass among other pillars of the old church.

Director Edward Berger is far more concerned with atmosphere than plot over the course of his narrative. The tight pacing and gorgeous cinematography from Stéphen Fontaine keep a steady undercurrent of suspense as the cardinals work through their ballots. The sets provide a suffocating sense of beauty, the panopticon of the Vatican never straying from the forefront of the story. With its many secrets and imposing disposition, the building itself starts to feel like a character after a while, an impressive feat of filmmaking.

While Fiennes keeps a tight grip on the reins of the narrative from his perch in the lead role, Conclave is often undercut by its script. The film struggles with character development, particularly the supporting players. For the most part, Cardinal Lawrence’s own motivations receive only scattershot attention. A late third-act effort to correct this falls a bit flat without the proper investment in its characters.

 For an institution as mysterious as the Vatican, Berger isn’t all that interested in peeling back the layers. Conclave loves its scandals. Characters deliver eloquent soliloquies on the troubles of the world full of Aaron Sorkin-esque platitudes. Absent from the narrative is the nitty gritty work of politics. The film deploys a few stunts too many in a desperate attempt to wrangle in its unwieldy plot.

With a brisk runtime of 120 minutes, Berger creates the perfect pressure cooker for Conclave to triumph in its final act, but the landing just doesn’t stick. Conclave builds up so much goodwill, only to seemingly turn its attention away from its own story in favor of commentary on the state of the real world. The many cliches betray a lack of confidence in the film’s own story, and the characters that are so captivating for much of the narrative.

Fiennes’ orbit is a genuinely interesting place to spend time in. The level of detail in the cinematography and set design is so exquisite that you can’t help but wonder why the script wasn’t given the same attention. Conclave is a genuinely intriguing thriller that falls just shy of the label of masterpiece. A film with first-rate acting and some of the best cinematography all year shouldn’t need to resort to cheap stunts to propel its narrative.  

 

Friday

8

November 2024

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COMMENTS

Classic Film: Last Year at Marienbad

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Time waits for no one. People, on the other hand, wait around for plenty. People put off their dreams, sometimes for legitimate reasons, often simply because the timing isn’t quite right, whatever that means. Miserable relationships endure, not because anyone thinks the situation might improve, but because change is scary, and the cold dark unknown feels more intimidating than the familiar devil. 

The 1961 film Last Year at Marienbad (Original French title: L’Année dernière à Marienbad) structures its entire narrative around the psychology of lust, tossing out all conventional notions of narrative and structure. A man (Giorgio Albertazzi), staying at a grand palace that had been converted into a hotel, sees a woman (Delphine Seyrig) he claims to have met the previous year. The woman, who came to the hotel with a second man (Sacha Pitoëff), possibly her husband, denies knowing him, particularly his claims that she asked him to wait a year before they could run away together.

Director Alain Resnais uses the beautiful baroque architecture of the hotel as a backdrop for Albertazzi’s seductive narration, creating luscious, dreamy visuals of a passionate vacation fling that constantly overwhelms the senses, even before you consider the additional psychological layer of whether the man is telling the truth. Screenwriter Alain Robbe-Grillet frequently uses repetition in the constant voice-overs, further muddying the waters between reality and the dream. Skepticism toward the man’s claims eventually gives way to the undeniable charm to be found in the labyrinth that is Albertazzi’s storytelling capabilities.

 The mathematical strategy game NIM plays a large role in the narrative. The second man frequently exerts his dominance over the rest of the hotel guests with his commanding performances in the game. The surface-level simplicity of Nim is a point of frustration for many, the game itself boiling down to a matter of mathematics, with no one able to develop a strategy to end the second man’s streak. Life itself can often appear simple on paper, until we have to step outside our heads and go about the messy labor of achieving our dreams in a world that has its own ideas. 

Despite the film’s ample avant-garde trappings, a nonlinear narrative where no one has a name, Resnais’s work is eminently accessible. The taut 94-minute runtime gives the film plenty of space to forge its unique identity without exhausting the audience. The dreamy cinematography functions as an extension of the screenplay, keeping everyone engaged even as the narrative wades into obtuse territory.

Resnais constantly plays with the framing of the camera, creating the illusion of a dreamlike state. There is often some distance between the narration and the events unfolding on screen. The other guests at the hotel often feel like mannequins, heightening the sense of a cat and mouse game between the man and the woman, on top of the power dynamic already at play with the second man’s dominance at NIM over everyone else.

The whole film plays out like the visual manifestation of the illicit fever dream being described by the narration. Affairs are often described as intoxicating. People don’t have affairs out of logic or sensibility. They do it for the thrill. Resnais eloquently captures that sensation, bringing his audience along for the ride. 

The difference between love and lust often boils down to the hunt. Anyone can have a fantasy. The barriers to acting on such carnal desires are not particularly rigid, especially in a hotel the size of a palace. Unhappiness, on the other hand, can be a rather imposing panopticon. The mind can concoct all sorts of reasons to stay miserable, some more logical than others.

Does truth matter in the realm of passion? Resnais has a beautiful way of deconstructing reality, challenging the way we think about the world through the romance of desire. As uncomfortable as it is to say, facts don’t really have much business in the realm of love. Romance is inherently a buy-in. It seems ridiculous to say that it doesn’t really matter if someone was telling the truth about having met you a year before, but people don’t fall in love based on logic. How we feel is what really matters.

All of that might sound ridiculous, but the great triumph of Last Year at Marienbad is the way that Resnais makes the absurd seem palatable when contrasted with the alternative that is reality for the woman. None of us would be comfortable admitting that we’d fall for a man who told us things we knew to be untrue. Plenty of us would also feel uneasy admitting that we’re staying in loveless relationships because we’re too afraid of the alternative, yet we all know someone currently mired in that reality. For a film that offers nothing in the way of answers, there is so much clarity to be found in Resnais’ work.

 

Tuesday

5

November 2024

0

COMMENTS

Now on Substack!

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Great news. ITM has started a Substack. Going to do a weekly column on dating, politics, popular culture, etc. The first two weeks are already up. Be sure to subscribe so you never miss an article.

 

Are You Not Entertained? by Ian Thomas Malone

If you’re not having fun on dates, what’s the point?

Read on Substack

Friday

4

October 2024

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COMMENTS

Joker: Folie à Deux is a meandering mess with no clear sense of identity

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Two prominent complaints surfaced in the wake of Joker’s blockbuster success in 2019. The first criticism took aim at the way Todd Phillips’s origin story bent over backward to garner sympathy for the most notorious villain in the history of comic books, if not the entirety of American popular culture. The second focuses more on the film’s derivative nature, an excessively derivative take on Taxi Driver and The King of Comedy. Neither of these legitimate criticisms stopped the film from grossing over a billion dollars against a modest budget, a smash hit with fertile ground for a sequel.

There is no set formula for what makes a sequel work. At a bare minimum, one might hope to see a story that moves the ball forward in some tangible way, or uncovers something fresh to say about its subjects. Joker: Folie à Deux does not cross this small bar. It’s unclear if anyone even tried. Rarely does a film plod along with such reckless abandon toward the idea that anyone is supposed to enjoy what they’re watching.

Folie à Deux mostly centers its narrative on the trial of Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) for his actions in the first film. Living out his days in the custody of Arkham State Hospital, Fleck is frequently abused by the prison guards, largely keeping to himself. While walking to a meeting with his lawyer (Catherine Keener), Fleck comes across a music therapy session in part of the hospital not used for inmates, where one patient Harleen “Lee” Quinzel (Lady Gaga) quickly takes an interest in him. Lee sparks an interest in music within Arthur, sending him on numerous hallucinogenic interludes that comprise a large part of the film.

The narrative is essentially split into three camps. Folie à Deux tries to be a musical, a psychological thriller, and a courtroom drama, all at the same time. It succeeds with none of them. The songs are terrible. Worse, they’re forgettable.

Phoenix, who won an Oscar for his last go-around as Joker, appears to be functioning on autopilot. Much like the “incels” who championed the first film, Arthur is merely a reactionary figure responding to the world around him. The Joker is supposed to be an agent of chaos. Folie à Deux’s Fleck is just an aging edge lord who frequently appears bored or indifferent to the world around him. There is the sense that the musical interludes are supposed to serve as an escape from the monotony, but they’re not strong enough to make much of an impact.

The courtroom scenes are quite boring. A pre-Two Face Harvey Dent (Harry Lawtey) anchors the prosecution. While Lawtey puts forth an admirable effort, the script gives him nothing to work with. The legal drama plays out like a run-of-the-mill episode of Law and Order or The Practice.

Lady Gaga brings some interesting depth to Quinzel, whose backstory follows Fleck’s lead in being a loose riff on the comics. The script once again fails its actors, with Gaga being given little to work with. Folie à Deux reduces one of the most interesting new female comic book characters of the past few decades into the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope. It’s almost as if Phillips included her for the sole purpose of proving that the male basement dwellers weren’t the only people obsessed with the lunatic that is Arthur Fleck.

Successful sequels bring something new to the table. Folie à Deux starts off reasonably strong, building up the panopticon that is the Arkham State Hospital. The pacing is a complete mess once the courtroom is introduced. The film spends large chunks of its back half alternating between boring musical sequences and testimony from characters from the first film. The 138-minute runtime is painfully long, a meandering film that could’ve easily cut a half hour without missing a beat.

For all the complaints about Joker being derivative or morally irresponsible, the first film at least had a story to tell. Folie à Deux is fueled off scraps from the first, laced with boring musical interludes that add nothing to the story. Films do not need to be responsible, but all narratives should have something to say. Folie à Deux brings nothing to the table, an embarrassing waste of time for everyone involved.

Wednesday

2

October 2024

0

COMMENTS

Vote Kamala Harris & 2024 Senate Analysis

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It’s that time again! ITM makes her appeal for you to fill out a ballot. The stakes are too high, something we’re used to hearing, but the threat of another four years of Trump is simply unfathomable for our country. Too many people’s rights are on the line. The Senate map is very tough for Democrats, and every vote counts.

 

Please take a moment to check your voter registration status, and be sure to make plans to vote in this election. Thank you.

Tuesday

1

October 2024

0

COMMENTS

My Old Ass puts a unique spin on the coming of age genre

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August often brings a peculiar sense of melancholy. The dog days of summer are a natural time to process the foreboding nature of change. Even for young people about to embark on adventures such as college, there is often a certain state of apprehension that marinates in the waiting period, when the mind has ample time to reflect on everything that will be left behind. The film My Old Ass takes a novel approach to the anxieties of youth.

Elliott (Maisy Stella) has just turned eighteen, about to start her freshman year at the University of Toronto. She blows off her family’s surprise party to take mushrooms in the woods with her two best friends, Ro (Kerrice Brooks) and Ruthie (Maddie Ziegler). After initially failing to feel the effects while her two friends trip, Elliott encounters an older version of herself (Aubrey Plaza). The two bond over the course of the evening, though Old Elliott annoys her younger self with her coyness toward revealing future details of their life, only warning her to steer clear of a boy named Chad.

Having previously only considered herself attracted to women, young Elliott discovers that Chad (Percy Hynes White) is a charming seasonal worker for her father’s cranberry farm. Ignoring her older self’s advice, Elliott spends large chunks of her remaining time at home with Chad, mourning her family’s decision to sell off the farm at the end of the season. Older Elliott remains in touch via phone, often encouraging her younger self to use the time to bond with her family, and to enjoy her last few weeks amidst the beautiful scenery in Ontario’s Muskoka Lakes.

Writer/director Megan Park mostly uses the film’s sci-fi trappings as a hook, the narrative mostly follows a traditional coming-of-age story. As the older Elliott, Plaza brings a lot of humor to the table, but Park wisely deploys her most well-known talent sparingly, giving Stella plenty of space to ensure that My Old Ass still belongs to young Elliott. Stella possesses great range as an actress, especially in the film’s quieter moments. Park captures the essence of the fleeting nature of youth, finding great beauty in familiar territory.

The film’s greatest asset is its cinematography. The Muskoka Lakes are breathtakingly gorgeous. It’s very easy to see how anyone would fall in love with such a special place. Even with a brisk 89-minute runtime, the audience starts to learn the quirks of the lakes, making them seem like an additional character in the story.

My Old Ass wears its queerness on its sleeves while the film explores the nuances of the LGBTQ umbrella. There’s a certain understated sense of beauty in the way that Elliott’s sexuality is never undermined by anyone in the film, even as she experiences romantic attraction toward a man for the first time. Park handles this territory with grace and confidence, never trying to hold the audience’s hand along the way. The one area where the film falls a bit short on this front was the handling of Elliott’s longstanding hookup buddy Chelsea (Alexandria Rivera), who is easily the narrative’s flimsiest character.

Park shows off her skills as a director with the narrative’s sense of pacing. Some of the film’s message about the fleeting nature of time, and spending it with the people you love, clashes with the reality that young Elliott often blows off the bulk of the cast to hang out with Chad or her older self, the two characters she didn’t know at the start of the story. My Old Ass is a quietly powerful testament to the importance of living in the moment, time never fully belonging to any one of us. Life waits for no one.

Friday

20

September 2024

0

COMMENTS

Classic Film: Platinum Blonde

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There is a certain timeless nature to comedy centered around class differences. The drama at the core of Frank Capra’s 1931 film Platinum Blonde could resonate with modern audiences if the film were released today. The question of whether the film brings anything new to the equation, whether to modern viewers or those who saw the film nearly a hundred years ago is a different story.

Stew Smith (Robert Williams) is a hardworking reporter only making 75 dollars a week. An assignment sends him into the orbit of the wealthy Schuyler family, where playboy Michael (Don Dillaway) is caught up in a blackmail scandal. Taking pity on the family, driven by his feelings toward daughter Ann (Jean Harlow), Stew goes easy with his reporting. Stew and Ann quickly fall in love and elope.

Much of the film’s comedy derives from Stew’s discomfort at his integration into the Schuyler way of life. He spurns Ann’s efforts to clean him up, quickly dismissing a valet hired to attend to him. In particular, he absolutely refuses to wear garters. A chance encounter with his best friend from the paper, Gallagher (Loretta Young) stirs up old passions, putting Stew on a natural collision course with his new overbearing family. 

Platinum Blonde is mostly noteworthy for being Williams’ only leading role, as the actor died just three days after the film’s premiere. Williams brings plenty of range to the stock archetype that largely defines Stew. Despite having two fine actresses as leading ladies, Williams puts in most of his best work opposite Smythe (Halliwell Hobbes), the butler. Their interactions provide most of the film’s comedy. 

Strong performances and a competent showing from Capra are sunk by a meandering screenplay that gives the actors little to work with. While Stew’s apprehension toward a life solely known as “Ann Schuyler’s husband” provides much of the drama, the film constantly hints at a subplot concerning Stew’s aspirations as a playwright that don’t really come into focus until late in the third act. Stew claims to want to write, suffering from writer’s block and a lack of inspiration, an underwhelming dilemma for the viewers to watch unfold on the screen. While fairly charming at first, Stew’s constant negativity grows tiresome as the narrative rolls along.

The 89-minute runtime feels exceedingly drawn out. Ostensibly billed as a comedy, there’s very little to laugh at throughout the film, but it’s hardly much of a drama either. Capra does make some strides toward redeeming his picture down the stretch, but as a whole, the experience plays out as a first draft that struggled to tie everything together. As a time capsule, the film has some value, showcasing Williams’ ample potential, but Platinum Blonde is too unfocused to leave much of a lasting impression.

Monday

9

September 2024

1

COMMENTS

Classic Film: The Passion of Joan of Arc

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The Passion narrative carries a lot of theatrical value even for non-believers. The sham trials of Jesus before the Sanhedrin and Pontius Pilate perhaps best illustrate the larger-than-life nature of one of history’s defining characters, a man grappling with the contrast of divinity and humanity in real time. The 1928 silent film The Passion of Joan of Arc (original French title La Passion de Jean d’Arc) blends the history of one of France’s most beloved icons with the biblical tribulations of her spiritual lodestar.

Director Carl Theodor Dreyer’s work is a singular experience in filmmaking. Relying heavily on close-ups, with an absolutely breathtaking concrete practical set, the narrative sets up a succulent contrast throughout its 82-minute runtime. As the titular heroine, Renée Jeanne Falconetti’s expressive dramatic range evokes a sense of claustrophobia, buoyed by the imposing prison all around her. Falconetti never once lets up on all the angst coursing through Joan’s veins, delivering one of the finest performances in the history of film.

The silent film medium is perfect for the kind of storytelling on display in the film. The inter-title cards provide the necessary grounding for the audience to follow along with the plot, giving space for the actors to transcend all other conventional dramatic obligations. The musical accompaniment to Joan’s agony and the Machiavellian machinations strips the form down to its bare essentials, an immensely fulfilling adaption of the passion narrative.

All art is essentially human nature channeled through the creator’s preferred medium. There are limits to what a painting can do on a canvas or a film on its reel. Dreyer delivers a timeless treatise on the agony of the soul that bristles against the confines of its structure, a film so carefully constructed yet completely raw in its delivery. The Passion of Joan of Arc grabs you from its opening minutes and never lets go, an exhausting experience that drains almost as much as it inspires.

Perhaps more impressive than its ample artistic merits is the way the film breaks down the terrifying sense of awe and wonder of Catholicism, particularly its penchant for evoking guilt, for a general audience. Religion looms over much of popular culture and society at large, even for those of us who have nothing to do with the Church. Many religious narratives fall flat through their preoccupation with attempting to explain the unexplainable. The whole point of faith is belief in something larger than yourself, essentially for little reason other than it’s what you’ve chosen to believe. It’s not particularly convincing for many, for obvious reasons.

Billions of people have come and left this earth hanging on to a promise of eternal life that may never come. The Passion of Joan of Arc does not make much of an effort to explain why its titular hero chose martyrdom at the hands of a sham trial. What it does achieve is perhaps the most impressive feat for a religious narrative. For those seeking to understand the agony of faith grappling with itself in real-time, there are few better places to start than Falconetti’s spectacular performance. Dreyer’s nearly one-hundred-year-old work is still one of the defining examples of the sheer power of filmmaking to break down the barriers of time and space and deliver the essence of what it means to be alive.

Editorial note: Ian viewed a screening of the film with a live original score featuring the George Sarah Ensemble at the Art Theatre in Long Beach, California.