The Passion of Joan of Arc

Dir. Carl Theodore Dreyer, 1928



There are perhaps few who have not heard of Joan of Arc in some way, either as a martyr, French symbol, soldier, or literary character. This role has been performed in countless films and plays, and has been referenced in countless songs, stories, and even video games. Despite the fact that she is a real historical figure, everything about her appears mythological and fantastical. Even the most unsentimental history seems highly unlikely, and every telling of the story is riveting by its very nature. None more so than The Passion of Joan of Arc, an absolute wonder of a film whose focus is not the visions, battles or capture of Joan, but her emotional state and condemnation by religious tribunal.

As early as the opening scene, a shackled Joan is escorted heavily into a room lined with the disapproving faces of a bloated bunch of monastic fatcats who hold her fate in their hands. They patronize her, insult her, spit on her, threaten her with heresy and torture, and allow her to be humiliated by the jesterlike guards. Through it all, Joan watches and takes it, opening her eyes wide to the behavior around her and shedding tears for the dilemmas put before her. She knows that she has been ordained by god to lead the French armies to freedom from the English, but in order to stick to her guns, she has to deny Mass and communion, and accept a gruesome death. The sympathy or faith of a few monks is not enough to save her, and her death sets off a domino effect of dissatisfaction and rebellion among the peasants who live near the church.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this film is that it requires complete suspension of disbelief. It is inconceivable that something that has such continuing relevance, visually and contextually, is over 80 years old. It's eye=opening to discover that so many cinematographic styles have a single source. Joan of Arc appears so modern because the composition of the frames, the camera angles, tracking shots and swift swings of the camera have been used everywhere since then. I had no idea that in the early days of cinema (for this is from the silent period), there was the technology to do such dramatic things with equipment. The most compelling aspect is the intimacy of the close-ups. Dreyer did not allow his actors to wear makeup, and good he did, as you would certainly be able to see it on the faces.

The faces are incredible. Both cartoonish and human, grotesque and familiar. I felt like each character looked like someone I knew or had met, and the name was just on the tip of my tongue.




The typical overly hammy performance of a silent movie star is completely absent here: the emotions are so raw. One can really empathize with the range of Joan's sorrows and fears, the snide judgments of the monks, the sympathy and pity of the few clergymen who believe in her, and the shifting curiosity and outrage of the peasants. It is a feat of human expression. Not only amazing for the time period that it comes from, but for any performance of any era.

I was fortunate to have seen this twice with the UC Alumni Chorus and an orchestra performing the score live. The piece that they performed was not the original from the 1928 release, but a more recent composition by Richard Einhorn, "Voices of Light." It has an appropriately hallowed sound to it, and the vocal talents were exemplary, making the entire spectacle all the more momentous. It was an engrossing and moving experience, one that I would revisit any time.

A Single Man

Dir. Tom Ford, 2009



A directorial debut is always an interesting venture. Sometimes, it reveals the filmmaker to be a visionary, a true artist, a person whose future work you greatly look forward to. Sometimes the first film appears somewhat sophomoric, and you either hope for this filmmaker to redeem him/herself with later films, or you don't particularly care. Somehow, A Single Man inspired in me all three of these sentiments. That which clothing designer Tom Ford did well, he did superbly, and where it was flawed, it seemed beyond correction. And yet, overall, it was enjoyable enough for me to be curious about the future directorial pursuits of Tom Ford.

A Single Man is based on the 1964 novel by Christopher Isherwood, and follows a middle-aged college professor, George Falconer (played by hot-again Colin Firth), whose partner of 16 years, Jim (Matthew Goode), has died relatively recently. We go through one day with him, from his morning routine to his day at work, the people he encounters and his memories. He has minor adventures that paint a kind of tableau of his perceived necessity of detachment and the pain of remembering. Occasionally, he feels a sense of joy or pleasure at seeing a handsome man or a beautiful setting, but it is bittersweet. Only when one of his pupils, Kenny Potter, takes a particular interest in him, does he start to reconsider his outlook on life.

It has to be said, it is really nice to see Colin Firth look good again. He was delicious as the Misters Darcy (Fitzwilliam and Mark), but after that, he's been kind of schlubby and slightly lame. But oh! Behold:



Ford, the designer for Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent Accessories, and his own label, pays a ridiculous amount of attention to the styling of both the characters and the settings, making all of the actors look irresistible, at their aesthetic best. Setting the film in the early 1960's provides an opportunity for a sleek, retro, modish wardrobe. Julianne Moore, who plays George's best friend, Charley, is a beautiful woman, and Ford dressed her to look devastating, drunk, wealthy, past her prime, sexy, and slightly pathetic all at the same time. Actually, it's not easy to tell how much the clothing helped, because Moore is a pretty good actress, and plays beautiful, sad drunks fairly often. But! She did look excellent.

The cinematography is quite stunning. The opening scenes are a series of wispy glances at what appears to be a naked person's body adumbrating through water. Later on, we experience a flashback to Jim and George at Vasquez Rocks together, and the light is so harsh, the black-and-white so contrasty and sharp, much like lying on sandstone in the sun feels. At the moments where George feels despair, the colors are muted and desaturated, but flush into vibrancy during his fleeting moments of sentimentality. These are the moments that the film was made for, seeing the world in the stylish splendor of a fashion designer. This is why I would recommend the film to someone, and this is why I would happily see another film of Tom Ford's, should he take on celluloid again.

Sadly, Ford's strength is also his weakness. In trying to make such a beautiful film, he sought out beautiful sets, beautiful clothing, and beautiful actors. This last component, while undeniably pleasing to the eye, is not always enjoyable to watch. For example, Kenny Potter, George's infatuated student, is played by Nicholas Hoult, who has become quite the beau-gosse since About A Boy.



Grown up quite a bit, hasn't he? He is quite handsome, but he is just not a good actor. He is, unfortunately, a very important character, so there are quite a few slow and pseudointellectual conversations between Kenny and George that can quite painful due to Hoult's lack of gravitas and, well, skill. The purpose of his scenes is largely to showcase his attractiveness and the carrot of possibility of a happy future that he presents to George, but we are not George. We are the audience, and to watch Hoult drone unconvincingly about fears of mortality is rather tedious.

I have not read the book, so I'm not sure how the sequence of events plays out in a written medium, but the film dragged a bit. There were quite a few moments that could have easily been the last scene, but it just kept going. Ultimately, the conclusion was appropriate and poignant, albeit somewhat predictable. The film is carried just enough by Firth and Moore and most of the visuals, so overall, it can be classified as worthwhile. It is something of an emotional quandary to judge a film like this; the good parts are really so good, and the mediocre parts are somewhat difficult to watch. In the end, I am heavily seduced by eye candy, and after a few days, I find the visuals to be the most memorable. They stand the test of the short term, and save the film from overall failure.

Happy-Go-Lucky

Dir. Mike Leigh, 2008



For once, I'm going to cut to the chase here. I love this film. I have seen it twice, now, and the second viewing has done nothing to lessen my love for it. In fact, it has intensified, because much like Mike Leigh's other films, there are many layers of depth among the characters that are very subtle, and that become more evident upon multiple viewings. As Leigh would tell you himself, his directing style is not so much about taking command and making his vision come alive. Rather, he starts with an idea or a general scenario, and he hires actors to collaborate with in developing the characters and the actual events that take place in the movie. It takes a village to make his films, and the result is that every single performance is rich, nuanced and powerful, such that you can't imagine that the actors actually have personalities different from that of their characters'.

The film revolves around Poppy, played by Sally Hawkins, who is a somewhat lower-middle class schoolteacher in London. She is perpetually chipper and giggling, wanting nothing more than to like and to help everyone. After her bike is stolen, she resolves to taking driving lessons, and is paired with her polar opposite, Scott, a bitter, misanthropic man who has no patience for Poppy's constant joking. This, however, is only the major source of conflict in the story, otherwise the film largely follows Poppy's life through injury, dance lessons, work, friendships, family relationships and love. This may sound somewhat Hallmark, but there is no saccharine sweetness to the story; it is a stark exposition of this woman's daily routine.

If I were to meet Poppy, I might possibly find her aggravating. In the very first scene, she is shopping and goes into a bookstore where her sprightliness is so irritating to the cashier that he does not engage her in conversation. Poppy takes all of this in stride and seems aware of her sometimes off-putting nature. She continues to live like this, because the friends who love her seem to truly love her for who she really is, and isn't that all that really matters? She does have a serious side, however, as shown in the way she handles a troubled student in her elementary school class. She takes him aside and arranges for him to meet a social worker, and her jocularity does not come through. If I were to know Poppy for a long time, I think I would grow to love her.

The story of Poppy and Scott, her driving instructor, is difficult to watch, but extremely engrossing. Poppy cannot help but push Scott's buttons, for he does baffling things like make vaguely racist assumptions, decry the entire English governing body, and designate a ridiculous mnemonic for checking mirrors (Enraha, the holy triangle). It is laughable, and Scott is kind of pathetic, but Poppy sees the troubled child that he must have been and, against better judgment, alternately tries to psychoanalyze him while continuing to "take the mickey" out of him. Scott is far too angry and confused about himself to understand Poppy's nature, but he refuses to give up on his driving pupil, so they continue to see each other, with somewhat grim results.

Just for kicks, I read some of the user reviews on Netflix after my second viewing, and I was pretty floored by the poor reception. Now, my taste diverges greatly from the average Netlix subscriber's, as evidenced by the fact that I strongly dislike to feel completely apathetic toward the majority of the 100 most popular titles. Yet I was surprised that there were not more people who were enchanted by Poppy's touching sweetness and humor, mixed with her flawed, though relatable, nature. The most common critique was that Poppy was annoying and the film was boring. I can understand people finding Mike Leigh's films boring, because he focuses much more heavily on character studies and interactions than plot, and he is definitely not a director that appeals to everyone. But despite the fact that, yes, Poppy is annoying, she is such a good person, and Sally Hawkins's portrayal is both subtle and bold. There are no flat characters, and no single person can be reduced to a caricature or stereotype.

Because this is how things are, because humans are varied and inconsistent, this is why I love Leigh's entire filmography. Not all of his movies are great, but he chooses to focus on building and developing really complete characters with the actors cast in the role. If what you are really seeking is a great story or exciting diversions or great artistry or special effects, and you could not care less for the characterizations, perhaps these films are not for you. There are nice stories sometimes and varying amounts of set design, but the acting is the main attraction. I love to see really great performances and characters who are as realistic as people you could meet in real life. There were times that I thought Poppy was being foolish or unwise, but people don't always make the right decisions and sometimes put themselves in dangerous or bad situations. It is brave and that might be why it is unpopular to take this strategy in filmmaking, but it works for me, and I always look forward to the next one.

Interview with the Vampire (DVD)

Dir. Neil Jordan, 1994



Picture it: 1994. The Northridge earthquake happened, gas was $1.40 per gallon. Brad Pitt was a young heartthrob fresh out of Kalifornia and about to grace the screen with Legends of the Fall. Tom Cruise was famous from A Few Good Men, and was the other heartthrob that teenaged girls dreamed about. Christian Slater wasn't yet irrelevant. Kirsten Dunst was 12 years old, pure and cute as a button and not yet the strange sad-eyed hipster of modern occurrence. When Interview with the Vampire came out, it was like pornography for women. Here were all these sexy, long-haired stallions pouting their lips and seducing women, baring their teeth and flashing their unnaturally blue eyes at us all. Anne Rice was exceedingly popular; it was Twilight for the older generations. This was one of the biggest films to open that year, and a slight controversy only added to its intrigue.

Fast-forward 15 years. I am sitting alone in my bedroom, procrastinating a little bit, and remembering my decade-old fondness for this film, which is available to view instantly on Netflix. I imagined that it would be fun and possibly humorous to revisit such a relic from the mid-90's. I was not prepared to be slightly bored and uncomfortable with the deliberateness and seriousness of this film. Director Neil Jordan clearly took great pains to make this film what it is, and while it's not entirely awful, it is very much a film for the time, and does not translate well to today's standard and aesthetic.

For those unfamiliar, or those who have simply forgotten, the plot follows Louis Pointe du Lac (Brad) as he wallows in misery from mortality to immortality. Because he is a childless widower, he feels he has no reason to live, which is apparently perfect for vampire makin'. The vampire, Lestat (Cruise), picks him up and sucks him dry, and then the two of them live in devilish abandon in Louis's giant plantation house in New Orleans through much of the 19th century. They grow to hate each other because Louis, apparently, didn't realize what vampires do, and he has a crisis of conscience over killing people. Lestat is just, like, whatever, and bites prostitutes in the breast and kills them that way. (I'm sure you remember that scene. It certainly made an impression on me.) Their intense hatred for each other drives them to collectively vampirize the young and motherless plague victim, Claudia (Kirsten Dunst), who is a source of further sexual and non-sexual tension between all of them because it just wouldn't be a movie without it.

Claudia and Louis, whose love affair is hardly portrayed on film (as Dunst was 12 years old when the film is made), scheme to free themselves of Lestat, whose main flaw appears to be that he is just too vampirish. Feeds on human flesh, breaks things. Louis and Claudia are more subdued, but at that point, Louis has reconciled himself to the inevitability of murder for survival, and Claudia is a good little vampire who lures in adults with her childlike wiles. They commit the ultimate crime, vampiricide, and leave the charred remains of Lestat behind in New Orleans as they take off for Europe to find more of their kind. And in the hundred or so years that they spend scouring the continent, they realize that their kind is just like Lestat. I won't reveal the end, but it is incendiary.

It's very difficult not to be tongue-in-cheek about this. It is absolutely not a terrible movie, not at all, but it's excessively melodramatic. The visuals are lovely. There is a rich darkness about the film that Neil Jordan was careful to preserve from the source material, and it is very appropriate for the tone. But it is quite absurd. There is a gravity to everything that happens, a complete and utter humorlessness about it all, that it's laughable. Such a snapshot of mid-90's male cheesecake cannot but be hilarious. Reading the IMDb trivia, and seeing the other actors that were in consideration for Lestat and Louis's roles (Rutger Hauer! Johnny Depp! Julian Sands!) just completes the snapshot of what this film was going for.

The most interesting component of this film is definitely Louis and Claudia's relationship. Because laws are what they are, as previously mentioned, there is nothing portrayed between them, only heavily insinuated. But even then, it's glossed over very lightly as though the filmmakers didn't want to suggest too definitively that there is a relationship between an adult man and a girl child, even though in the context of the film, the girl child is about one hundred years old. Kirsten Dunst was easily the best part of this film, as she appears to be world-weary and jaded, and yet youthfully bratty. It would be difficult for a film to explore the motivations for Louis and Claudia to explore romance together without it being either painfully pretentious or blunt, pandering to the lowest common denominator and insulting my intelligence. But it has the potential to be so intriguing. I'd even read the book if I liked Anne Rice's style at all.

If I had been watching this with someone else who felt the same way I did, I'd probably have a great time giggling about the pedantic dialogue, the cheapness of the vampire-teeth dentures that make the actors talk like their mouths are full, and the absurdity of the casting. But I watched it alone, over the course of three or four days, and I did not have a particularly good time, except when I could laugh about it afterward with the friends of mine who'd seen it relatively recently. Standards of beauty have changed, as has public opinion of Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and Kirsten Dunst, so seeing them as the paragons of beauty, sexuality and purity no longer works. I remember my mindset when I first watched it, and I remember why I liked it. Unfortunately, it is no longer enjoyable, since it took itself far too seriously at the time that it was made. A little levity next time, folks!

Public Enemies

Dir. Michael Mann, 2009



As I was watching this film, I found myself momentarily confused. I was unable to remember who the director was, what it was that had made me want to see this film so much, or if it was only the cast that drew me in. As tantalizing as Johnny Depp, Christian Bale and Marion Cotillard may be, I'd like to think that I am more sophisticated a moviegoer than that. (I admit that sometimes, a pretty face or acting chops are enough to get me into a seat, but none of these actors satisfy that yen for me.) Only when the credits started rolling and the giant "Michael Mann" splashed across the screen was I fully aware of the extent of my disappointment.

With a subject matter as rich, exciting, and myth-riddled as the lives of bank robbers during the Great Depression, let alone that of the most notorious of them all, John Dillinger himself, you would think that a film in the hands of as capable a director as Mann would be amazing. If not extraordinary, at least fascinating, thought-provoking, or even challenging. Public Enemies is, of course, none of these. It is merely a telling of what happened. These guys. Did stuff. And then they did other stuff and more people came along. This is how the film presents itself, a detail-less narrative of events and occurrences, peppered with machine gun fire, pretty faces, and arch smiles delivered from one polished face to another.

The opening scene appears to be Dillinger being admitted to a prison in the midwest somewhere, when all of a sudden you realize that it's an elaborate bust. Back in the days where security could not contain the likes of Dillinger and his gang, they just beat up a few cops and run away, leaning out of the windows and shooting guards with Tommy guns as they go. A close friend of Dillinger's goes down in the bust, and they periodically hearken to him, fondly, remembering his words on how to be most successful in their "business." After holing up for a little bit and then taking down a bank in Chicago, Dillinger sees Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard) at a nightclub and determines that she is great and they are going to be together forever. She is part French and part Menominee Indian, and this allegedly lends her some appeal beyond her physical beauty, but we're just going to have to take their word on that one.

Meanwhile, Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) is such a great FBI agent that he is promoted by J. Edgar Hoover (played by a fairly comical Billy Crudup) to helm the investigation to apprehend and kill Dillinger and any others in his gang. Purvis has a bunch of meatheads working for him, so he asks for a special task force to help out. So then a couple of grizzled old experts waltz in and suddenly know everything and how to really take 'em down. But John Dillinger is a tricky sumbitch, and he manages to flit around a little more before the final climactic showdown(s) where there are lots of special effects and bullets flying and we all grip our armrests in wide-eyed anticipation. Pardon the possible spoilers, but this is theoretically based on a true story so, I mean, obviously something happened.

Michael Mann has had a long-ish, illustrious-ish career of making films with short titles: The Insider, Collateral, Ali, Miami Vice. His films are usually powerful and intense, with some probing into the seamier side of human nature. However, his films are a bit like melba toast with cottage cheese and marmalade: good quality, full of things that are good for you, and wonderful if that's exactly what you're in the mood for. But they can also be dry, overwhelming, and unsatisfying if you really just want something sugary or to really fill you up. A film like Collateral was just right for what it needed to get across, which wasn't much, and The Insider did a really excellent job of laying out the facts as they were while Russell Crowe and Al Pacino took care of the rest. Those films were satisfying, filling. Public Enemies should have been a meal, not a snack.

It must take a unique personality to rob banks, kill police officers, escape prison, and keep a network of friends, associates and safehouses across the country. Someone like John Dillinger would have to be incredibly intelligent, ruthless and unbelievably charming. He would be in excellent physical shape and yet look unassuming enough to not draw excessive attention to himself. The Dillinger in Public Enemies only vaguely resembles the person he must have been. He doesn't appear to have much of a sense of humor or a particularly magnetic personality. His intelligence translates more as quickness and strategic skill, and his athleticism best used for hitting people really hard. Johnny Depp has taken on many roles where a strong personality shines through, so I know it is possible for him to execute such a task. The fault really must lie in the screenplay, and with three writers, it's a wonder that such a critical detail slipped them all.

I haven't read the book, and this movie didn't really instill in me any desire to do so. I never really found Dillinger that fascinating, but he probably could have been. He and all of his notorious brothers in arms: Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, Pete Pierpont, etc. Only Nelson was played with any obvious idiosyncrasy, but he was probably the easiest to reduce to a caricature. It is so frustrating to think about how, how, GREAT this film could have been! I am not a screenwriter, so I don't really know what I would do to enhance the personalities, but I would start with some research.

These gangsters seem like they're just anybody. Any maybe that's the point, but what is really so irresistible in films about gangsters and criminals is to see just how off-kilter they are amid the regular human characteristics. Maybe these gangsters aren't sociopaths or psychotic, and maybe they are just opportunists who happen to be really good at something, but come on. This is a film. Give me something to watch.

Star Trek

Dir. J.J. Abrams, 2009



Here is the obligatory disclaimer about how I am not an avid fan of "Star Trek" the television series, in any of its versions and generations, and I don't think I've seen any of the films prior to this one. I've probably watched two whole episodes since entering my teens, and before that, I was probably only half paying attention. When I was in junior high, I came upon a bumper sticker that said, "Klingons, Ferengis and Borgs, Oh My!" and so I did a little scouting to find out what on earth that meant. I have seen countless spoofs (countless), so I feel that I am pretty well aware of the major catchphrases, characters and events that have entered into science fiction lore. That being said, I am not sure at all whether that puts me at an objective advantage or disadvantage when it comes to appreciating this particular slice of cinema.

I won't keep you in suspense. I liked it! At first I was profoundly disturbed by how pretty the characters of James Tiberius Kirk and Mr. Spock were, and what a departure that was from the dated looks of William Shatner and the immortal scowl of Leonard Nimoy. I found it highly unlikely that a guy as attractive as Chris Pine could end up as the captain of an intergalactic spaceship with a crew of thousands. I suppose this is the point, as the golden boy, Jim, not only succeeds in part from the legacy of his heroic father, who sacrificed himself to save hundreds of people, including his own son, but also from his dizzying intellect. However, he is continuously breaking the rules, getting in the way, destroying things, and somehow defying all odds, yet turning up time and time again with hardly a hair out of place, and a new great idea for how to save the universe. He couldn't be less of an underdog.

Spock, played bizarrely by the giant-featured Zachary Quinto, deals with the typical inner turmoil associated with being torn between the Vulcan code of emotional detachment, and his half-human heritage which is the exact opposite. His character exists as only slightly more than a foil, then a cheerleader for the mindbending efforts of Kirk as he expresses his disdain for order and no-win situations. Perhaps it is only my perception, but it seems like the character of Spock is the more difficult one to take on, because of Nimoy's legacy, and the constraints of playing a character that cannot be reinterpreted too liberally without losing the entire essence of his purpose on the Enterprise.

Guys, the plot is exciting and convoluted, and deals with black holes and alternate realities, and, to be quite frank, I'm still sort of wrapping my brain around that one. Suffice it to say, it's not the same old song and dance action movie premise. In the first scene of the film, Kirk's father takes over the helm of the Enterprise when the previous captain is summoned into a giant Romulan spacecraft emerging from a black hole. The Romulan leader, Nero, interrogates the erstwhile captain about taking responsibility for something that apparently hasn't happened yet. When this captain professes confusion, and names the star date as 2233-04 (or something, as if I could actually remember that), Nero becomes so incensed that he rams his giant pointy staff into the captain's chest, and opens fire on the Enterprise with great vengeance and furious anger.

Fast forward 25 years, and the new class of the Starfleet Academy is getting ready to start their training. Enter: Jim Kirk, destroyer of cars and initiator of barroom brawls, who cheats his way out of an unwinnable qualifying exam programmed by the one and only Spock, colludes with the one Dr. McCoy to shanghai himself onto the Enterprise when responding to a Vulcan distress signal. Spock has chosen the Enterprise over the Vulcan Academy because he is tired of being Vulcanly discriminated against for being half-human. They assemble the usual cast of characters, played refreshingly by charming young actors, and the lot of them get together and hyperspace here and there to seek out worlds unknown and stuff like that.

Star Trek is entertaining and exciting and, though this may seem like a backhanded compliment, not at all phoned in. I mean, think about it. With such iconic lines as "Set phasers to stun!" "Dammit man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" and "Live long and prosper," this could easily fall into tongue-in-cheek parody. However, the actors embrace both the dramatic and campy, but most of all, they completely own their roles. It took a while to get used to seeing some of the actors in the styling of 24th century astronavigators, like Karl Urban and John Cho, and it took me a while to figure out where I saw this adorable elf before:


(Answer: Charlie Bartlett)

It is a heavy burden to reinvent a classic. J.J. Abrams was up against a lot of naysayers, though he is not one to be discouraged by what some may tell him is not a good idea. He takes risks, chooses interesting projects, and even if something seems gimmicky, like Cloverfield or baffling, like any episode of "Lost," it's always a fun and entertaining ride. For the start of a reboot, it's promising. I do look forward to the second installment in the series, not as a sequel but as a second chapter. It officially joins the ranks of "Serial Movies I Look Forward To," alongside the James Bond flicks, the Batman series and the Iron Man franchise.

Sin Nombre

Dir. Cary Fukunaga, 2009



I have been trying to think about why this movie isn't amazing to me. Is it possible that my time-honored history of enjoying relatively depressing movies is at an end? A formula that used to fulfill me on a basic emotional level now disappoints me. But it's more than just the fact that the film is relatively solemn that put me off somewhat; the other reason is, unfortunately, something I can't quite put my finger on. I'm inclined to say that it's because of the somewhat recycled subject matter, but when I actually stop and think about it, I have not actually seen that many films about Mexican gangs and illegal immigration. Perhaps it's my proximity to the subject, having grown up in Southern California? Whatever it is, it's unfortunate, because I suspect that this was probably pretty good.

The film starts by following two characters that appear to have very little in common besides general geographical proximity. The first is a teenage Honduran girl, Sayra, who is reunited with her father after some years, and is persuaded to ride the trains to the United States through Mexico. She appears somewhat conflicted about this, in part due to her conflicted feelings about her estranged father and his new family in New Jersey, and most likely also due to the dangerous nature of the voyage. She, her father, and uncle trek through some jungle before catching the train and stowing aboard on the roof with other immigrants hoping to find a better life in Los Estados Unidos.

The second story line follows a gang member named El Casper, or Willy, depending on your emotional proximity. He is a little bit distracted from his duties, which involve gang member initiations and keeping an eye out for rival gangs, because of a relationship that he tries to keep a secret from the rest of the gang. Eventually, the gang leader, Lil Mago, finds out about his girlfriend, and due to some kind of code, attempts to rape her but kills her instead. Lil Mago's coldness disturbs El Casper, and in an attempt to rob the immigrants on a train going north to the US, and starting to rape Sayra, El Casper kills Lil Mago.

From that point on, El Casper and Sayra are linked by destiny, or something like that. He is her guardian, and she gives him a way to redeem himself for the life of violence. Classic tale of redemption and discovery, love and loss, angels and demons, etc. Perhaps it's that kind of thing that feels slightly stale to me. Even though it's a fairly unique setup, as far as typical film plots go, it's such a commonly used theme that the details seem incidental.

The argument that sticks with me is that of my filmgoing companion, who agreed that while it was not exactly an entirely original setup, it was well done. And for that, Sin Nombre a "good movie." I agree with this, I believe it is well done. The performances are on target, the script is good enough, and there is nothing about it that bothers me on any level. It is produced by Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna, which has given this film the opportunity to use good quality equipment, better actors, and to film in good locations.

However, all of these things aside, I still can't get past the fact that it didn't wow me. I was not disturbed by anything: the violence was almost rote for such a subject matter, and I am much less squeamish these days anyway. It was entirely bleak and depressing: who knows if that might have bothered me as well, but the fact that it didn't just completely crush my soul OR leave me feeling hopeful and uplifted was a bit of an emotional letdown. This second point is kind of weird, considering I put off watching the film for several weeks because I was worried that I was in too delicate a state to be seeing something that was really going to depress the hell out of me. For instance, The Constant Gardener upset me for days, and I was not nearly as stressed when I saw that as I have been lately.

This may all be a result of my desensitization to terrible events from sensationalism in the media. Maybe I'm getting older and jaded, and I really need to be blown away, or moved to tears, or to just somehow be impressed by something entirely new. I wish I had a better reason for only feeling lukewarm about this film, but the fact is that it must just be on some metaphysical level that this doesn't work for me.