Welcome to the latest installment of Hidden Treasures. Also, please keep in mind that there’s just one week remaining to make your submission for this month’s guest Hidden Treasures, which will post on July 20th. For more information on how to submit your favorite film, click here
Bound (1996)
Bound was the debut film of brothers Andy and Larry Wachowski, both of whom also wrote the screenplay. Simultaneously bold and engaging, Bound is the movie that trumpeted their arrival on the scene, exposing an unsuspecting audience to the immense talent and vision they would perfect three short years later in their most popular film to date, The Matrix.
Caesar (Joe Pantoliano), a Mafioso, lives with his girlfriend, Violet (Jennifer Tilly), in a lavishly furnished apartment. Ex-con Corky (Gina Gershon) has just started fixing up the apartment next door to them. When Violet learns that Corky is a lesbian, she is intrigued, and before long the two are engaged in a passionate affair. When Violet inadvertently witnesses the torture of Shelly (Barry Kivel), the money man for the “family” Caesar belongs to, she tells Corky that she wants out of the mob life for good. Of course, to get out, she’ll need money. To that end, Corky and Violet devise a plan to steal just over $2 million that was entrusted to Caesar by Gino Marzzone (Richard C. Sarafian), the head of the ‘family’. Their plan seemingly goes off without a hitch, but things turn ugly when an enraged Caesar finds the money missing…and when people start dying.
While all three leads do a remarkable job, it’s the performance of Joe Pantoliano that truly stands out. His Caesar is a man who’s used to being in complete control, of both himself and any situation, yet shows his rough edges whenever things go haywire. However, the real star of Bound is its style. The brothers Wachowski pull a lot of tricks out their bag, like the scene where Gino comes to finally collect the money that Violet and Corky have stolen from Caesar. First, there’s a confrontation between Caesar and Gino’s son, Johnnie (Christopher Meloni). Johnnie has never liked Caesar, and Caesar is convinced Johnnie stole the money to make him look ridiculous. Tempers escalate to the point that Caesar pulls a gun, and once the gun makes its appearance, the rest of the scene plays out from Caesar’s emotional point of view. He goes into a state of shock, as if he himself can’t believe what’s happening, and through high-angles, slow motion, and a dull, muffled soundtrack, we experience it all as well. Once the smoke clears, and things return to normal, we, like Caesar, are left to deal with the disturbing turn of events that just transpired.
After Bound, the Wachowskis would tackle the bigger, bolder sci-fi/action thriller, The Matrix, easily one of the most ingenious, original films of the 90’s. In that world, the brothers found their niche. Bound was the millstone on which their skills were sharpened.
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The Rules of the Game (1939)
It’s safe to say that Jean Renoir was surprised by the initial audience reaction to his now-classic film, The Rules of the Game. On July 11, 1939, The Rules of the Game premiered at the Paris Colisée, with Renoir and other members of the cast and crew in attendance. Halfway through the film, the audience started to whistle and boo, with one patron actually attempting to set his seat on fire as a form of protest. While the film may seem harmless today, for an audience in pre-war France, it was downright scathing. With the mood in Europe darkening, France’s only defense was to shield itself behind a patriotic furor. The Rules of the Game dared to show a French aristocracy that was complacent, even somewhat bumbling, in its nature. It was not how the French saw themselves, and certainly not how they wanted the rest of the world to view them, either.
The majority of the action in The Rules of the Game (the French title of which is La Règle du jeu) takes place during a weekend hunting party at the château of Robert de la Cheyneist (Marcel Dalio) and his wife, Christine (Nora Gregor). Among their guests is André Jurieux (Roland Toutain), an aviator who has just set the world speed record for crossing the Atlantic Ocean (a feat he accomplished primarily to impress Christine, whom he loves). Others visitors include Geneviève (Mila Parély), Robert’s mistress, and Octave (played by director Renoir himself), a friend of André who speaks to Christina on Andre’s behalf, yet who is secretly in love with her himself. Along with the upstairs shenanigans, we follow the exploits of the downstairs staff, including Lisette (Paulette Dubost), Christina’s flirtatious chambermaid, who is married, quite unhappily, to Edouard (Gaston Modot), the estate gamekeeper. As indiscretions build and tempers flare, a relaxing weekend in the country transforms itself into 48 hours of chaos.
Even though The Rules of the Game was intended to be little more than a witty, whimsical film, it’s easy to see why some saw it as a direct assault on the French aristocracy. When thousands of people, among them government ministers and members of the press, show up to congratulate André on his record-breaking flight, the suddenly-famous pilot expresses only disappointment that Christine is not among the throng welcoming him home. In frustration, the new ‘hero’ acts childishly, and refuses to accept the accolades being heaped upon him. After all, it wasn’t for the glory of France that he flew across the Atlantic, but the love of a single woman. Marriage also takes one on the chin, as Renoir shows, in great detail, how little this particular branch of French society regards the vows of marriage. Moments after Christine has told her husband, Robert, that she trusts him completely, Robert rushes off to call his mistress, Geneviéve, arranging to meet her the very next morning.
While Renoir didn’t initially intend to spark controversy with The Rules of the Game, he did admit later on that one of the film’s goals was to expose a society that he believed was “rotten to its core”. Unfortunately, for this particular audience in 1939, the story hit a bit too close to home. As Renoir learned the hard way, world events sometimes make it extremely difficult for people to recognize that reflection peering back at them in the mirror.
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Diner (1982)
Barry Levinson’s Diner is a movie about the nature of friendship. The film’s main characters, six twenty-something friends living in late 1950’s Baltimore, spend a great deal of time together. Whether at a dance or hanging out at the local diner, these guys always have fun when in each other’s company. Away from the group, however, not a one of them really has that much to say.
Billy (Tim Daly) has just returned from college to celebrate the upcoming wedding of his best friend, Eddie (Steve Guttenburg), only to learn that Eddie plans to call the marriage off if his bride-to-be doesn’t pass a football quiz. Boogie (Mickey Rourke) is a hairdresser who likes to gamble. In fact, Boogie owes money to just about everyone in town, and spends his time placing more bets to pay back what he owes. Shrevie (Daniel Stern) is a whiz when it comes to music trivia, and can tell you which song appeared on the flip side of every rock and roll single ever released. What Shrevie isn’t too keen on is making his wife, Beth (Ellen Barkin), happy. Fenwick (Kevin Bacon) is a rich kid whose family disowned him when he dropped out of school, while Modell (Paul Reiser), the comedian of the group, spends most of the time cracking jokes.
Through these characters, Diner relates a deeper story than mere friendship; it shows six young men at different stages of life. Shrevie is the only married man of the group, yet for him marriage is an empty experience. He and his wife, Beth, have nothing to talk about, and Shrevie even chastises her for not taking an interest in music, which is his passion. Eddie is next in line to tie the knot, but fears his marriage will also be bland and lifeless like Shrevie’s. That’s the reason for the Football quiz: to ensure that he and his future wife will have plenty to talk about. A devout Baltimore Colts fan, Eddie takes his football very seriously, and expects any woman he marries to do the same (interestingly enough, neither Eddie nor Shrevie take much time to learn what it is that interests their significant other). Fenwick comes from a background of money, and is very intelligent (while watching a television game show, he answers all of the questions correctly), but is also in the early stages of alcoholism. In Diner, Levinson succeeds in building camaraderie between these characters, yet it’s a camaraderie that has done none of them any good. Strong as a team, every single one of them falls apart whenever they must face the world alone.
Diner is a fascinating character study of men at a crossroads in their lives; too old to be spending so much time hanging out with friends, yet not nearly old enough to realize it. For them, the world is a foreign place, and the daily responsibilities of living in it are only now getting around to them. Once they’re together in the diner, however, sitting around a table eating French fries with gravy and talking about Johnny Mathis and Frank Sinatra, the harsh world melts away. They can still see it, of course, over their menus and through the frosted diner windows, but it doesn’t bother them in the least. And even when life does close in, it never really penetrates. Maybe it never will.
That is, if they always have the diner to protect them.
