What Makes a Movie a Classic?

You always hear about movies being “classics.” Casablanca, 12 Angry Men, or A Streetcar Named Desire may all seem like stuffy black and white films that were created a long time ago for vastly different audiences. And they are.

            But inside of each of them is an enduring brilliance, a perfection of filmmaking craft, and big-time performances by big-time actors. From the camera work to the directing and writing, these films exude excellence all around, from the opening shot to the final lines. 

            Last night I couldn’t get to sleep, so I went to Netflix online and watched Chinatown. Maybe you’ve heard of it, maybe you haven’t. It was on a list of classic movies I’m mowing down this summer, so I decided to check it out. I was blown away.

            This film, like many classics, features big-time actors giving big-time performances. The film’s lead, Jack Nicholson, is at his finest in Chinatown, with the way he takes on the personality of J.J. Gittes, a dark, witty and confident private detective who specializes in matrimonial affairs. His lines are effortless, his timing spot on, and his mastery over his character is clear. In Chinatown, he is on top of his game as a shrewd, well-dressed, smooth talking, cigarette smoking ex cop turned PI.

            Complementing him on the female side of the cast is Faye Dunaway, one of American Film’s greatest female stars. She broke out in Bonnie and Clyde alongside Warren Beatty, another good looking, smooth talking male lead. In Chinatown she plays the wealthy widow of Hollis Mulwray, the late Chief Engineer of the Los Angeles Water and Power Department. Dunaway’s acting is terrific and terrifying as an exceedingly nervous and neurotic chain-smoking femme fatale who is keeping secrets from Nicholson’s character. Their chemistry is electric and sexually charged, and it creates an entire drama outside of the film’s plot.

            If the acting wasn’t enough, the film is directed by Roman Polanski, one of film’s most accomplished and respected directors. He envisions scenes in the movies beautifully, with stunning cinematography of the L.A. river, countless shots that frame Dunaway and Nicholson against picturesque backgrounds, and crisp, refreshing sets.

            Finally, the writing of the film is outstanding. We the audience, follow Nicholson’s character as he uncovers lie after lie and digs deeper into what’s really going on behind the murder of Hollis Mulwray. There film keeps the audience entertained with obstacles that Nicholson must overcome, only to find more in his way. The dialogue is great, the writing is clever, and the use of props is excellent.

In one scene, Nicholson benignly picks up a business card from an L.A. waterworks department member’s desk, and then uses the same card to gain access into a private city reservoir. Once there, he finds the corpse of Hollis Mulwray, prompting more intrigue and wonder from the audience, and leading Nicholson to more detective work. These scenes were carefully designed, well thought out, and not at all by accident, with the way that props facilitate action and plot in the story. 

I’d really encourage you to watch this movie—and it’s free online if you have a Netflix account. Though made in 1974, it is still fun and entertaining to watch because of the excellence and craft in acting, directing, and writing.

A Quick Note on Drake

As November 15 quickly approaches, hip hop star Drake seems poised to make a splash in the music world by delivering Take Care, his second major studio album, and one that could potentially earn him his first Grammy Award. Since the release of two mixtapes in 2006-7, Drake has moved steadily towards the top of the heap in today's hip hop and popular music scene. Through the release of So Far Gone, a mixtape turned LP, and Thank Me Later--his first critically acclaimed studio album, in which he collaborated with many of the music community's most impressive names--Aubrey Drake Graham has positioned himself in the middle of hip hop's bustling epicenter.

Like his close friend and mentor Lil Wayne did by winning 4 Grammys with the release of Tha Carter III (2008), Drake has the opportunity--as a Canadian--to make his own distinct mark on American music. Having grown up in Toronto with his mother and spending time with his father in Memphis, Drake began rapping as an outsider to the American music scene. Still more intriguing, he started out his career as an actor on the popular teen TV show Degrassi: The Next Generation. But besides the gigantic career that has opened up before him, the (only!) 25 year-old Graham has a deeply contemplative and introspective facet to his music. While collaborating successfully with industry giants like Jay-Z, Kanye West, Rihanna, Nicki Minaj, Eminem, Rick Ross, and consistently with Lil Wayne, he makes music genuinely, in his own voice. He makes music he wants to see be made. 

In public, he handles himself with near-perfect grace, displaying a strong figure nowhere close to the out of control, dangerous lifestyles his peers sometimes live. From him, I get the sense that he has a reached a distinct level of maturity and perspective, and this is admirable. I get the sense that he thinks hard about his music, and I love that he doesn't rap strictly to make money or keep industry executives complacent. 

Besides an entertainer and a businessman, he's a socialite, a thinker, a social commentator and socialite. He's a fascinating mix of different interests, pursuits and personalities--held together by a mixture of good old fashioned hip-hop ambition, and a unique capacity for emotional introspection. I can't help but be amazed at the seamless, confident way he has collaborated with so many of the past decade's musical titans, and I can't help but think that he's talented and driven enough to eventually place himself on top. Listening intently to his lyrics that wind, burst, leap, and scrutinize, I have high expectations for Drake. 




If you're interested in further reading, I found this interview (published yesterday) with GQ to be revealing and intriguing: http://www.gq.com/entertainment/music/201111/drake-take-care-interview-gq 

Description of a Thunderstorm

It was one hundred and two degrees today in Baltimore. The humidity hung in the air and was repressive in the way in which it pushed down on the earth. But tonight, when the heat finally swelled, and like interest, compounded upon itself high up above in the stratosphere, the sky, voluminous, convulsed, balking and faltering under the weight of numb, heavy heat. Low rumbling disbursed from the clouds, and trees rustled restlessly. Then! With the suddenness and alacrity of a light switch being flicked ON, sheets of rain slapped the ground mercilessly, with a decided aggressiveness and purpose. True to form of most summer thunderstorms, the rain tapered off within several minutes. As if the Weather had at last removed with its tongue a particularly stubborn corn kernel lodged frustratingly between two hard-to-reach teeth in the back of its mouth, and taken a deep sigh of relief, the heat’s firm grip on the day had been dislodged and the temperature was lowered thirty degrees, with a soft mist left floating softly in the air.

The State of Poverty

For a scholarship, I wrote a short essay responding to the question "Do you think it is possible to end extreme poverty in the next thirty years? If so, how?"

For the entire course of human history, poverty has existed. Empires have risen and fallen, plagues, famines, and times of prosperity have come and gone. Saviors with names like Muhammad, Christ, Gandhi, or King have passed through the world and touched it, leaving their mark on the lives of the misfortunate. And people alive today with names like Gates, Buffet, or even Clooney, have set examples of beneficence before the world.

But in all that time, extreme poverty has existed. No amount of action or activism has changed that.

In Africa, AIDS and Malaria rage. India contains a third of the world’s poor. In America, Wars On Poverty have been fought, Great Societies have been dreamt up—all reduced now to simply Alphabet Soup in the eyes of History. Hearty men and women have stood on street corners ringing bells in the name of poverty. But despite our noblest efforts, soup kitchens are forced to turn away their would-be patrons, and food banks struggle to keep fully stocked shelves.

But never, never has there been a time in which extreme poverty has not existed in the darkest corners of the world. In the growing industrial cities of the Far East, and in those as glamorous as New York or Los Angeles, there exists a class of impoverished citizens who struggle to rise above their condition in the underbellies of those towering metropolises.

In a world where one billion people cannot find clean drinking water, where do we start? And if this is the state of poverty, what will we accomplish in thirty years?

I don’t like to paint a grim picture, and I wish I could craft a solution. But the situation is this: the Earth is a place with finite and limited resources incapable of servicing every single inhabitant because we have not constructed a society in which these resources can be shared equally or distributed to each person. Clearly, extreme poverty exists all over the world, but a global system to eradicate extreme poverty has not been achieved during the entire trajectory of human life on Earth.

So I ask: how would we possibly dream up and enact such a system in thirty years? Especially if such a thing would have the adverse affects of stunting the growth of emerging economies like China and India, or putting at risk the comfortable middle class life many around the world have come to expect.

We can’t convince world leaders to design and enact a system to eradicate extreme poverty—there simply isn’t the political will behind such a venture. But we can support philanthropy and promote awareness of the issue. We can volunteer at shelters, make sandwiches for food banks, or serve dinner to the needy on Friday nights, and do what we can, within our means. For now, that’s the best we have.

Donald Trump, 2012?

The fact that Donald Trump was considering running for President of the United States used to really irritate me. It seemed like Sarah Palin in 2008 all over again--this ridiculous publicity stunt that carried with it the frightening potential to become a four-year national nightmare.


Trump's attacks on President Obama's citizenship irritate me. (Yes, Donald, he fooled us all. It's the greatest scam in American political history.) They are reminiscent of Republicans' rise to power in the early 1950's because of their success in attacking Communism. Republicans created a political climate in which they attacked people, not their policies; Trump is doing the same. (Richard Nixon was among these Republican Communist Crusaders, and this jump-started his political career.) Unfortunately for Trump, Obama's U.S. citizenship is a non-issue, unlike Communism (there were actual communist spies in the government, though we undoubtedly overstepped our bounds with the persecution of suspected Communists). Trump just looks silly and unprofessional questioning the President's citizenship, and I think it's disrespectful too.


But I've come to be at ease about Trump and his possible candidacy in thinking it over, and talking with other people about it. So let's suppose he actually runs.


If so, he'll probably be running as a third-party candidate because he's not likely to get the Republican nomination. In 2008, Republicans made a big deal out of Obama's "lack of political experience," but Donald Trump literally has no political experience to speak of. I think Republicans would be much more comfortable nominating someone like Mitt Romney who is more towards the political center, and who has solid political experience and a good track record of success.


This means that for Democrats, Trump's candidacy might actually be a boon. No reasonable Democrat would vote for Trump because he's too far right. As a result, he wouldn't be stealing Democrats' votes from Obama, but would be splitting the Republican vote and weakening the Republican nominee.


Trump is running on...nothing. Nothing of substance at least. In interviews I've seen, he has talked about two things: Obama's birth certificate, and his own success as a businessman. To be taken seriously, he needs to discuss in earnest the real issues like the economy, the budget, or foreign affairs.


In the end, I'd be surprised if this was serious. I think it's more of a publicity stunt, and it's all just about getting Donald Trump's name out there to promote himself and his TV show...it's always fun to get attention. It's easy to talk about all the things that are wrong with the country--there certainly are many things--and it's easy to blame the guy at the top, the President. But it's even harder to do something about it.

April

I don’t like you, April.

I don’t like the way you flirt

So seductively with May,

Tugging at her,

Whispering her name in your winds,

But keeping February close to your heart.

You let loose those days of lucidity and warmth—

The way Spring should be.

But those days are betrayed by those other days,

Days of cold, rain, and blustery winds.

You know the ones I’m talking about.

When we’ve already made it through Winter,

As well as March’s own deceptive effulgence,

The last thing I need is you, April.

I’m ready to embrace Spring, wrap my arms around her.

Your “showers” are fine, I don’t mind,

But what I can’t take, is more grey, more cold. 

A Week With Elvis

A few weeks ago, I read a biography of Elvis Presley for my U.S. history class at school. We raced through the book, reading it in two sittings, and were assigned to write a paper on the book and its author, Bobbie Ann Mason. I started and finished the entire paper this week, starting Sunday afternoon and finishing Friday night, working diligently and persistently every night of the week. 


My schedule has been crazy this week: I've been juggling a physics project, a piano performance, rehearsals and performances with the Tmen, play practice (and memorizing lines), and homework. I would get home from play practice for A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum around 9:30 or 10:00 every night. I would eat something and then start working on the paper and regular homework for my other classes. I would take a nap around 1:00 or 2:00 AM, set an alarm to wake me up at 3:00 or 4:00 AM, work for an hour or two, go back to bed, and then wake up and go to school. 
Using these naps and energy drinks to sustain me, and NyQuil to put me to sleep, I wrote the longest paper I have ever written, at 7,000 words. I dropped it off at my teacher's house at Midnight on Friday, the day it was due. (Writing this, it is impossible for me to ignore the parallels of my drug use with Elvis's--he used prescription pills to boost his energy for performances, and then more pills to calm him down and provide a release from the pressure and stress of his hectic life.)


But the paper almost became this entity on its own, this constant in my life with which I had a relationship. Writing the paper, I got to understand Elvis's life so well (or at least, the life that Bobbie Ann Mason,  presented) that I completely wrapped my mind around it and felt like I absorbed just about everything Mason had to say. 


 As Elvis took Las Vegas by storm in the early 1970's, entirely in his element, he had come into his own as a performer and had mastered the stage completely. I also felt that in some ways, with this paper, I mastered the kind of essay our teacher has had us write for the third time: explaining an author's purpose in writing a book. I felt at ease and confidant writing the paper, supplied with all the information I needed, having only to sort through and synthesize it articulately. 


I found myself almost crying while writing the last few paragraphs of my essay, thinking angrily about Tom Parker (Elvis's manager who exploited him horribly for his own gain), about Elvis's drug addiction and the neglect of his friends and family, thinking about his pained, restless relationships, and his struggles with whether or not he deserved all the fame and success that came his way. Recalling as Mason did the sweet, youthful, and ebullient Elvis of 1956, I was sad for Elvis because he always had the best intentions despite his flaws or what his critics said--at heart, he was a simple boy from the south, and all he ever wanted to do was sing as well as Arthur Crudup (a blues singer whose music Elvis heard growing up). I was definitely happy to finally be finishing this monster of a paper. 


Mason writes about Elvis with a thoughtful, gentle and sympathetic hand, understanding him like an old friend who had simply made a few mistakes during his life. With Elvis Presley, she is able to provide and informative and detailed account of the King's life which is supplemented with interesting anecdotes, and she does this in only 169 pages. It was very insightful and told me much more than I ever knew about Elvis, who was such a bright and dominating figure in America's cultural landscape for only two short decades.