So I'm stubborn. I said I would finish this out, and I intend to do that. Also, I don't like seeing our young commish hung out to dry waiting for rankings now that everyone's seemingly moved on to the bright green pastures of playoff chatter and draft talk. With that said, my apologies for dabbling in a little necromancy, but I'm going to give this a little late resurrection bump, and wrap things up as I promised to earlier, with leftovers and new recommendations.
Leftovers
The Program: A cynical sports movie where everything that can go wrong does, and even the good guys are basically awful people. Yet despite it being essentially college football gone rotten, and most famous for some kids in real life getting killed trying to mimic a stunt done in a now infamously cut scene, I find the movie consistently enjoyable. Not sure what that says about me. It's kinda like
Rudy, except exceedingly bitter, cruel, misanthropic, and a lot closer to mimicking being a fan of a sports program these days. I'd totally rock an Alvin Mack jersey. Maybe Joe Kane. Heck, even Steve Lattimer. Starting Defense, Baby. Place at the table. Timberwolves till I die.
Starship Troopers: I loved this movie when I thought it was a played straight dumb fun Space Marines summer action flick. The realization that it's essentially a Hitler Youth Propaganda Simulator, and a rather spot on critique of the fascism pathos and the thought process needed to embrace such a philosophy is mind-meltingly brilliant.
Lady Bird: Inching ever closer to making my roster. I'd only seen it once the last time around, and this time it had two must-haves (
Lost in Translation and
Live Die Repeat) in front of it. After having seen it twice more since the last draft, my position is more solid. Pitch perfect coming-of-age comedy, with brilliant performances by Ronan and Metcalf, all centered in my own personal nostalgia for my hometown.
Baby Driver: Edgar Wright is an amazing visual storyteller AND sound and score nerd. Obviously with
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World being a personal favorite of mine, I fully embrace and admire Wright's work. While not on the same god tier as
Pilgrim, this one is right up there in terms of fun and energy.
Good Night, and Good Luck: A stripped to the studs expose on Edward R. Murrow's take-down of Sen. Joseph McCarthy. Ironically, test audience disapproved of the actor playing McCarthy because they said it was too over-the-top and cartoonist. Particularly interesting because it wasn't an actor; it was actual video of the real Joseph McCarthy.
"The speed of communications is wondrous to behold. It is also true that speed can multiply the distribution of information that we know to be untrue."
Thor: Ragnorok: Taika Waititi took what had been the least interesting sub-series within the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and pumped out quite possibly the best film of the bunch. Initially, there was no clear sign giving the Thor series a Guardians makeover would work; I remember the late Joel Schumacher saying he wanted to put the "comic back in comic books" when he took over the Batman series from Tim Burton, and what an unmitigated disaster that turn out to be. But in this case, the dreary and self-serious Thor needed an injection of Waitit's patented absurdist humor, playing off the comic chemistry of Hemsworth and Hiddleston, adding in Valkyrie, fun Hulk, and Korg, and letting Blanchett and Goldberg ham it up as villains. This was a calculated gamble Marvel needed to take and it paid off.
Harakiri: An anti-samurai movie that turns all that code and honor of the samurai on its head, showcasing it for all to see as a fraud. Also really cynical and fairly depressing, but really fun to watch as a revenge epic.
Moneyball / Draft Day: Similarly to what draws me to The Big Short, and sports in general I suppose, I really enjoy the art of economics, and evaluating, bartering, negotiating, and trading assets and goods. Both of these scratch that itch, even though Moneyball is a far superior movie, is centered around my favorite MLB team, doesn't suffer an excessive abundance of silly subplots, and isn't boiled down to little more than armchair GM wish-fulfillment*. I'm still searching for my perfect Sports GM film, but these are both building blocks toward it. Some mix of
Moneyball,
Draft Day,
The Big Short,
Jerry Maguire, and
Glengarry Glen Ross may be made one day for an audience of me. We'll see.
Audrey Hepburn Movies: How to Steal a Million, Two for the Road, Roman Holiday, and Sabrina are all still floating on the lower rungs of my want list. The three I've chosen already have taken their respective spots on the medal podium, but these ones came across the finish line tied for fourth.
Six-String Samurai: This is the most weirdly awesome and awesomely weird cult B-flick films I've ever had the pleasure to enjoy. Alternate history US nuked in the 50s by the Soviets. Last remaining spot of civilization is Lost Vegas, where Elvis is declared King. Elvis reigns supreme for decades in the rock-and-roll future utopia oasis of Vegas until his death 40 years later. That's when the call goes out over the Wolfman Jack voiced airwaves to all the guitar-wielding swordsmen roaming the wastelands to come to Vegas so one can be declared the new king.
This is a samurai/western epic, mixed with post-apocalyptic science fiction fantasy, fused with 50s retro-futurism cultural satire and red scare paranoia, laced with allusions to the book of Revelations and the Wizard of Oz. Mind blown yet?
Cult movie myth and legend Jeffery Falcon, in his only real starring role, is Buddy (no so subtly Buddy Holly) who is as skilled on the six-string as he is with the katana blade, venturing to Vegas to claim Elvis' throne, accompanied by an annoyingly bratty little mute kid he saved from ravagers during the opening credits, navigating through the weird and grotesques 50s themed dangers of the wastelands surrounding Vegas. He even crosses swords with the metal head embodiment of Death, complete with top hat and haircut of GNR's Slash.
I love the psychotic, psychedelic, and phantasmagoric universe of Six-String Samurai, and would be thrilled to see it expanded and explored. But as it is, all I have in the regard is this seriously bonkers movie, and the ghost of a reference in Fallout: New Vegas. Maybe one day I'll get a deeper dive into the world of the Lost Vegas wastelands. One can dream.
Bob le Flambuer: @hrdboild recommended this to me calling it a combination of two of my favorite movies:
Le Samouraï and
Ocean's Eleven. It proved to be a lot more than that. It gave me both illumination and validation.
Ocean's Eleven had been for decades a bit of an anomaly on my top ten list, which otherwise was populated by critically celebrated classics, or quirky and cultish personal favorites. But
Ocean's Eleven seemed out of place among those. It's the very definition of mainstream success without much impact; a cultural touchstone by no means, it garnered generally positive reviews, and enough box office sales to warrant a pair of mundane sequels and a spin-off. But there isn't really a "fandom" for it, or anything to warrant special note or memory beyond its own generation. It's just kinda there. A "Rich Man's
Sneakers" as it were. Even the original Rat Pack
Ocean's 11 is little more than an excuse for Sinatra, Martin, Davis Jr. and the crew to romp around Vegas for few months. I loved Soderbergh’s
Ocean’s Eleven, but couldn't find substance to build on any aspect of the IP and franchise. Why did this movie mean so much to me?
And then I watched
Bob le Flambuer, and at last saw the blueprints for Soderbergh's
Ocean's Eleven in person.
Bob le Flambuer (Bob the Gambler) existed somewhere between myth and rumor in the late 50s, as people would whisper about this exciting new movie Jean-Paul Melville financed himself and put together scraping the streets for actors and equipment for a passion project that spit in the face of traditional film-making techniques and values. It bombed in Paris theaters, but found new life in bootlegs, and if only you could track down a mythical copy, it'd change the way you looked at movies.
This was the unofficial first volley of the French New Wave, and even watching it a half century later, you can just feel the electric undercurrent of something new surging beneath the surface. The film itself isn’t nearly as exciting as the legend around it, but that legend is as much part of the experience as the plot and score, making you feel like watching it is itself an act of subversion; the way a kid in the 80s might feel tracking down a bootlegged VHS of
The Thing.
The Rat Pack co-opted the casino heist plot point, and not much else, layering it with loads of Old Hollywood glam, and the was it. Then the legend lay dormant for decades except in deep film nerd circles.
Decades later, Soderbergh drudges up the bones of a legendary bootleg subversive gangster flick
Bob le Flambeur, with the veneer of old school Hollywood Rat Pack swag
Ocean’s 11, adding his own indie rooted crisp camera work and cold visual clarity from
Sex, Lies, and Videotape, combined with his breakout success partnering with George Clooney to adapt the ultra cool, Elmore Leonard penned
Out of Sight, and this is the complexly fascinating DNA of
Ocean’s Eleven.
Discovering
Bob le Flambeur at last made it clear the movie I refereed to as little more than a cool 2 hours of zen, had a deeper and more prodigious pedigree than I ever previously knew.