The Social Network (2010)

When David Fincher's latest film (and quite possibly his best) ends, you may wonder what was it about this film that you loved? I find it almost indescribable to tell you what was so wonderful about the film, but let me try and explain.

The movie concerns the invention of the social networking site, Facebook. It is about Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg), his friend Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield), and the various other members who take part in this revolutionary invention. When it was announced two years ago that they were making a Facebook movie, many of us (including myself) scoffed at the notion. How could they make a movie about Facebook? Then when Fincher was signed to direct and Aaron Sorkin, creator and writer of the West Wing, signed to pen the script, many of us breathed a collective sigh.

And they have delivered. I think the film benefits more from Sorkin then from Fincher; his memorable dialogue is what drives every scene, and I would be surprised if this didn't win for Best Adapted Screenplay at this year's Oscars. Of course, Sorkin's dialogue would be nothing if he didn't have a fine cast to embody those words and make their own. And I am not diminishing Fincher's role in all of this; it was his sure hand that guided them through it all to the very finish.

Besides telling the story of how Saverin, Zuckerberg's only real friend, came to sue him for $600 million, the movie meditates on how Facebook has infiltrated our very lives. What made it appealing and different from MySpace or Friendster? Exclusivity. The site was founded solely for Harvard students, then expanded to Cambridge, Yale, and Stanford, and eventually across two continents and farther. When I first joined Facebook four years back, I had to be invited to join (I was only in High School), and it felt like I was being admitted into an exclusive club (I believe it had only recently be opened up to email invitation). Now to sign up is as simple as couple clicks, but then, it was something special.

The movie also does an excellent job of balancing between the invention and meteoric rise of Facebook, and the two depositions, one for Saverin, the other for three Harvard men who had an idea for a site called The Harvard Connection, which Zuckerberg essentially took and made better. These three men, two of the brothers, have a legitimate case, as does Saverin. In fact, from the very first scene, Zuckerberg isn't entirely likable. And I think that's what is amazing about this movie.

We've had unlikable protagonists before, but I think Zuckerberg's portrayal is so poignant because it proves that success and glamour don't go hand in hand, as people would like to believe. Before he invents Facebook, Zuckerberg is nobody, just a computer hacker and programmer (and an excellent one). But after, he gets groupies, and he suddenly becomes the person everyone wants to be friends with. If they spent time getting to know him, they might not like the person they see. The film opens with Zuckerberg on a date with Erica Albright (Rooney Mara, who will play Lisbeth in Fincher's remake of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), and she says, "You are going to be a successful programmer, and you are going to spend your whole thinking girls won't date you because you are a nerd. And I tell you, from the bottom of my heart, that that is not true. It's because you're an asshole."

The movie cites this incident as Zuckerberg's initial creation of Facebook. If you search Erica Albright Real on Google, you'll return articles contemplating whether this character actually exists or not. In fact, Zuckerberg said the movie plays out a lot like fiction, some of it weighed in fact, of course, but certain events dramatized or invented for the filmmakers benefit.

And I say good for them. My favorite biopic (which this essentially is) ever made is Amadeus (1984), but that movie makes a rivalry between Salieri and Mozart that didn't actually exist in real life. But do I care? No, because the movie plays out with terrific drama and is one of the best movies I have ever seen. If you want straight fact, go find a biography (which I'm sure we'll see one soon about the ACTUAL Zuckerberg story).

Fincher and Sorkin and everyone involved have crafted one of the year's best pictures, and one I eagerly await seeing again. It's a film about our times, about lives. It is also the story of how to skillfully screw your friend out of a business. Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake), the founder of Napster, exclaims to Zuckerberg "This is our time!" Indeed it is.

The Wire (2002 - 2008)

"You remember that one day summer past? When we threw them piss balloons at them Terrace Boys? You remember, just before school started up again. You know, I took a beat down from them boys. I don't even throw a shadow on it. That was the day y'all bought me ice cream off the truck. You remember, Mike?"

"I don't."

The quote above captures the essence of what The Wire is all about. It's a show about cops, a show about drugs, a show about politics and all the areas in between. It doesn't portray all the drug dealers in a negative light, though it certainly doesn't ask you to sympathize for them, just to understand their situation. The quote above happens near the end of Season Five, as two kids we've followed since Season Four, Michael (Tristan Wilds) and Dukie (Jermaine Crawford) are about to separate due to unforeseen events. The show is filled with moments like these, and this one stands above as a defining moment of these characters.

The show's main character, if any, is Det. Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West), a renegade cop who goes outside the system and pisses people off to get the results he needs. And though this character is a cliché from most every other renegade cop movie, the difference is McNulty pays for his deeds, and though he produces results more often then not the bosses are so angry at him for what he's done that they kick him out of the unit.

The show is about, of course, wire taps, and they are the centerpiece in all the seasons. The show gets a bit redundant as we watch the Major Crimes unit attempt to set-up a wire tap, get it up, have it pulled, and then fight to get it up again. Just a few of the characters that come through this unit include Lester Freamon (Clarke Peters), Kima Greggs (Sonja Sohn), Cedric Daniels (Lance Reddick), and Sydnor (Corey Parker Robinson). Freamon is the driving force of the unit, and is present for all wiretaps, the rest come and go.

Aside from the cops, there are also the street characters: the first season focuses on the wiretaps of the Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris) crew, as they run the West side of Baltimore, controlling the corners. In the Barksdale crew you get Stringer Bell (Idris Elba), D'Angelo (Larry Gillard, Jr.), Bodie (J.D. Williams), and Wallace (Michael B. Jordan). Together they paint the crowd of drug dealers who are more or less forced into this life because it is the only reality they know, and all their role models ended up in the exact same place.

And each season brought a different focus, either via wiretap or influence: Season One dealt with drugs, Season Two dealt with smuggling at the ports, Season Three focused on the political aspect of Baltimore, Season Four focused on the schools, and Season Five focused on the newspaper's role in Baltimore. Each time we are introduced to beautifully drawn new characters, whether it is Frank Sobotka (Chris Bauer), Thomas Carcetti (Aidan Gillen), the four boys Namond (Julito McCullum), Randy (Maestro Harrell), Michael and Dukie, or Gus (Clark Johnson, also the director for the show's pilot and final episodes, among others), each one is more interesting then the last.

The show is described as being realistic and some may proclaim it is too full of itself in the beginning. I would agree with that sentiment, but it is real and deals with real life. The happy endings rarely exist here, and by the time you get to Season Five virtually every gangster from Season One is gone, either dead or in prison. Things don't always go so well for the cops or politicians either, but they don't get screwed. But each season ends with an air of open endedness, as the characters are either sentenced, or the bad guys evade capturing. There are a few triumphs in the show, and they are indeed happy, but the show lets most of the other characters fail to get what they want. It is very true to life.

The show is filled with dozens of characters, and I want to briefly mention two characters who don't fit in with the cops, delears, politicians, or whatever: Bubbles (Andre Royo) and Omar (Michael K. Williams). Bubbles is a drug junkie, but also a CI to the Major Crimes unit, and he is perhaps the most interesting character in show. We watch him live through impossible moral situations, but I think what makes him the most empathetic character is he is a genuinely nice guy. Sure he steals things, he shoots up heroin, and does other dishonorable things, but Bubbles has a big heart and Andre Royo puts on one hell of a fantastic performance.

Omar, on the other hand, is the show's one plain awesome character. He lives outside the drug world, instead robbing Barksdale's stashes regularly and doing as he pleases. Omar is bonafide badassery, as his presence exudes fear over the entire populace. Everyone knows who he is, fears him, and wants to take him out. But the character couldn't get away with being a badass and still be good: Omar is sympathetic, if only because the Barksdale crew comes down on him harder then he could imagine in Season One, and you start liking him from that point on. True, he knows what the consequences are in his nature of business, but it doesn't make it any easier.

I could ramble on and on, and describe dozens of other characters I haven't mentioned or subplots that happen. But I will simply praise the show overall, and crown it's fourth season as the best season of the show. The four kids focused on in that season are all terrific actors, and give the viewer a good idea of how these teenagers are forced, from an early age, into the life of drugs and why they think they have no choice. They don't expect to live past 25 if they're lucky, and such a dictated short life is a sad one.

The writers do a terrific job of balancing all these characters in all these seasons, and giving you just enough of every storyline to keep you satisfied. If you go back to any of the latter seasons and just dissect the events of an episode, your head will spin with the amount of storytelling the writers accomplished so effortlessly (or so it seems). Knowing each character, their drive, what makes them them, is such a difficult task to accomplish and the writers have done it admirably. They also are not afraid to cast characters aside if they don't need them; indeed, McNulty appears rarely in the Fourth Season because the show has no reason to focus on him, and they are ok with that (Dominic West still gets first billing, though).

And the acting is so good that I forget these are not real people, that they don't exist. I would say that more for this show then any other I've seen, though The Sopranos and Six Feet Under both feature terrific ensemble casts and convinced me these were real people. But all these actors are terrific, and to find so many great actors for a such a wide reaching show is quite an accomplishment. I never research a show while I'm watching it because once I see the actor interviews or the director interviews, I'm reminded that this is a show, it doesn't exist, and that kills a bit of the magic for me. Maintaining that illusion through these five incredible HBO shows is something I feel I've done rather well.

So is this the greatest television show ever made? Indeed I may have to say its close. While the HBO kin The Sorpanos and Six Feet Under are both equally great, both suffered from less-then-stellar final seasons (though the endings to both shows, particularly Six Feet Under's, are incredible). The Wire's weakest season is its first, I believe, and it gets better and better until it reaches a pinnacle with its penultimate season. The fifth season, though terrific, is more exaggerated then we're used to, but, in the end, David Chase, the creator of this show, has made some of the finest television I've ever seen. I don't know if I can hope to find a show better then this.

Dexter: Season 4 (2009)

Warning: This review spoils content on the TV show Dexter, from Season 1 through most of 4. Please stop reading if you are not caught up on this show.

Boy, what a season of Dexter this was. After the past season's admittedly lame Miguel Prado storyline, in which Dexter tried to create a partner and was usurped by the man's utter lack of control, we get a return to the formula that I surmised was going to define the show from Season One: Dexter hunts another major serial killer. The Ice Truck Killer, a.k.a Dexter's brother Brian Moser, was Season One's big one, but otherwise there hasn't been anything of interest. Season Two shook up the formula before it was established by having Dexter himself be the hunted. And the Skinner, from Season Three, stayed in the shadows most of the time, only revealing himself at the end in a kind of lame twist on what was expected.

But that brings us to Season Four, and the decision to invent the creepiest, most effective fictional serial killer on Dexter: Trinity (John Lithgow, in an amazing performance). His cold, calculated method of three kills, one bathtub murder of a young woman, one forced suicide of a mother of two, and one bludgeoning of a father of two is a great little system. But more fascinating then the method of the serial killer is the performance by Lithgow. But more on that later.

Season Four began with Dexter dealing with his new life: father of three, married man, full time job, yet still trying to satisfy that Dark Passenger we've come to know so well (and who has been embodied by Dexter's dead foster father, Harry Morgan (James Remar)). The first two episodes alone provided some nail biters, as Dexter flubs a kill and tries to retrace his steps.

Briefly back on the scene was FBI Special Agent Frank Lundy (Keith Carradine), retired, hunting the Trinity killer because the FBI for some reason thought that the best serial killer hunter was off his rockers. Right. Regardless, it provides this season with an exciting villain, and after Lundy is offed in front of Deb (Jennifer Carpenter), and Deb herself is harmed, it leads Dexter to hunt Trinity as the suspected killer.

The show, in its first half, is fairly routine for Dexter: he repeatedly juggles family and work and killing, and slowly unveils the Trinity's identity, a.k.a. Arthur Mitchell, Christian, family man. There's a particularly annoying, but thematic subplot involving Angel Bastita (David Zayas) and LaGuerta's (Lauren Vélez) office romance. And Deb's search through her father's old CI files, while paying off in the end, takes a bit of time to get going.

But the show really takes off with the character of Arthur Mitchell. Dexter's discovery that he has a happy family (much like Dexter himself), using them as a cloak. Here, the show repeats the third season in several places, with Dexter seeking knowledge from Trinity, learning to hide himself in plain sight instead of in his very awesome apartment. This is in contrast of him seeking a friend in Miguel Prado last season. Differing, but similar storylines. That, and a repeat of Dexter killing an innocent man was leading this season towards redundant hell.

But lo and behold, in the show's Thanksgiving episode "Hungry Man," Dexter witnesses Trinity's true persona in front of his family, and the constant state of terror they live in. It was with this episode that the season really took flight, and in the last four episodes, cemented the season as, in my opinion, the second best of the show's current four seasons (Season 1 being first, 2 and 3 after).

John Lithgow is terrifying, terrific, and many other "t" adjectives. He brings life and humanity, as well as a monstrous side to the character of Arthur Mitchell, and is believable for every moment of the show, down to the end. Few actors have stood out as much as Lithgow does here, and I hope he is honored in many an awards show to come. He rightly deserves it.

But what officially cements the show is its ending. Season Two and Season Three ended on happy notes: Dexter frames someone else for his crimes, Dexter gets married. What made Season One so terrific was it ended leaving you wanting more; Dexter kills his brother, Doakes begins tailing him, and his then-girlfrend finds out her jailbird ex is telling the truth about Dexter. And this season delivers in a poignant, half-expected yet still totally surprising and devastating moment that leaves you waiting for the next season. Where Dexter will go from here is hard to say, but one knows it will be completely different from the show we've come to love these past four years. It really creates overarching themes for the whole season: it is about Dexter seeking a new life, it is about how Dexter's recklessness cost him, it is about how life is unfair. I eagerly await September 2010 with baited breath.

Up in the Air (2009)

No matter how much you try, no matter how hard you push, it is almost impossible to separate yourself from people in this day and age, where cellphones, the Internet, and everything keeps us in constant communication with people in the next room to people in Australia. Most people like solitude sometimes; it is nice to break away from the crowd and spend a day alone, with your own thoughts to keep you company. And some people can't stand the idea of not being with someone 24/7.

Up in the Air's protagonist, Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) seeks solitude doing the two things that most of us dread: air travel and firing people. He works for a company which loans out its employees to corporations to fire people whose boss' just don't have the balls to do it themselves. This job isolates Ryan from people because frankly, the person who fires you is the person you hate for the rest of your life. And yet, he stays detached from human emotions, from most connections that aren't personal. Everything is business.

Ryan teaches seminars that are vague but seem to focus on what you can fit in your backpack. You start with the little things and move on up until you are stuffing your house into the backpack. His point is that you can't move, you can't take all of that with you, and that these connections are just things that tie you down. Quite a pessimistic message.

Ryan's company is shaken up when a sexy young lady fresh from Cornell, Natalie (Anna Kendrick) suggests that Internet video is a far cheaper and more efficient way of firing people then flying a bunch of people all over the country. Ryan also hooks up with another woman like him (Vera Farmiga), and learns that maybe he's ready to make a connection.

This is the third movie directed by Jason Reitman, the other two being the hipster Juno (2007) and hilarious Thank You For Smoking (2005). Up in the Air is a quieter film then those two, mainly because it doesn't deal as heavily in the comedy realm as those two films did. Smokingis a satire, and while Air and Smoking share the same basic idea (men who work in positions the rest of us find unsavory), they are both completely different.

Zach Galifianakis and J.K. Simmons both show up briefly as two of the many that get fired in this movie. Galifianakis goes nuts while Simmons questions what he is supposed to tell his kids, and what he is to do next. I actually wonder how many Americans will respond to this movie: to those who have been laid off in the last year or two, Ryan will be a villain, and some may find it hard to identify with them when they are sympathizing with the people getting fired.

The movie also has a message about life in general, about how nothing is planned and we are disappointed frequently. Natalie lists to Ryan and Alex (Farmiga) her perfect man, down to the last, exact detail. Alex, 15 years Natalie's senior, responds that you are happy with what you get, and that even balding men aren't as much of a turn off. Organization isn't key to life's happiness, and you shouldn't feel like a failure if you don't achieve all your goals.

Up in the Air is both a figurative and literal title for the movie. Clooney spends much of his time flying around, but his life is also adrift, flying about with no definite place to land. The only things certain in his life is that he will fire someone, and he will continue towards the ultimate goal he has, to achieve 10,000,000 frequent flyer miles. But the title also refers to the state someone is in after they lose their job: their financial security, their job, everything that was sound is suddenly shaken loose, and they are left up in the air.

I had the pleasure of hearing Jason Reitman give a lecture and a Q&A on the movie soon after I saw it, and one of the things he talked about was how much he is like the Ryan Bingham, insofar as their thoughts on air travel. Air travel is a place where you are completely isolated from your current world and can escape into your mind, or have conversations with people you would have never had a conversation with. And while I suspect Reitman isn't feeling the pinch of the economic climate as much as other Americans, he is connected with people who are. Stay through the end credits to hear a truly sad song that either inspired the movie's title or is based on it (I doubt the former since the film is based on a 2001 novel by the same name).

The movie is smart, but I fear its appeal will not be widespread. Some may not like it because it won't be as funny as they are expecting it to be, and some won't like it because Clooney plays a man that most Americans despise. And I feel I got everything I could out of one sitting through this movie, and wonder if anything else new will be revealed upon a second viewing. Somehow I doubt it. But this is still a solid movie, in fact, it is my favorite Jason Reitman movie to date. It's not as funny as his other two films, but it smartly balances several messages and conveys them all without ever getting heavy handed or preachy.

Die Büchse der Pandora (1929) (Pandora's Box)

It is curious how, back in the day, some directors (particularly German ones) structured their films into Acts. There is not set number of acts, it was just how many you needed and what fit. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) has six acts, and Pandora's Box (1929) has eight. Why? No reason really, it was just what director Georg Wilhelm (G.W.) Pabst required for his film.

Pandora's Box is a curious little film. Twice I have now seen it, and I will not deny that through many of the first six acts I became a little wearisome of it, waiting for it to pick up its pace and continue on. But the last two acts are so engaging and full of drama that they make up for some of the slower moments in the earlier parts.

What really magnetizes the film together, though, is Louise Brooks, who stars as the main character Lulu. She has a presence that I do not think I have seen equaled by any other silent screen actress. When she is on screen, she is magnetic, transfixing you with her odd haircut that seems to accentuate her soft features (made possible through soft focus, of course). She is absent for most of the film's second act, and it suffers without her.

The plot can not really be summarized in a sensible way, but essentially it is about Lulu, her seductive power over men, and how she sinks deeper and deeper into despair. She begins by seeing "clients", and her most reliable is an old man who at one point claims to be her father, but you are sure he could not be.

She is put into a show and, through a series of events becomes involved in an accidental murder, goes on the run, and ends in one of the best scenes of silent cinema as she unwittingly invites Jack the Ripper into her run down living place. Her beauty stops the Ripper from using his knife, but soon he succumbs, and Lulu's hand goes limp.

Whenever I watch a silent movie, I find I usually tune out the track that Criterion or whomever has composed specifically for it. Of course the music effects my perception of what is happening on screen in a purely visceral level, but in my head I usually create other atmospheres to go along with what is happening. In act seven, in a scene at a bar I imagine glasses clinking and people cheerily talking, or when Lulu succumbs to Jack the Ripper I imagine her last breath escaping her lips.

That is probably the most interesting aspect of silent movies: they are the most pure form of film there is, because without the noisy scores, they are just film. And they seem the most fitting version of the format because film is in and of itself an illusion of rapid images creating fluid movement. Sound, of course, has made films better and a great sound design will enhance and enrich the movie. But there is something about letting the movie tell its own story, and silent movies are challenging for any person in today's society.

And Pandora's Box is a film that would only work in silence. If these characters spoke, the situations would be come ridiculous, outrageous, and downright silly. But here, melodrama is straight drama. Few films would only work in silence, and here is one of them. Anything by the silent clowns Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplain, and Harold Lloyd I would also include in that category.

The title of the film refers to a Greek myth, about a woman named Pandora who like Lulu was beautiful and happy. The gods gave her a box, and told her never to open it up. Sadly the curious thing did, and unleashed greed, sadness, anger, and a bevy of ill feelings upon our world. That Lulu mirrors this character is without saying, and that she unwittingly spreads lust and greed makes this one of the most unique adaptations of Greek Mythology.

This film, while dull in a few areas, is ultimately a beautiful work of silent filmmaking at its peak, when sound films were permeating every inch of American cinema. Louise Brooks alone makes the movie worthwhile, and stands out for me as one of the most unique films from the silent era.